Strange’s expression undergoes an exasperated eyeroll as Isaac thumbs the mask, as if teasing a mischievous child; the sorcerer might be mildly bristling but it’s only a casual sort of annoyance. One both of them are accustomed to, the way he might grumble and grouse around the infirmary about things of little consequence.

“Paint? I know they’re doing some construction through the Anderfels portal, but I don’t expect to do any redecorating—”

Oh, makeup. His consternation deepens. “Ah. No. Why bother with facepaint when you’re already covered in masks most of the time anyhow?”

Out-of-towner struggles with local customs.