The healer's personal knowledge of Thor is scant. They're not really acquainted, though they've certainly seen one another in passing before. She knows him by reputation, though, and whether she finds it sensible or not, she's sure so noble a warrior would not sit idle if a battle arose. She tilts her head to look into his face wryly--and there's a hint of a smile for the first time, just the faintest shadow at the corners of her lips. "If you are not called to battle," she agrees, and nods.

"I don't know why disasters can't wait for more convenient times to occur," Loki puts in. His voice is smooth and casual, even lilting with the touch of sarcasm that's not directed at anyone present, just the dumpster fire that is existence in general. "And they never queue up properly, either, just shoving one another over to get to us. It's rude, is what it is."

He's smirking, but his face is paler than usual. It's upsetting to hear Thor's injury broken down into component parts. Muscle ripped, flesh severed. These things never used to bother him so much, but Thor is...Thor. He was supposed to be invincible, and he is clearly very much not.

Finished typing, Loki looks over to them with his hands in his lap. "What sort of smith are you meeting? Can we trust you near a forge now? Last time, you apparently got too closely involved with the work for your own good."

Fǫnn has not heard this story, but she looks between them with eyebrows raised, and then over to where Stormbreaker is propped up against the wall. "I don't...think I want to know."

"You don't," Loki agrees.

"...I suppose measurements won't be a problem," the healer says softly. Honestly, royalty makes the worst patients.