Loki turns his head to watch Kobra speak, curious, but also... contemplative. Understanding. Pitying, perhaps. How many times has he walked that path, been the underdog, righteous or no? It's all a matter of perspective, of course, and Loki has log since given up on the notion of truth where such affairs are concerned.

"For what did you come to me?" he asks, once silence has fallen between them. "I can offer you no advice on such matters."

For they're mine, and I've never managed to sort them out either.

"What is my utility to you? I would know." Better up front than through some tedious attempt at subterfuge -- and there must be something. There's always something; that's the price of godhood. One is worshipped (perhaps, at times, though Loki far less than most), but for a price -- and the price is so often steeper than a simple man could possibly know.

What he really wants to know now is not what favour he will be expected to perform or what price to extract in return. He wants to know what the cost to him will be -- and, if it is too steep, to end the conversation now.

Now, before it meanders to still more uncomfortable places.