At that, Lambert can't help snorting. "Believe it or not, I've been worse." It's not even a lie, not really. It's just that the list of 'worse' is very, very short.

Confronting Strange about Portland would require acknowledging Portland happened. Ordinarily, he'd be willing to get into Strange's face about it, but that's a conversation Lambert is more than happy to put off as long as humanly fucking possible. What's a little incidental brainwashing-induced attempted homicide between friends?

Anyway, Lambert punched him unconscious. Food's a good start to making it up to him the rest of the way, and he visibly lights up when it's mentioned, sniffing the air. He doesn't have any glasses, so unfortunately tonight they're drinking out of beakers, which he snags a couple of and brings to the only clear workbench in the middle of the room.

"Put it down here," he directs, though he's already moving towards Strange before he can do that. Setting the beakers and bottle down on the table, he dips a hand right into the basket and feels around for the first he can find -- an apple, in this case. Crunching happily into it with sharp teeth, he settles into a seat.