( When Loki leaves his lesson with Rick it's with a singed sleeve, a broken phial, and a face as dark as thunder. The man is obviously a genius when it comes to potion-making but his slovenly habits lend themselves to chaos—and not the kind of chaos that Loki likes to encourage in others. Their session had ended when their work had gone up in flames, causing Loki to spit a tirade of insults at his tutor, who had drunkenly (and quite dismissively) shouted him out with claims that he'd be back.

The worst part is, he's right. Loki has already learned a great deal under his tutelage, and he likes that the man has no discernible morals when it comes to what he will and won't teach.

As such, he's in a foul mood when he throws himself back out onto the streets of Kyst, his hood pulled up and his cloak flapping behind him as he strides through the mud-trampled snow. He needs to head towards the market to purchase some supplies before he heads home; possibly not the best idea, considering he's as likely to snap as not at this point, but he's running out of tea leaves, wine, and bread, and needs all three for a satisfactory supper.

He's rounding a corner at a brisk pace when he walks straight into—ah, Dante, which has him staggering for a moment before managing to right himself. Immediately, he lifts a gloved finger to stop the other man before he opens his mouth: )

No—not a word. I'm in no mood to deal with you today, Dante.