Lambert's shoulders sag a little, some of the tension unwinding from his muscles -- and he winces as it tugs at injuries again. Maybe that wasn't the best idea. He's too relieved to even particularly notice if that's supposed to be a jab at him or not.

"Not that you'd know it, the way he talks you," he snorts, instead. "Just because you didn't put him through what Nightshade did, suddenly your shit might as well be gold. 'Ignatius isn't like the other fae!'" His position shifts, affecting Strange's haughty indignation. "'He's decent! He respects me!'"