"Of course, of course. I'm sure it won't take him another..." Loki purses his lips, brows knitting as he mockingly tallies out on his fingers. "Oh, eight years? Surely not that long before he manages to get anywhere." The waitress reappears at his elbow to refill his tea, and he waves a hand dismissively at her to leave the pot and go about her other tables. She seems relieved as she bustles away with nary a backward glance. Focusing his oh-so-sharp smile at Steve, his eyes flash with something. "And even if he does, you've all set him up so comfortably he'll not even notice the passing of time. That is aside from whatever little errand you've need of him next, but we all have our minor distractions."