If Gold sat through the show, then he saw Strange's act. It was a hodge-podge of magic consisting of the man turning into smoke, entering and exiting through mirrors, sending jets of fire that stopped just short of the audience, and turning feathers into birds that flew around the tent. Needless to say, it's a bit of a contrast comparing the remarkably put together man who was in the middle of the ring with the giant mess of a man that shuts one of the cages right as Gold approaches, holding a few feathers.

Strange's hair is messy, his shirt is dirty, and his shoes are scuffed. His attire is vaguely Regency era but looks like it could use a solid ironing. He looks at the feathers for a moment, grinning like a madman, before that peripheral vision kicks in and wait a moment, someone else is there. Strange turns and looks over at Gold, blatantly confused. It's an odd sight: it's hard to spot much emotion behind the mirrored covering of Strange's eyes. His mouth seems to be doing most of the work, as he makes an almost comical frown.

"Who the devil are you?"

And what exactly are you doing here?