It's the smell Loki notices, more than anything. The smell of flowers, some humans had ascribed to him, centuries ago. Mistletoe and mullein, among others, drawing him closer out of curiosity. And he senses something, a presence not unlike his own, a presence somehow familiar.

Ah, and then he's being summoned. He steps around the corner of a flesh-covered corridor on gold-hooved feet, a wide smile revealing long, pointed teeth and a longer tongue.

"You called?" he purrs, and while he might have kept Akechi's face, his tone is deeper and lower than any teenager's has any right to be. He bows expansively, red-clawed hands extended at either side. His sword is nowhere to be seen, for the moment.