Oh. So they were going so far as to introduce themselves to one another. Loki wiped his palm on the side of his shirt and extended it to the man. Marcus Keane. Loki tended to have cold hands, whether he was nervous or not. Poor circulation, he'd been told.
"Not quite? Our fields have always informed one another," he said, quirking the slightest of genuine smiles. And just as quickly it wavered. Back home, giving his name was always met with little comments: Oh, you're Odin's little boy! or Ah, yes. Thor's brother. He hated hearing that. But on the West Coast, at least his father was unknown.