The God of Mischief actually pats down his chest and arms, and then feels his face; he shifts shapes so frequently that he legitimately has to check his current physical form.
“Aye, that I am. And you must be master Parker, or would you prefer that I refer to you as the Spider … . ?”
He glances Peter’s gangly, adolescent form up and down, with a small sniff to conceal unbarbed amusement.
Peter moved about the tower grabbing a bag of chips to snack on hoping that would curb his hunger off before he actually had to stop working on his projects. As he walked through the living area of the tower he stopped dead in his tracks. “Loki?” The Teen asked himself wondering if the Trickster could hear him. Slowly approaching him he then stopped when he turned towards him. “Hey! Uh I didn’t know you would be here Mister Loki. Uh Peter, in case you forgot.” He offered a wave before bringing it back to the bag of chips making a rather uncomfortable, for Peter, crinkling noise. “I, uh, am helping Tony on some projects.”
“All very well, Master Parker,” Loki greets the adolescent; there’s a faintest tint of amusement about his wan features, the way a mother wolf observes a fox that plays slightly too close to her cubs, but permits the act nonetheless. “I remember you, yes. Tis hazardous for the health of the onlooker not to learn the name of the Iron Man’s favored charges.”
His eyes go to the human confection. His mouth curves upward, like a slim pink ribbon being snagged. A hiss of mirth slips through his nose.
“For what is surely a warrior’s task,” he demurs, donning all his most diplomatic charms, “you require a larger measurement of protein.”
He conjures a hot dog with the works, steaming, wonderfully aromatic, and hands it to the boy.
“If you contract constipation, do call me, I’ve potions to rectify that. Usually magically constructed foods do not effect this result.”
icyxmischief 