"Aw, and here I thought we had something special, Prancer."

Loki stared at the man who was still fiddling with the ivory sphere, wrecking his brain from where he could know that person, because he couldn't have forgotten someone with a signature like this, right? Right.
"I do believe you must be mistaking me for someone else."

The man's expression of chagrin did not waver.
"It is you, alright. Loki, God of all things Chaos, Mischief and 'Kneel!', the one with a helmet only slightly more stylish than Thor. Though I really shouldn't be surprised that you don't remember me, hm? Was just an ant back then after all."

For a long moment he was at a loss, especially considering that he hasn't worn his helmet in centuries (wearing it seemed to always get him into... situations).
Until something suddenly seemed to click into place ('An ant had no quarrel with a boot!' - 'In the end you will always kneel!' - 'How will your friends have time for me, when they're so busy fighting you?' - 'I'll have that drink now, if it's all the same to you?'), and he could barely keep the shock off his face once he realised just who was lounging in that leather chair in front of him. Though going by Stark's grin he utterly failed.
"What in the Norns' name have you done to yourself?!"

Loki remembered the clear, crisp aura (almost like a signature, just not quite) Stark had when he'd tried to invade Midgard on Thanos' order, how that very aura had (somehow) rebounded the sceptre's magic effortlessly. (How he lifted the man by the neck and threw him out of a window.)

The Stark who was in front of him seemed a bit smaller than the one he remembered, though his statue hadn't changed much, his face had stayed the same, perhaps gained some hardness, the hair was a bit longer, his beard unchanged, though he thought that the silver in those eyes was new.

"Oh, you know," Stark said, lazily waving his hand that was holding the sphere, "This and that, nothing special. But hey, why don't you sit? It's going to take a little longer until Femke's core isn't in critical condition anymore. The kid didn't even feel it. Is he always that much of a numbskull?"

"Nothing special?!" Loki burst out in disbelief, temporarily ignoring the insult to his student, "Your aura is gone, your signature shredded into a dozen pieces, sown together by Death herself and you say nothing special?!"

Stark looked at him, grin wide and splitting his face, teeth sharper than a human's had any right to be (except that he obviously wasn't human anymore).
"Aww, you care." he cooed, and Loki could feel something flicker in the man's magic, and while it didn't feel malicious the god felt like he should leave. Really, he should, even a hint of a predator's signature never did any good to anyone.
Except that that of course wouldn't change his decision to stay as long as Femke was in the tank, restoring his magic. Perrygen Essence was rare and even Loki didn't own more than a vial (and had never seen as much in one place as Stark held).

So instead the god let out a snort, "Hardly. Though imagine my surprise. I thought you mortals were all dust and gone."

"You didn't even remember 'us mortals', not that I'm one of them anymore. Haven't been for a long- long time, trust me. Or no, don't trust me. Might get you killed and what would a world without chaos be, hm?"

"Are you threatening me?" he drawled while shoving aside a couple of things on the desk Stark was working at, creating some space for himself to sit as he couldn't spot another chair.

"Nope." the man answered cheerfully, placing his heels onto the desk next to Loki's hips, "Not threatening, just stalling. I do tend to get bored every once in a while, and as you can imagine there isn't much company around."

"What is this anyway?" Loki asked, gesturing at the citadel surrounding them, "Exile?"

The man laughed, "Yeah, something like that. Getting away from staring people and their stupid questions. Have you noticed? They always ask the same thing and never like the answers!"

Loki couldn't help himself but smile.
"I noticed." he answered, looking over to the tank that Femke was floating in. He could sympathise with that, really. One of the many reasons he was on Alfheim was that elves didn't give a damn about rumours without proof, and even if you have a reputation they treat you politely until you proved yourself unworthy of their kindness.

To the god's surprise a companionable silence took over between them, only filled by the noises of various experiments around them, the creaking and rustling of roots and foliage above, and the occasional gurgle in one of the other tanks.
He felt himself relax, leaning back on his hands, watching Stark imbue the sphere with that crooked magic of his, which, now that Loki spent some time surrounded by it, didn't feel as wrong as before. While it still certainly didn't pass for natural, the different elements always seemed to shift to accommodate and stabilise each other, what didn't explain the sudden appearance of that animalistic (predatory) glee he'd felt before, though who knows.
Even a hale and stable magic core shifts with emotions.