Unhelpfully, Marcus' brain presents him with the mental maths: twenty three is about when Tim would have left here. His jaw tightens a bit, smile getting more strained as he tries not to think about any of that. "Mm. A skillset's a skillset." He's not doing well, at all, at keeping his eyes off the pictures, so he just decides to be overt. "I don't know — sorry. Ain't from around here, don't keep up with high society stuff. These all your kids?"