It was rare that Thor's logic would make Loki pause and give it serious consideration for plausibility. This was actually plausible, though he doubted Thor would understand that there was truth there, to what degree and why... Loki figured Thor was just trying to spin it all to find a way to go out adventuring and hopefully get a chance to be heroic. But, it was possible. It was too damn possible.
Actually, now that Loki thought about it, with as upset as Sigyn had been... running off with a head wound that may or may not have had a damn concussion because she was too stubborn to wait for him to get help for her, leaving Frigg some vague ass note that she was running off to Holda's... which was where Loki assumed she was and didn't really want to head anywhere near there and risk getting an earful from Holda... who had helped treat his wound... and if Sigyn went there with a wound at his expense... oh fuck that would be bad... But there was the chance that if she had a concussion she had deliriously ran into a place she shouldn't have and...
Dammit. Loki sighed. “Pretty sure that is not what happened,” he tried to argue, though Loki wasn't convinced. Then, he muttered, “nor do I particularly feel like taking an arrow in the ass again because she stupidly wandered somewhere she shouldn't have... again.” Though, he would. He knew damn well he would. Damn her. He shook his head, stood up and headed out the room.
He wanted a drink... and maybe something to eat. And Loki was quite sure Thor wasn't going to refuse either, even if he was insisting on some rescue mission. He didn't really cook, when home he didn't have a need most of the time as other things were going on or he found himself elsewhere. But... somehow.. food always ended up in his house. Loki blamed the women. Mostly Idun. Which was alright, he adored her like family.
“I'm still sure Frigg would be worried if she thought something was actually wrong, she can be the Queen of paranoia, Thor,” he argued from the kitchen, tossing a couple loaves of bread on the table along with some cheese, some mugs and mead -because who cared about the hour at this rate, and a girly looking basket of sweet looking treats that clearly came from his “little sister”. He pulled out a small cake-biscuit-kakker looking thing from the basket with some amber-colored jam on it and voiced a bit of glee at that, “oooh... cloudberries.”