The vandal's head turns, a flash of that glimmering visor in the gloom as he glances up over his shoulder. Surprised to be addressed, but not terribly shocked to be called out. He must be weighing his words then, for he's not too hasty to speak.

"Sometimes much. Sometimes little." He stops before a side door, a second before it opens to admit a servitor and its attendants. Lexoris waits respectfully for the machine to glide off down another corridor before he looks up at Loki.

"You are..." and he's not sure of this word, now, not sure it carries the correct weight in this alien tongue, "undecided."