"You know what I mean." He's holding the cup with both hands. Just holding it. You wouldn't know it to look at him, but its warmth is mollifying. Maybe that's why he decides, "Egh, it doesn't matter, just— please, do not sneak up on me like that."

The space Viktor has claimed, such as it is, is all makeshift: lightweight metal pallets stacked on a wheeled jack meant to convey them, said wheels being currently locked. The topmost pallet has a smooth surface—he's also scrounged up a square of broadly corrugated plastic, convenient for keeping little screws and things from rolling away. The few low crates that were already here provide a convenient arrangement of improvised side tables, and he borrowed (stole) a few utility lamps for light. These and the soldering iron currently on deck are powered by a portable power station roughly the size of a toolbox, unless the mods read this and decide no, in which case I will change it. He also brought a blanket, not currently in use, because sometimes he gets cold.

All in all, it's actually kind of cozy, if you squint. You know, besides the haunting industrial atmosphere and perpetual crush risk.

Anyway, "Did you need something?"