"Tomorrow, around 1900?" Evening, late enough that it'll help him sleep but early enough that they can get a few solid rounds in before they beat each other into exhausted pulps inside suits of power armor.

After a moment that he spends finishing off his own coffee York levers himself to his feet and snags Locus' cup with a lazy smile. "Stick around. The sunset's pretty close to the real thing."

Somewhere quiet, somewhere safeish. How many vets get that?