"Aren't you one?" Lambert counters, automatically, meeting that sarcasm with a sardonic laugh of his own. "There's a tent full of people behind us who'd say so. That applause wasn't for falling on your ass." Even saying that, he supposes it's a good thing neither Childermass or Strange are much like the magic users from his own world. Otherwise ... well, otherwise, they probably wouldn't be here right now.

Shameless about being caught as ever -- the only way Lambert would make a halfway decent pickpocket was if he stunned his target first -- the witcher pulls the apple from the magician's pocket, meeting that glance and raised brow with a grin full of sharp teeth. He tosses the fruit up and down so the firm flesh smacks into his hand, expression thoughtful.

"Where's the fun in asking?" Lambert releases the grip he has on Childermass's shoulder, only to prove his point by stroking the back of a finger against the feathers on the side of his face. Far be it for him not to take advantage, now that it's conveniently turned towards him. In a single, easy motion, he runs his forefinger from the curve of his jaw up to his ear, then steps away to hold the apple out to the Mudsdale.