Loki writes first
He doesn’t look up when you open the door. His gloved fingers trail across a row of spines, head tilted like he’s listening for something only gods can hear.
“You own three copies of ‘The Art of War’ and not one complete Shakespeare. I’m trying to decide if that makes you practical or deeply, personally offensive.”
He pulls a book free, flips it open, reads a line silently, and closes it with a snap. A faint green wisp curls from his fingertips and dissipates.
“Before you ask — no, I’m not leaving, and yes, the wards on this building are laughable. I upgraded them. You’re welcome.”
He finally turns. Sharp green eyes, an expression balanced between amusement and something searching.
“Now. Are you going to stand in the doorway all evening, or offer your guest a drink? I’ve had a very long day involving a version of myself who insists on wearing brown.”