Marcus snapped an order for the elf to put down the whiskey and the glasses and to leave, waiting until the distinctive pop sounded and the elf was gone. His head was bent over the wheel, the feel of yarn through his fingers and the whir of the wheel settling his bones as well as certain other things did. The tension was still there in his shoulders, but he found his rhythm and was able to ignore it for the moment.
"M'good with them," Marcus muttered quietly. "Worked with m'mum after Gus went off to school. Gardens. Knitting. Sewing." He snorted dryly. "'M a better wife than Isolde.'
He glanced over at Isaac, continuing to spin by feel, knowing what to do by rote after so many years of practice. "Course it's a good looking room. S'mine." His jaw tightened, but he offered anyway, "Ought to see the library. Not so light as this, but another good room." And another one that usually lay locked away from prying eyes, with his collection of well-read books lining the walls. He slid away from that offering, shrugging one shoulder as he turned back to the wheel. "You're here often enough. Might as well help with the gardens, if you're wanting something like that. I'd make sure you bloody well didn't kill my plants."