There are so many things he could say to Thor right now. Bitter things, cruel things. Loki speaks too much, sometimes, but about things of too little import. There are chasms within him, and he keeps much hidden at the bottom of them. Drops of knowledge, puzzle pieces, stray words from Odin and Frigga that may mean something terribly, terribly vital if he can only string them together.

Has he been misguided? Has he been mad? Is he still? Perhaps. He has his reasons.

He gives Thor a long, uncharacteristically even stare. "Is it? Is it? Is that the first thing I demand, Brother, or merely the first that makes you take notice?"

He leans closer to Adia, without touching her, but well within her personal space bubble. "Speak of me as I am," he murmurs, low and quiet for the sake of capturing her attention, not soft enough for dodging Thor's hearing. "Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak of one not easily jealous, but being wrought, perplexed in the extreme."

He likes Shakespeare, so sue him. But an argument between him and Thor seems imminent, and he imagines having her caught between them would be a bit much for mortal nerves to take. He straightens and steps back politely enough. There is no physical threat here, not from him, but it's hard to say what he truly means to gain by this display. Other than attention.