A banquet, a royal diminutive dinner Loki was too busy fancifully eating her; a cornish game hen, specially made, roasted slowly with only the finest spices. As she slowly enjoyed her meal, she looked up briefly, curious, coy and charmingly vindicative.

One glance. One glance was all she needed to figure out the ins and outs of a person. She gently wiped the smudge of sauce on the corner of her mouth... and she smiled. Now leaning more on the table.

Oh... Just - where are my manners? Sit... Please. I encourage you. It would rude to refuse such an offer from a royal. I was deathly worried for but a brief moment that you did not choose to come.

She fiddled with her cutlery, almost playful. Her plate clinked with the sounds.

I am perplexed and rightful so- you, you actually answered my delectable and dastardly invitation. Is that obliviousness or trust? Hah. Trust. What a quaint idea. Perhaps, I should denounced myself? Fear, after all, is the price of imagination. Not curiousity.