[ti]open[/ti]Checkin out the continental breakfast.

Dawn of the final Day.

Orion let out a loud yawn, bowl of prepacked captain munch in one hand, weird Pokémon miltank milk promotional content in the other.  He sure as fuck wasn't going to let a moment of the last day of the con go to waste.  He had memories to make, memes to enact, stamps to collect and jorts to earn.  It was go time, and every motherfucker worth their salt knew that the key to a good day was to start it right with a healthy breakfast.

Unfortunately for Orion, and most con contenders, the complimentary continental breakfast couldn't conjure enough croissants to quell his cravings.  He wasn't sure if it was a supply problem, or an excess of demand but the pickings were about as slim as a starving snake forcing him to settle from the previously mentioned captain munch.  

Whatever, the fighter was certain he had some emergency rations tucked away in his Camaro, probably a couple of Brotien bars, maybe a slim jim or two if he was especially lucky.  All things aside he'd actually remembered to scan for the dreamer stamp at the front desk this time.  One step closer to the cosmic space jorts that would make his ass look out of this world. 

Truly he would become the lord of the Jorts, not quite jeans but way cooler than shorts.  

With another loud yawn he would find a chair that looked way more comfortable than it actually was and set to work opening the presealed bowl of cereal, pouring the "Miltank" milk into it, and then going to work munching down and engaging in the ultimate passtime.

People watching.