Loki approached Steve Rogers and, though he looked small in comparison to both the hulking Thor and his own son, he proved to be tall up close, merely slender like a willow rather than full of muscle. Blue skin was covered with whorls and patterns of raised lines, and his clothes were a mixture of a fur robe and a silken tunic. Red eyes looked down on his new kin, and considered his words.

There was something earnest to him, something that recalled Thor, as if there was no deception or manipulation in his heart. A disappointment for one of his blood. But then, Bylestir was more simple in his machinations, and even Fenris was the most honest of Loki's children, and he still loved them.

But he was mortal. Even with this mingled blood, he would still live scarcely two centuries at most, a fleeting creature that might sully the pride of his family. Perhaps best to kill it at once and solve the issue. But Fenris would not have risked his wrath by asking Thor for help if he did not see a potential in him.

"That is no good case for your life, Steve Rogers. For to keep those around you safe from harm, the simplest path would be to end that threat in permanence. And it may be simplest for you to refer to me as Loki, I am not ma'am nor have I decided if I will be grandmother."