"And you wondered why I decided not to join you at practice," Loki said dryly. Brull disliked him greatly, and always did his best to corner Loki during practice. For now, at least. Loki had plans for him.

Then his smile went a little too sly, his tone just a little too casual as he asked, "Really, what has your father done in the past about your bumps and bruises? You and Thor are always filthy messes anyway." He made sure to add a little snort of disdain at the end of that last statement, just because he didn't want her to think he was concerned or anything.

But this was the first he'd actually heard Sif admit about her father's displeasure, and already he was considering what plots he could begin to weave if he got an answer he didn't like to that question. The nebulous thought of what she might mean by displeasure had his smile turning into the edge of a knife blade.

Though really, it wasn't as if Sif ever needed his help with anything. She made that clear enough. And it wasn't like they were really friends, not the way she and Thor were friends.

"I don't know how your father thinks you could make a better impression," he drawled. "You certainly spend enough time over here."