Surprised, Strange glances over at the other man. He’d seen him around, existing in Tony Stark’s general orbit — the Gallows was small even as it was very large — and then there had been the slog of ploughing through world after world, ushering him and others through Earth. Ellis. The name was Ellis, but that’s about all he knows.

His fingers curl around the rubber grip of the pole — for a second irrationally loath to let go of it, like a comfort blanket. This is his only weapon, now that his magic’s been stripped from him. Years of work gone in an instant.

But he still forces himself to let go, and pass it over. “If we’re going to judge my choice of weapon,” he says, with a grim attempt at levity, “I just need it noted for the record that it’s better than the brick I started off with.”