Lex really didn't have time for anyone's 'you goddamn anything'; his most like...fatal interpretation of prejudice would center around, uh, Superman, and Thedas did not currently contain one of those. He did harbor a certain common innate suspicion of magic inasmuch as it was power he lacked access to, but the most intelligent attitude there was to live and let live unless people started trying to boil the blood in his veins. Which Lucarius presumably wouldn't do just for sport or anything, this narrative contended. At least not right outside of the War Room, that would just not be politically savvy.

Meanwhile Lex apparently hadn't judged the conversation sufficiently distracting to stop working while having it, the plink-plink-plink of loosening another block a constant undercurrent. At least this one wasn't going to end up on anyone's foot, which Lex addressed acerbically, errant piece of hair casually attacking his eyes.

"If," he contended, thoughtfully, "people really can't get out of their own way enough to take caution on that account, well. Not passing down such a thick layer of obtuse to any future generations might be, mm, the ideal outcome."

Survival of the fittest wasn't per se a concept going by that name at the moment, but maybe Lex would pioneer it. The thought crossed his mind that had said mess fallen on the silent elf, odds were good it wouldn't be considered falling on a person. Ah, Thedas. But! Since they were engaged in reasonable amicability he put his tools down long enough to reach out a super well muscled smith arm...er. A hand, for Lucarius' shaking consideration. "Alexander Luthor," he said, even though narrative had and would continue to call him Lex, at least until it decided whether or not that was too modern a diminutive. As a noble house that had in the last ten years or so drastically increased its wealth, it might have been a name recognizable to most Southerners, but perhaps not Tevinter.