Thor is currently a little too deep into his cups to think much harder on the whole talking magpie situation. Honestly, with Loki around, it doesn’t surprise him at all. He can only assume from the name that it’s not the other Loki, though that doesn’t stop Thor from rolling his eye at the bird. “You want to try?”

The little Loki in his arms is a hell of a distraction from having birds criticize his choice in home decorating though, and Thor blinks down at the little boy, just trying to process that whole string of words into something sensible. He’s begun to get used to the occasional visits by friends, the verbal dance around the subject of both the tragedy and Thor’s illness (weakness, his inner voice still whispers nastily), the hesitation in many of them as if they’re afraid they might break him if they say the wrong thing and probably being justified in doing so.

This youthful enthusiasm is almost refreshing after that, if a little overwhelming to suddenly be plunged into it headfirst. “You... you did?”