Laitnum thought about a great many things during his time off from training or doing something regarding the Iron Dragons. Often times, those thoughts revolved around his boredom, his lack of things to do, and people to do it with. He was an okay guy, a bit of an asshole to some folk, but for the most part, easy enough to get along with.

Friends; it was a word he'd always scoffed at, the very thought of someone needing friends to get by, it was laughable. But...he was bored, he had few people to even be bored with, save for Vi, and usually, they were bickering and tossing insults at one another. So what was he to do?

Friends...the word was repeated over and over again in his mind as he laid in the cot that had been supplied to him in the room at the base, headquarters, or whatever the Hell Vi was calling it this week.

"Bah, friends 're overrated, ye've gotten along just fine without 'em, tae be needin' 'em now," he told himself aloud, for he had indeed, spent most of his life in solitude. He had always been a loner, fighting in large groups, sure, but never was there any sense of comradere between him and his fellow mercenaries. After all, they had all been there simply because the pay was good.

If friends weren't for him, then what? What would the bored Laitnum do with his free time, getting drunk was getting old, and he wasn't stupid, he didn't have a death wish, so he'd toned down his alcohol consumption quite a bit.

"Ye're thinkin tae much is what's the problem, Lait," he told himself, "ye need tae just do what ye always have done," but...what had he always done. Usually, he was off on one operation or the next, or getting drunk in a tavern, with some random pretty young thing on his arm, hopping from one bed to the next without a care in the world. Money and power weren't what he wanted. It was excitement.

Restless, that's what it was. He was growing restless. The Iron Dragons had been the first organization he'd joined, he used to be a simple freelancer, but now, he was a part of a whole group. He'd never been part of anything other than his one man team, it had always been him, and his magic, nothing more, nothing less.

Still, things weren't so bad, there was Vi.

Vi; he often thought of her when he laid around, bored out of his mind, finding himself wondering where she was, or what she was doing. He told himself it was simply because she was the only person he actually knew within the Iron Dragons,, after all, he didn't actually have any friends. So it was natural, to wonder what the only person you knew in an entire organization, world, and so on, was doing, wasn't it?

"Bleh," Laitnum made that sound, that sound of boredom, and disgust, as if disliking what the ceiling to his room had said to him, "I need tae get a hobby, or somethin'," and so, with a chest heaving sigh, he lifted himself from the cot, and rose to his feet.

Stretching out, with a loud, lazy yawn, Lait started over to to the crappy excuse for a dresser, or whatever the Hell you wanted to call it, and snagged some random clothes.

He didn't often wear that suit with him anymore, the one he'd usually wear, with all the magic looking decorations, he didn't need it. That suit, and it's accessories, while looking impressive to some, was all for show, thus, he took to more comfortable and modern articles of clothing now.

That flight suit had become like a second skin to him, something he wore on a regular basis, and as a promise to Vi and Hex, as well as himself, he'd stopped relying so much on his magic. That staff of his, it hadn't been seen in weeks, and though he still used a spell here and there, he relied more on himself and his skill, than his gift for the arcane, to get things done.

That flight suit, it reflected him. Charcoal, black, dark colors that were hard to see, monotonous, and as all dark colors tend to be, mysterious. Lait was more than a grunting mercenary with a thing for alcohol, but let anyone try to say otherwise, and he'd likely break their nose, or worse. That's why he liked those dark colors, that were so contrasting the original whites, they hid things, like he did, a masque that none could see past.

"Think I'm gonna go tae town, get drunk, 'n' piss some people off, maybe I c'n get intae a fight," he mused hopefully to himself as he started for the door to his quarters.

The doors opened with that quiet, faintly audible hiss of pressurized air as Laitnum exited his room. Imagine his surprise when he heard someone crying upon exiting.

Imagine his further surprise when he found it was Vi, who was crying. She'd always been so...well, tough.

"Vi...?" he asked aloud, that accented voice of his holding a tentative air as he slowly inched on over. While his movements were hesitant, that didn't necessarily mean he didn't care. Lait just knew Vi to be a rather easily angered person, and would prefer to not, be attacked.