Strange has mostly sensed Benedict’s presence throughout the day as an ambient nervous buzzing in the background, the younger mage vibrating with the neurotic energy of a host orbiting all his guests and determinedly making sure that they are having A Good Time. (It’s a side of him the doctor’s never seen before. When he thinks of Benedict Artemaeus, mostly he remembers him half-drunk and languid and Cheshire cat-esque, slouching into the Sanctum kitchen at a too-late hour. A formative first impression.)

Tonight, though, it’s Strange’s turn to finally cut through some of his own highly-strung workaholicism and try to learn how to relax; so he’s by the bonfire, enjoying some wine, when he waves Benedict over. Sit down, join him. Enjoy your own party, just for a bit.

“So it’s not the Nocen Sea,” he says, “but I think you’ve done all right, all things considered.”