"I'm sure your freckles are just as intimidating as your lengthy list of battle scars," Loki said, dryly. A fair-skinned, delicate maiden she was not, even when she had not been under an open sky, atop a glaring sea. She had never been quite as pale as he, but there weren't that many shades between them normally.

"Morocco has quite a bit of sun, actually," he replied, leaning in slightly and raising his eyebrows. "Though you'd be correct in assuming I'm mostly active at night. Nocturnal pursuits are rather more my style these days." Morocco, Mexico, Tokyo, Tasmania - so many places in a single world he found himself traveling through. Sometimes he had company, like Natasha. Others he trekked alone. He would bring Sif, if he could trust her not to interfere too much - but, really, she was not useful to him, and that was what he needed. She would not help him, he didn't think, not like Natasha would. She would fight against him, at least until she accepted him and his grand design.

But that was too heavy, too complicated, for him to concern himself with at the moment. Instead, as usual, he preferred to enjoy her present company.