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The audience very much liked that. Loki and Fandral were instantly bombarded with a rioting approval that crashed over them in a wave of sound- it was finally enough so that those on the other side of the hall began to stop what they were doing to look up in curiosity.
Right then, far over Fandral’s right shoulder was where Loki spotted Thor, clutching a tankard of mead and squinting through the congested room at the ever-growing crowd. The Thunderer’s brow was knitted with confusion, and though Volstagg, Sif, and now Hogun were all within arm’s reach, he appeared to be the only one of them looking even remotely in Loki’s direction. Volstagg had discovered a tray of pork roast and was eyeing it ravenously, only half-listening as a warrior called Vidar tried to tell him something; Hogun sat quietly nearby, his attention directed to a woman Loki didn’t know as she engaged in what appeared to be the telling of an extravagant story; and Sif was chatting up a bearded man with a ponytail that Loki recognized as Haldor, attempting to pull him onto the main dancefloor. Despite all this, Thor’s eyes had somehow made their way to Loki as he faced the swordsman, surrounded by rowdy party-goers.
Loki watched his mouth form the word, “Brother?” just as the crowd shifted to obstruct his view, forcing the Trickster’s attention back onto Fandral.
A moment passed in which nothing was said, until Loki lifted his chin in the swordsman’s direction.
“Dansefest,” he said. Behind the word was a song, a fast one. Fandral bared his teeth in an elated smile, and the crowd erupted around them. Loki was in.
“So be it!” Fandral swaggered toward the ravenette, pausing and balancing his weight on one boot as he passed him. He hesitated and leaned in slightly, his next words hushed and daring.
“Let us hope your feet are as quick as your tongue.”