"That is sad," he agreed with mock solemnity, "and sadder still that it only gets worse from the neck down."
At this point, Loki rolled his eyes to such an extent, that it looked as though they might get permanently stuck that way. He also decided to remedy the situation by taking the immature route.
"I can see no deformity upon your person, but worry not? This can be remedied," he added, waiting until the waitress was just about to set their coffee down to magic some horns onto Darcy's forehead.
The woman jumped a little and nearly spilled their coffee, much to Loki's delight. Then again, it was Vegas, where street magicians and illusionists were a dime a dozen. This was considerably tamer than seeing someone separate a person on a park bench into two moving pieces. And the waitress considered that maybe there was a comic con going on at one of the casinos, too.
Any momentary delight that the so-called God of Mischief had gleaned wasn't very long lasting, for a very different reason. Adding two curving, black, twisted horns to Darcy Lewis' forehead didn't exactly mar her in any way. In fact, they looked like they belonged there to begin with.
That plan backfired. He had effectively Loki'd himself.