<br/><div class="floatleft">(http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/c8/88/e5/c888e5269a9fd9ce9dd07279cbb1c294.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Ryder Monroe<br/><br/><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Parker lobby<br/><br/><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Martina, Damon, Dmitri, Denise<br/><br/><br/><strong>Content:</strong>In search of food<br/><br/><br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>something like  http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/09/ce/8c/09ce8c448092a08a73e8368a5dc9ccf8.jpg (http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/09/ce/8c/09ce8c448092a08a73e8368a5dc9ccf8.jpg)<br/><br/><br/><hr/><br/>The eyeroll that greeted Martina's own burger sally should have popped them out of Ryder's head. "Oh, yeah, like yours is made of gold? Like I haven't heard<em>that</em>before." Still, she had to give the girl props for not freaking out. Her grin took the edge off her snark some.  If she could keep up her end, the restaurant chick could turn out to be fun for a while.<br/><br/>Then, bizarreness upon bizarreness, memoryboi- uh, Damon, was offering Dmitri a change of clothes...right there. "Whoo!  Skin show!," she shouted, clapping loudly (like she did nearly everything), and nudging Martina with a bony elbow. "Got a camera?  This shit's got to be worth something."<br/><br/>As she looked past Dmitri, though, she saw a blonde woman in the lobby, fighting with enough luggage to open a Vuitton store. "Hey!" Tossing her chin, she tried to attract the others' attention to the newcomer. "Somebody order Chinese? Like a whole fucking LOT of Chinese?"