It occurs to him much too late that he's no where near clothed properly for these kind of conditions. He feels equal parts foolish and furious, because while the ways to protect oneself from the elements should be common knowledge, Loki can hardly be blamed for the errors he makes when forced to learn those lessons for the first time without warning. He's been wrong-footed since he arrived, his frustrations simmering hotly just under the thin(remarkably thin, and only wearing thinner) guise that he's handling any of this well, and being caught out alone in the middle of a damned blizzard isn't doing what scraps of moral he has left any favors.

It's almost a relief, then, to hear the voice of another just barely creeping up over the wind and the snow. Surely there is some kind of safety in numbers, even here, and he thinks perhaps it might be someone he knows as he turns towards the figure making its way to him through the mess around him.

He's right, of course, but not exactly in the way he expected. Oh, indeed.

"Jane Foster." His brother's...well. He's not sure it matters here. He wonders briefly if Thor is aware of her presence.

This isn't the right place for this, caught in the middle of a storm and freezing all the way down to his bones, but-- "I see neither time nor location has improved your ability to deliver a proper greeting."