Had she been there for the rise of its popularity, there was an image of a certain feline internet celebrity which should have come to Sam's mind as she followed Jenna's gesture over to the gathering of people. Unfortunately she'd spent those days in a drug-induced delirium. The sentiment communicated by that image still resonated in her mind, however, as she imagined herself pinballing off the over-sized bellies of street goers as she tried to shove her way to the front. She scowled and silently resolved that she'd have no part of it. She'd wait until the rest of the group became interested in whatever it was that constituted a reason for dealing with all those crowds, then slip off on her own and do something important with her time.

That thought became less prevalent as the scent of fried goods and grilled meat forced its way into her nostrils. Her stomach turned traitor as well, gurgling its insistence that she visit at least one of the food stalls. For the first time since her "liberation", Sam realized that it had been quite some time since her last real meal. Even through the pungent odor of burnt toast, she had smelled the remnants of what she thought must have been breakfast back at the base, but she'd had her reaction to the halogen lamp before she'd gotten to eat any of it.

"Fine." She grumbled quietly. In retrospect, it likely would have been in her best interests to make her voice heard, but it was a battle between hunger and nature at that point; she cared nothing for human interaction, even if it meant the extended discomfort of hunger pains.

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