Somewhere between the normal hang-out spots on the ship, Ladon has found himself a comfortable spot to do what he does best... Stew in his own thoughts and smoke like a chimney. Of his ridiculous care package courtesy of the Tranquility, the cigarettes and the real, authentic whisky from home are appreciated, and so he's taking some time to himself to enjoy both, away from his room, his mask which has been even harder to resist wearing, and the damn burnt-up doll that has been a source of his near constant bad mood.

While Nieve had taught Ladon to keep himself busy, the first twenty-two years of his life had been spent in a cave. When he wasn't sneaking off to spy on humans, he had gotten used to spending a lot of time with little else but his own thoughts to amuse himself. He's found himself retreating there more and more often lately, going back to how he used to be before he learned to be a little less lizard and a little more human. After all, that's what this damned ship is, right? One massive cave, full of fake light and people, and lots of dark corners to hide in. Hell, there are even bats here, though decidedly less cute and fuzzy than he's used to.

Ha ha. Batman joke.

Anyhow. That pungent smell of campfire and gunpowder mixed with butane that just about overpowers the spicy scent of heated blood, that would be him, settled in one of the cushioned chairs in a random hallway lounge.