"We'll take the deluxe." Lambert doesn't miss a beat. Sure, it might kind of sound like they're signing up to be baked like pottery, and he's got no concept of what a truffle is in this case (it's a mushroom, but ... a snail?) but they'll probably never get a chance for this

"Excellent!" The girl beams at them both, and claps her hands. A side-door slides open, and two spa attendants -- with a similar sort of close-to-human yet undeniably mollusk-like quality to their features -- step out to offer Lambert and Strange bath towels and robes before ushering them to a shared changing room.

Once there, unsurprisingly, Lambert has little hesitation stripping down. Between magical treatments and what Shabon has to offer, the worst of his injuries are the gashes on his chest and belly, stitched up and still visibly healing. The injuries on his arms and the various scrapes he took in his tumble from the sky are more or less sealed, though they look a bit like he came away for the worst in a battle with a barrel filled with knives.

"It's been a while since the last time we did something like this, isn't it?" Lambert muses, rolling the kinks out of his shoulders idly. It's odd to think about, how long ago that was.