He visibly starts as Childermass suddenly moves from one end of the room to the other, trying his hardest not to swear under his breath. Trying to regain his cool and seem like he's totally got this under control, Strange reaches down into one of the open boxes and rummages around for a little bit. Pulling out a book, he quickly flips through it, trying to search for the spell in question.

Woefully (or probably thankfully for Childermass), Strange doesn't know that much magic to hurt people. He's always been content doing that in other manners, a careful word here and there to change opinion, a meeting to try and sway someone's thoughts in a different direction. As he finds the evocation, he casts the spell, a complicated phrase in Latin that somehow seems to swap to Aramaic in the middle of it. Strange points a finger at Childermass...and nothing happens. Really, the most Childermass would feel is a worrying sensation in his stomach, the sort of pulling one gets when they're sick and their organs have decided to commit mutiny due to the strains of being sick. It's pain, but pain that only lasts for less than a minute or so and nothing downright debilitating.

With a frown, Strange gestures at a nearby throw rug, obviously something that's seen better days. The rug almost instantly unravels, turning into a pile of undone cotton. Well the spell obviously works...just not on people.

"Damn," he simply responds. The least he was asking for was disfigurement, come on magic, why you gotta be like this.