"Hoe," Much accused him goodnaturedly. He dealt them both out a hand, letting Tuck choose and then knocking whisky glasses with him before they started. They bullshitted their way through their first game, (Tuck lost, like a loser) and Much dealt their second. He tapped the deck on the table a few times, thinking, trying to decide on words, and after a second just had another sip of whisky and asked. "So. Did you wanna talk about your sons, or is this a we're-not-doing-serious kind of night?" He added a shrug, because Much knew what it was like not to feel like talking about something, but he had to admit he was curious as hell.