Continuing this thought...
A "mid-hive inn" in Warhammer 40k is quite a different thing from a tavern in some generic fantasy RPG.
In the midhive, it's likely to be crowded with low-level adepts, factory overseers, and off-duty local law enforcement. It's a sweaty, rank place. The stools are iron, worn smooth, with a long-since effaced decorative pattern around the rim. The alcohol is cheap and smells like industrial solvents, but the patrons don't care. They're here to blot out the pain of their untreated sores, or unfulfilled dreams, or the sheer grinding toil of their labour.
Eight hours at the manufactorum, an hour for prayer and contemplation, and then six hours at the machines again. An hour to walk the few kilometres to your hab. An hour to walk to the manufactorum in the morning. A few hours of rest, snatched on a filthy bunk you share with a worker who leaves minutes before you return home. A prayer icon in the corner.
This is the Imperium of Man. This is the setting that is grinding around your players, like the workings of a vast, insane, and corroded clock. Never let them forget it.