At first, Strange's words are sort of like a casserole--a bunch of ingredients thrown together, supposedly with meaning, but the end result isn't passing much of it on to Foster. It's just an impenetrable scramble.

It's not until Strange reaches a point where he's talking about a Raven King, and the Ringmaster, that Foster begins to glean that maybe 'connection' is like a ritual, that a ritual is like a contract, that the Raven King sounds like a title and maybe it is, because he's been reading--

"So it's not your magic. It's a contract. It's a contract with the power that moves the world. A contract with power--a contract with power--" He can't keep still while he thinks; he can't keep eye contact, either. Instead of merely pacing, his claws are tangled in his hair--not with aggressive desperation as they usually are, but still digging their pointed tips too deep in his scalp, wrapping a stray coil of curls around one of them and nearly pulling it out while he ruminates both aloud and inside--what pieces he verbalises are repetitive and piecemeal.

"Raven--the Raven... Raven King." It's hard not to notice how titular that particular name is. Like the Rose Queen. Like the Prince. "Like the Ringmaster?" he asks, turning on Strange with a sudden ferocity. "Fae? It's fae, isn't it?" He throws his head back, erupting with laughter.