Loki, truth be told, hadn't gotten much past hearing 'the mouthy fallen one will need it' in regards to the sword. Once those words reached him, everything simply faded into the background. Having risen when the others did, he glanced toward Eve with an almost wary expression. Was this really happening? Was he actually about to be given another chance? And so what if the sword was just a fucking loaner, he reasoned as he took the weapon from Eve. It was still a sword meant to do Her bidding. That was what really mattered.
It felt strange compared to the last sword he held, and as Loki turned the blade to and fro in order to admire it from all angles, he realized however belatedly that Bartleby had been saying something. His gaze slowly slid upwards, toward his friend to make sure it hadn't been something directed at him. Then he looked back to his Creator, the smile on his face unable to be suppressed even if he possessed an urge to try and do it as he once more found himself glancing back to the sword.
"Thank you, my Lord," he finally spoke, his tone still holding reverence despite his clearly giddy response to the situation thus far. He dared a slight glance in Her direction. "We won't fail you."
Not again. Not this time. He'd felt Her Wrath and had no intention of feeling it again. Although a small part of him would admit to being curious at how Castiel was going to fare.