@concedoxnulli
Ah yes, a glorious dawn of a new cycle had all but rendered the previous events of yesterday as nothing more than a lucid dream. Terminus awoke fully recharged, and feeling far less dodgy than the conclusion of his prior shift. It was a mundane, if not tedious routine - starting the process of powering up, hitting the washracks, and culminating in morning provisions in the mess hall with a briefing on the worldly events topside by perusing the news on a smuggled data pad. (Forgice the runon sentence.) Terminus may have been another degenerate grunt, but he still espoused some forms of intellect. He hummed some sort of Tarnian hymn as he made his way to the mostly empty cafeteria. The majority of his colleagues preferred to catch as many extra moments of stasis before the changing of the guard, hungover from sordid nights of gambling and cheap high grade. Plebians... Upon his arrival, he plopped himself down at his regular spot, and began to absorb his rations while simultaneously pouring his attention into current events. Absent mindedly he stretched his legs for the bench that would normally sit opposite him, and found they fell heavily against the floor. Curious... Furrowing an optic ridge, he set the data pad down and slowly lowered himself to glance beneath the table. The bench was gone. That had an easy explanation, perhaps a brawl had taken place and the bench was just a random casualty. Or... maybe the little orange orb had sequestered the bench and had taken it back to his little ghost realm... "Rubbish" he mused aloud, focusing his attention back upon the data pad. However, the little inkling gnawed at the back of his helm that the events with Fixit, as he had referred to himself, had in fact transpired, and he was still aboard the crazy train.
That bench had been absolutely perfect for reaching the door handle of his new residential quarters. Allowing him to not only turn the handle from atop the bench, but to push the door inwards to finally grant him access to his new 'home' after a good six hours of being on the ground down here. Hm, but what to do with said bench? It would be inconvenient to go get a bench every time he wanted to get into his habsuite. But if he puts the bench back, he would no longer be able to open the door from the inside. Not without rearranging the very minimal amount of furniture that was inside. By which, we mean a berth. That is it. One berth. For a miner, this would almost be claustrophobic in size. For a tiny lil guy? This was spacious as frag! More room than he ever had privately assigned to himself on the Alcamor, and everything was shared up there!
So, he's keeping the bench. Lets him open the door from the inside if he every has guests. Don't mind him just parking right beside the rear of the door, and proceed to blowtorch a little archway that he can wheel in or out at any time without cause for a handle. Never really had doors on the Alcamor. Let's keep it that way!
Which means, it is ration time!
Leaning forwards to zip and zoom down the hallways, and Fixit is wheeling out of stepping range as he studies the mess hall for how exactly this worked. From the looks of it, mecha queued by these weird little machines, and a cube popped out. They took it, they left, and found somewhere to sit to ravenously inhale it.
"..." He was nowhere near tall enough to grab the cube that would pop out. And wasn't like he could just stand in the queue with another bench till it was his turn. Hm, what to do. What to do?
