As she repeated him, Loki kept his eyes focused on the unfolding scene his brother was now a part of, taking note of how many cameras were pointed their way, which exit would be easiest duck out of, how much glass was within easy reach of both parties, and, especially, where Stark's hands were. Weapons weren't permitted at this sort of social gathering (technically, they weren't permitted in the President's mansion at any time), but Loki was confident that if anyone had smuggled something explosive past the entrance, it was Stark.
And the encounter looked friendly enough at the moment -- Loki suspected it had devolved into some sort of drinking contest at this point -- but things like this could turn on a dime. He wouldn't be of much physical use to his brother in a brawl, but Loki did know how to work the cameras. There were other angles he could take, and he was quietly calculating all of them a he watched.
He was brought back, however, by Wanda's soft voice, and he tore eyes eyes away from the brewing fight to look at her. "I was," he said in response to the first statement. He meant it, too. He'd been relieved. And proud of his brother. Very proud. At the next guess, though, Loki had to bite back a derisive snort. "They're very proud of Thor," he said evenly. "In Two, there's no higher honor than victory in the Games. It's... a matter of worthiness." He shrugged a little. "Thor was worthy."
He didn't need to say, I was not. He was walking well this evening, partially due to the fact that he'd avoided consuming any alcohol. The limp was barely visible in his gait, but it was there, even in the way he turned his body to look down at her, shifting his weight awkwardly to accommodate his bad foot. "I'm sure that's hard to understand, coming from Three. It's... a very different mindset."