It doesn’t seem to matter to Tony that he’s blunt. Or short. Or that Loki pretty much just equated him with an ant. A super genius ant, maybe, but still an ant. He likes hard to get. Strangely, he likes rejection. He likes people that are too good for him. Or that at least think they are. The whole exchange makes him smile. “I wax,” he says, purposefully misinterpreting what Loki means by furs. “But I have been told that my mustache rides are pretty good.”

For emphasis, he smooths down his facial hair, amusement in eyes already crinkling with crows feet.

“What I hope is to take a look around, though. Flattery can get people pretty far. I’ve never visited Asgard before. Shouldn’t we get least get dinner? Don’t you guys practice guest rights?”

Or maybe that’s just Game of Thrones influencing his understanding of otherworldly cultures.