At least in his own timetable it was a new day.

Time passes, as it always does, without needing the sun to guide the way. In the sewers, often left unlighted by the carelessness of several prisoners, one can never gauge time properly, unless one could create a machine that measures time correctly.

Not that he cared about time and it's continuous, unstoppable and unending passage, but he didn't really want to miss any meal just because he slept past eating time.

Slowly Sid opened his eyes to look at the gloomy ceiling he has been looking at for quite some time. A month in the sewers has been enough for his eyes to get adjusted to the relative darkness of the tunnels connecting through most of the city, and ever since then he has found it unnecessary to grope blindly to look for his flint and tinder to light up the oil lamp, one of the presents he 'received' when he 'left' the Winghordes. Nevertheless it has become a habit to just lie down looking at the ceiling for a while in order to adjust to the overall gloominess of the sewers.

Once he felt that he was able to see properly he got up from the straw mat that doubled as a chair when he wanted to sit down and reflect on things, mostly the tricks he had played on people in the past. He stretched himself, turning his stiff neck left and right several times to shake off the sleeping bugs that sometimes end up in his lock of long hair, which looks more like an unkempt mop at times when he has just awakened. He stretched his wings as well, to make sure that they are just as strong as they were when he went to sleep. He does his normal flying exercises daily, the preresquite for all of his race, or else they may lose the use of their wings, which are extremely useful when travelling and running away.

Without knocking over anything he found the tinder and flint on the top shelf of one of the two pieces of furniture in the tiny room he has called home for the past month or so. Once the oil lamp was lighted up he checked his surroundings, his humble room that he emigrated to a month ago. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a rickety table that he found lying in the corner of the very room he made his home, kept meticulously clean despite his usual bad habit of bringing junk, thrown without thinking by the humans into the sewers, back, piling them up in a heap in another corner of the room. With the exception of that particular corner, everything was in order, even the food on the table.

Sid glanced at the food that was left. A chunk of moulding bread, several fruits, some with worm holes visible. The mould was passable, it wouldn't do much harm to his iron intestines, but the fruit wasn't anywhere near best condition. Still, it wouldn't be a waste if he bit off the parts with the wormholes. Maybe the worms could be a tasty appetizer to the bread. Normally meals are based on what he could scanvage form the crumbs left over by the kobolds, who were massive eaters. He didn't stoop to stealing, which was one of the main reasons he left the Winghordes, but taking food that was left behind by fleeing people wasn't tantamount to stealing, in his own warped logic. On lucky days he can help himself to slabs of meat, on others he is satisfied with just a loaf of bread.

Once he was done with his breakfast (or lunch, as humans would call it) he carefully gathered the crumbs into one small pot meant especially for holding leftovers. It was nowhere near full, but Sid had no idea what to do with them, apart from polluting the water further. For now the small pot would do. When it was full he would go about finding another one to suit the purpose of a waste basket. It wasn't much, but at least he did his part in keeping the sewers clean from too much trash.

Then he settled down to his daily ritual of checking and cleaning of his weapon. Granted that in times of relative peace within TwoRiver meant that he never did point the spear at anyone, nor could he find any living fish in the smelly waters of the sewers, but he still maintained it as best as his mediocre skills allowed. As Chako said:" Even if you are the laziest bum in the whole universe, you still need to take care of your weapon. Who knows when you will be forced to point it at some stupid human or proud kobold!!" It was true, and since then he has made a point to spend a little time after waking up to inspect his weapon for rust stains (which appears EVERY morning without fail) or chipping (which hardly ever occurs), and do his best to get rid of them. This has been the only thing he has been doing diligently every day, other than eating at the correct times.