[Loki's comment is one that causes Malekith to turn and fix the other man with with a stare, a movement that ripples down the cloak draped across his shoulders. There had been no opportunity to change, no need to, and despite still being dressed in the layers of Svartalfar ceremonial finery, Malekith stands tall and proud, unwavering despite the circumstances. Ah, but his crown - that he had deposited immediately after his entrance into the room. It was too gold, too Asgardian. There had been a considerable effort to fashion for them both something of beauty, something combining the grandeur of Asgard with the depth of Svartalfar, gold on dark, ancient metal, but… No force would be enough to accomplish any form of assimilation between them, not in Malekith's mind.

But as his gaze rests upon Loki, it is evident from his expression, or lack thereof, that Malekith holds no favor towards him. There is a predisposed loathing only, but that was no secret.]

We leave the city. It will take the night for your belongings to be transferred to the ship… [Malekith does not have to express his thoughts explicitly, but in his trailing off, his disdain is evident. You need too much, but should I have expected any less from an Asgardian, spoiled from birth?]

I would have assumed you were of the knowledge that this city does not act as permanent residence. A center of culture, yes, but there are locations otherwise that require my attention. We travel by Ark, and you will have quarters aboard the ship I call my own. The outlands call to us, and I… [He pauses, only to give Loki a quick look up and down, blatant in his judging.] … do hope you learn to love this rubble and decay. Svartalfheim is a realm blessedly free of your preconceived notion of charm.