"Oh, Sif," Loki said, warmly, pleasantly. She was acting different, strangely sylph-like and flirtatious. Womanly, even. Not that Loki ever thought of Sif as anything but a woman, but certainly not her in the role of a woman in regards to a man. Or something like that. He wasn't even sure. "You are so drunk," he laughed.

The fireworks were a nice touch. Just because Loki did not fully understand the point of the whole thing didn't mean that he couldn't admit it was a good evening. They had yet to snarl at or offend one another, and Loki couldn't recall the last time he had enjoyed himself with the past looming so close over his head.

She looked good underneath the brightly coloured explosions, and again he wondered what on earth had gone through his brother's head that he hadn't gone after her when it had been clear to literally the whole of Asgard that she would not have been averse to it.

"Well, Happy New Year," he said. And while she was feeling so merry and less-violent than usual, he placed his hand against her cheek and moved to press a courtly kiss against the other.