Atreus doesn't say anything as Loki regales him with his tale. He glances up a time or two. And it's not like Loki is suffering the cold judgmental stare of a twelve year old or anything but there's something... something disappointed in his expression at the talk of subjugating the mortals and whatnot. This is the type of god his father would hate. This is the type of god that his mother would tell him tales of as an example of a bad one. This god's name is Loki.

Atreus doesn't like it much. It's a thrilling tale certainly full of adventure but... it feels unsettling all the same.

By the time the story is a an end Atreus has filled up a couple pages with his neat runework, He's added an illustration near the bottom of a page, because he always draws while he writes. It's Loki of course. In a chariot pulled by nothing. While it's certainly not quite right, the silhouette feels oddly accurate. His mother's people had the gift of prophecy and saw visions of the future and sometimes the past. Occasionally Atreus catches glimpses of both.

"You know... a lot of the best stories, whether they're real or some fable someone's made up, there's something to be learned from them. Sometimes I think that a big reason why we remember them. And retell them," he taps his pen on the filled page. Well filled save for a small blank area at the top. A place for a title that he hasn't decided on, "Did you learn anything? From your battle in New York?"