Asking for a burger, apparently, means lifetime in food court purgatory. But York is determined to have one before the day's out and as long as he's got this pretty damn good coffee and somewhere to sit and flick through puzzles with Delta? He's fine. It almost feels familiar, settled at a random, nondescript table, D pinging through possible solutions in the back of his head, coffee at his elbow, fingers dug deep into a holographic mimicry of an encrypted lock.

If not for the foliage and the giant glowing not sun, the warmth that doesn't come from recirculated air on a ship? He'd feel right at home like he's back in the MOI.

Up till he can't fidget anymore and he rolls back over to the robocook (weird) and asks for an ETA on the burger. "Please, man, can you at least get me fries while I wait?"

Failure brings scorn and pouting not befitting a space marine but, hey. Who cares? he stretches back out on his bench, puzzle in hand, flicking through holographic puzzles, hand reaching up now and then for his coffee. Or, uh, your drink.

His bad, bro.