“I've had some mead, thank you,” he said with a low, throaty growl, and turned his head slowly to glare at Thor. “You've just been too busy merrily masticating to notice.”
He had. Loki had been drinking. He just hadn't been sipping it. Actually, drinking was probably a rather generous term as well. It was more like swallowing. He'd just sort of been swallowing mead in one large angry gulp. Then he'd step back and glare some more. He was not entirely sure what not entirely sure what was going on here and he didn't like it in any regard.
There was no plan. There had been no way for him to make one since he really had no idea if or when she was coming back, what her status of mind was going to be at that point, if Frigg was going to let her out of her sight, and an infinite other amount of variables that meant he was just going to have to wing it. Which meant he left his house preparing for the worst, but made sure that damn brooch was with him -tucked away carefully to avoid falling out on accident, so that if nothing else she could have it back.
But right now... right now he kind of wanted to throw it at her stupid face and storm out the door. Or maybe at Magni's stupid face. Or... judging by Thor's stupid, smug face... his.
Frowning, he flagged over a roving maiden bearing mead, downed a serving and waved her off. “Happy,” he said to Thor, and resumed his sulk.