"That seems an odd thing for people to assume they're mythological. They're not even that bizarre as far as insects go. Centipedes and mantids are far stranger." Loki...sort of likes bugs. At least on an aesthetic level. He doesn't want to live with them, especially.

"I excel at good tricks," he says, verbally preening, and holds out the hand cupped under the illusion gamely. Where her touch passes through it, it shimmers green-gold and dissolves, only to reform a second later.

Loki tends not to throw sparks except when he really means to, but it's hard to maintain an image while he's drunk and the airspace where it lies is being prodded. "It would be charming if they could breathe fire," he muses. "But the real thing does not. At least the Earth ones don't."