"Walking, talking, attacking, mutilating corpses. If that's what you want to call a zombie." With a shrug. There might be nuances with definitions, but it's still the reanimated dead in any event. And bad news all around.

At the change of topic, Mobius gives a short chuckle, leaning back in his seat and stretching his legs out under the table, mindful not to knock Strange's legs in return. "I sort of picked it up. Started doing it, and no one told me to stop. What can I say, I've been a bookworm ever since I can remember. Seems the same goes for you," with a nod to the stacks. "I can keep them tucked away for when I imagine you'll come back first thing in the morning."

Hopefully after breakfast and not skipping meals. And that not so subtle nudge suggesting Strange leave it be before his eyes fall out of his head.

Maker, but he wants to keep picking this man's brain, learn about his world(s?) and the way magic seems to work in them. But that can wait until after an attempt at sleep, at least.