There comes a time in every man's life when he finds himself totally, utterly, completely...

bored.

It's a quiet day on the Last Refuge.  No fires rage.  No demons brawl.  Men and women, gods and devils, cats and dogs live quietly, if not peacefully.  Even White Arcing Lightning is showing considerable restraint, caught up in some sort of week-long busywork that could only mean trouble later on.

But for now, there's nothing.  On these sorts of days- which have gotten rarer- he's usually visited by Smoker, who usually tells him to relax or otherwise takes care of him like a concerned father.  But today his oldest friend is busy, probably poring over the hundreds of reports.

Maybe Smoker will send him something for the day.  Maybe.  But since it's 10 AM and he's gotten nothing, it's likely Smoker has decided he shouldn't bother Daniel.

Daniel's sparse, spartan apartment has been dusted, cleaned, and the refrigerator restocked- all with food he doesn't like.  The cleaning staff must be new, too, because they've touched his armory bench and moved his tools around into what they think must be a more orderly configuration.