The magpie next to him fluttered its wings and chirped what could only be described as a laugh. "A cape he says..."
There were no words from the cerulean entity within him. Instead his mind filled with an image of a large Asguardian man, his brow furrowed with centuries of troubles. He wore armor scored from many battles...and would probably be a nice fit. Well all but the right hand. There was no gauntlet there, for the simple reason being that there was no hand. Even without asking, for some reason Creed was informed how the man lost his hand.
He'd lost it while helping Thor chain one of Loki's children to some frigid god-forsaken rock. He could hear the gigantic wolf whimpering "I'm sorry..." before Thor wedged a sword into its open mouth.
The Tesseract seemed to know that Creed's awareness of this particular cruelty would aid the feral in his attainment of his preferred garment....