He exhales, a small noise which might be a huff of breath or halfway to a laugh. “Probably,” Strange says. “Those little devices we use to stay in touch here, like the crystal network back in Kirkwall— we can use them for photos as well. Like, er, portraits. But immediately created. So there are probably tons of publicly-available pictures of you now, if you’ve a narcissistic streak. People like to photograph new and interesting things.”

He’s been monitoring Twitter (and had tasked a few novices to do the same), on the lookout for any late arrivals, or the Sealing Stone, or Venatori, or anything just generally batshit being spat out from a rift onto other baffled city streets. Although it seems the crowds weren’t as struck by the new arrivals as he’d half-expected; Earth has gotten truly, bafflingly accustomed to the strange and surreal.

“Still, if you come across any trouble out on the streets. Just holler into one of those devices, and Stark or I can come assist.”