Marcus nodded, vaguely. "Yeah. Doesn't fucking matter if I pocket these." He produced his own deck of cards from one of the pockets of the trench coat. Nothing special about them, save for the fact that they were obviously well-used. Marcus enjoyed games, anything that could potentially have a betting aspect to it, and involved observation. While he liked to win, he wasn't all that invested in it, so he was actually a decent sport, though he did often suggest inappropriate stakes.
He tapped out the cards and weighed his options with just two players. The Key had a cribbage board, and there were always poker variants, Texas Hold 'Em... Hearts, even, if Ian wanted to play. Marcus looked over at the aloof bartender, eyebrows raised. "Fucking dead in here tonight. You want to be dealt in, hombre?"
It wouldn't be much of a surprise if Ian declined. The guy wasn't exactly known for being social, and would have an edge over the two players who were actually drinking, anyway. Still, it was fucking polite to offer. He set the deck on the bar towards Avery, so that the younger man could make the cut.