Oh, she'd forgotten how sensitive Mister Prissy-pants could be. No, that wasn't true. She remembered very well. But really, it never stopped being amusing. Here was this Jotun that ran about with Odin and Thor, racked up a reputation as something of a lady's man, and was notorious for being a trickster. Yet he couldn't handle a bit of good-natured teasing. Sigyn found it funny that with all of that, he could dish it out, but he couldn't take it.
She really ought not to teas him so much. But he made it so easy!
When he turned to walk away, Sigyn fell into step beside him. She wasn't letting him off that easily. Besides her cave was this direction anyway.
“Funny,” she commented mildly. “The first time we met, you gave me advice to the effect that I should be myself and a man should appreciate me for who I was rather than who I pretended to be. Now, you're telling me that I should sit in the corner like a meek little lam to catch myself a husband. Unfortunately, between lessons on husband hunting from you and my terribly taxing bitch lessons from Frigg, I really don't have the time to become the man-eating she-demon the two of you seem to want me to become. I'm afraid I'd find it tiring, actually.”
She was about to add something pithy and definitely terribly inappropriate about the carcass he was hauling along with him, but an exceptionally harsh blast of wind pushed stinging ice particles against the soft skin of her cheeks. Sigyn turned her head out of the direct path of the gust, one hand coming up to hold the hood of her cloak in place. Teasing was all well and good, but it was staring to get a little too nasty out to continue indulging in the entertaining past time of poke-the-pansy. Needling Loki would have to wait for another time.