Sensing the meal was drawing to a close, El Sasquatcho wrapped up and stored the leftovers from his own bag, and moved to consolidate whatever anyone else wasn’t working on. He stacked it neatly in the nearby fridge, and left to go to his quarters to change. 
 
His personal space was a bit spartan. It would seem strange that such a colorful guy would have such a bare room to himself, possibly symptomatic of a histrionic personality or some kind of manic disorder. The truth was far simpler, however – the huge, hairy lug just hadn’t had time lately to put “Homey Touches” in his rooms. Oh, how he longed to spread paint across the walls and tack up posters, move in electronics, etc, but his self-imposed training schedule and light day job made this difficult. As it seemed to be a less busy day, perhaps he’d start to rectify that when they all got back from their more recreational pursuits. 
 
El Sasquatcho quickly changed out of his tactical gear and replaced his mask with his original. Worn jeans, black boots, and his favorite Pollo Negro band shirt. He really liked that  shirt. Black Rooster - Mexican Death Metal at its finest. 

He pocketed a moderate amount of cash, grabbed his keys, and replaced his tactical gear on the mannequin. Jogging out to the main room, he called to his companions, "If you're riding with El Sasquatcho, the El Camino train departs in ten!" 

The optimistic luchador walked out to his truck and leaned against the door, taking in the crisp air while waiting for the others.