"Yeah, I figured." Poe gave him a dry half-smile, with a lift of his eyebrow. "We have those where I come from, too. Opponents." But he was pretty bad at this, so far, so his new playmate could be forgiven for assuming he didn't grasp the basic concepts; he got a little closer, this time, swinging to block Tony's shot. He failed, but he'd tried - and dumb luck saved him from going down yet another point. When he made his next move, he finally got the ball rolling in the right direction, and made a concerted effort to work on aiming it in generally the vicinity of the gap on the other side of the table. A couple more rounds of back and forth, and he almost had the hang of it, although he seemed to have left his aim back home.
His aim, and a whole lot of other things that would start pinging around inside of him, if he let them. It wouldn't take much, to let that happen. Half a minute of quiet. A few seconds of rest. One pointedly-worded question; literally any physical contact. Better to do this.
"You must be from somewhere around here," he said, his mouth pressed into a focused line as he watched their halting, clumsy, and unexpectedly noisy game. "Or just some kind of prodigy. None of this looks familiar to me. So - what kind of loser are you?" The grin he flashed him was extravagantly overconfident, transparently mock bravado. "Are you a table-flipper, or more of a double-down kind of guy? You're not going to take this personally, are you?"