Lazar grunts something that might be judgment for Strange – sure, a few weeks. And all these fucking bonemen oughta be able to give a second opinion.

"Some kinda wine-seller," Of the mummy. "But it's all vinegar now, so dunno what he's on about."

Of course Lazar checked. Kicks a foot out into some overwrought funerary barrel, to steady himself as she shoves on.

"You missed a weird goddamn rendezvous. Guess we got elf friends."

Friend might be a stretch, what with the stabbing.