A fully sober Hank might just squint, disagree on default, because naturally someone taking an ax to the head isn't funny. But here? A little tipsy? There really is a very good chance someone could make a full bullshit recovery from ax-to-the-fucking-head disease. Probably why a place like this could pass any sort of regulatory restrictions.

So he makes a so-so motion.

"I wouldn't envy the waiting staff when they had to clean that shit up. But give 'em a month and I'm betting brain detail is gonna at least be a bi-weekly thing."

Hank is a notable pessimist. Sure every asshole here in the Axhole is ninjaing it the hell up and whacking those targets like Daniel Day Lewis's stunt stand-ins there's gonna be just as many office secretaries that 'accidentally' nail their supervisor.

Anyway. "Nice to meet you. I'm Hank Anderson." He offers his hand up to Loki to shake, friendly as a crotchety fuck as can be to a guy that just expressed enthusiasm to beaning someone with a blade. You know. When in fucking Rome, he guesses.