Loki laughed, mischief sparkling in his eyes—as usual. The sound was rich and melodic, echoing through the room like a playful melody. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed casually over his chest, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he watched the antics of the mortals before him.

“You mortals can be so humorous sometimes,” he said between chuckles, the words rolling off his tongue with a theatrical flair. His voice dripped with an amused condescension that only added to his charm. As he spoke, he gestured grandly, his fingers dancing in the air as if conducting an invisible orchestra of absurdity.

His eyes glinted with mischief, reflecting a depth of knowledge about the folly of humanity that only a god could possess. Loki’s laughter seemed to invite those around him to share in the joke, even if they didn’t quite grasp the punchline.

“Truly,” he continued, a teasing lilt in his voice, “the things you find amusing are as unpredictable as my brother’s hammer. One moment, you’re fumbling through life, and the next, you think you’re the star of a grand comedy!” He leaned forward, conspiratorial, as if sharing a secret. “But do tell me more of your mortal follies; they never fail to entertain me!”