"I'm a complicated person," Lex cleared nothing up at all in regards to what dues would earn him, or why; it was dry enough to indicate four words covering a multitude of sins. His bizarre trifecta of occupation wasn't secret enough that he wouldn't discuss it, he just defaulted to holding back information until it was useful to share. Then again, if the Luthor name had reached all the way to Minrathous, it might well have been because its youngest scion had thrown together several rarely combined ingredients, so, the point was: "Commit to enough hard labor and sooner or later someone around here will owe me a favor. I'd prefer sooner, not that later can't be said to serve its purposes. Best served cold, as they say."
Labor, favor, later. The repetitive, carefully placed sounds extemporized to catch on the ears and stay in the brain weren't an accident; if Lex had not been all the things he was already he'd have made a killing (.....on so many occasions so literally, tiny sobs) in politics.
If Lucarius was stitching shut that vein of conversation Lex wouldn't press it; while he had no interest in owning slaves and had been raised with the concept as repellant by virtue of the Southern part of the world, well--he'd been born into a family line probably not all that stable to begin with, not exactly softened by upbringing he held so far below the public eye the Deep Roads looked shallow in comparison. A wellspring of empathy he was not.
What he was, was an appreciator of good strategy, and sending Lucarius on behalf of the Senate was certainly that. See?, it said, not so much as raising its voice, there is a middle ground between the Venatori and the 'good Tevinter' gracing the Inquisition's presence. Lex inclined his head and picked up his tools to resume working on the wall, presumably to impart 'sure, ain't no thang,' except that. You know, no one in Thedas would ever like, say that. "I did almost crush your foot. It seems unfair to do you near-insult in addition to near-injury."
no subject
Labor, favor, later. The repetitive, carefully placed sounds extemporized to catch on the ears and stay in the brain weren't an accident; if Lex had not been all the things he was already he'd have made a killing (.....on so many occasions so literally, tiny sobs) in politics.
If Lucarius was stitching shut that vein of conversation Lex wouldn't press it; while he had no interest in owning slaves and had been raised with the concept as repellant by virtue of the Southern part of the world, well--he'd been born into a family line probably not all that stable to begin with, not exactly softened by upbringing he held so far below the public eye the Deep Roads looked shallow in comparison. A wellspring of empathy he was not.
What he was, was an appreciator of good strategy, and sending Lucarius on behalf of the Senate was certainly that. See?, it said, not so much as raising its voice, there is a middle ground between the Venatori and the 'good Tevinter' gracing the Inquisition's presence. Lex inclined his head and picked up his tools to resume working on the wall, presumably to impart 'sure, ain't no thang,' except that. You know, no one in Thedas would ever like, say that. "I did almost crush your foot. It seems unfair to do you near-insult in addition to near-injury."
Let us laugh at his cleverness, won't we?