Between the two of us, and don't tell Jon for his pride may crumble instantly into dust, you're the cuter one. I've no complaints.

[ It turns out Loki's aimless strolling has been leading them to the food tables, a high-rise of an icy throne in sight by the nearby bonfire overlooking the hungry party-goers; ten or so feet tall, it's enough that none of the drunkards attempting to sit there can climb the slippery sides with success. She nods to it, a smile curling on black lips. ]

I can offer the pretty lady a private seat if she wants to eat and drink in peace.