“I’d be flabbergasted at anyone not doing that basic courtesy, but I suppose it takes all kinds.” Would a slab of muscle bother? Probably not. Maybe they’d just sit through all the requisite classes and then call it quits. The very thought of it makes his palms itch, the prospect of leaving so much knowledge on the table.

“The bright side is that this world, comparatively, gives less of a shit. They’re accustomed to weird nonsense happening in the streets. We’ve had visitors from other planets and worlds, and no handy-dandy introductory classes to help them acclimate, they just bumble through and destroy a few small towns while they’re at it.”

Turnabout is fair play, and Strange is comfortable on this ground, literally at home as he arranges a cup of rooibos for himself and crunches on a chip, watching the woman across the table. “Do you have any questions which Tony’s haphazard intros haven’t covered yet?” Tony’s smart, but he’s also impatient; it’s something they have in common. But Strange doesn’t mind giving Gwenaëlle the time of day. She did it for him, after all.

“You’ve weathered all of my questions about Thedas, the least I could do is repay the favour or show you around.”