When he doesn't immediately tell him to buzz off, Marcos eases into a seat in a chair a comfortable distance away. The dark bands around his joints are still slowing him down; sitting generally helps. He watches him drink, careful not to stare or look too concerned, but when he mentions a curse he barks out a laugh.

"Yeah?" He rubs at his wrist and shakes his head. It's been months for him now, but the absurdity of this world still gets to him. "Last time it was foxes. There wasn't a wedding involved, was there?"