Thor is hungover, though not so much that this doesn't strike him as being odd, uncomfortable, like waiting for some sort of bad news to break. He looks uncertainly at her hand on his, aware that she's trying to send some sort of message and utterly unable to figure out what it is.

It can't be what happened last night. It can't. When would she have spoken to Loki?

Uneasy, he pulls the glass of ginger ale towards himself instead, sniffing at it and frowning when he doesn't detect so much as a whiff of alcohol. What kind of ale is this? Even the human-strength stuff is usually evident enough for him to tell, no matter that it's not enough for him. "Well, I do have four children to look after this time, not just myself. It's not going to be easier." He sips it, not sure what to make of the flavor, but the bubbles are weirdly soothing. "They're with Solvi right now, I had the night to myself."

He wasn't supposed to, but she doesn't need to know that, he figures.