If Loki had been the type to be put off by strange appearances, half of his children would never have been born. Even so, seeing Iris's face change in the light from the lamps around them was enough to pull him up short, standing a good ten feet from where the woman stared at him. If forced to guess, he would have said that transformation was very much like what must have happened to Richard on the bus when he came forth. But he was no fool, and this was no game of riddles. It seemed far better to be sure of where he stood than to guess.
"Your pardon, ma'am," he said, feeling the old and too-familiar stiffness of the scar tissue in his lips as he spoke. "I had mistaken you for another." He made sure to tilt his head slightly as he spoke the lie. It was enough, he thought, to belie his words, but not so much as to make them unbelievable. If she chose to let it go, he would not press the point. "Could you direct me towards the Pax Letale?"