"You know," Loki said, gesturing. "Guys with wings on their backs. That Aziraphale fellow who just left us handles a paint gun well enough by the way. So does Gabriel. So does Baraq for that matter. I was nearly as colorful as they were when we were done."

He wiggled his fingers as if he had to actually count his children.
"I had two sons by my wife, who were murdered by my fellow gods. I have three children by my mistress, who were banished by my fellow gods. Hel made a home for herself in the realm of the dead that died dishonorably, basically meaning not in battle. Jormundangr is living in the seas and Fenrir was bound and hidden from me. My last son I bore myself. He takes on a horse's shape and serves Odin."

More and more bitterness had crept into his voice as he had talked, and he had permitted it. "Fenrir has three sons, but they are... busy."