Ritchie was piling a veritable feast on his plate. The burgers were already piled up, a few mini corndogs and chips there, up and up and--
--dammit, they sort of jumped with Ritchie at someone calling him. The skinny Brit-American did a funny jump turn, eyes widening at the mention of his actual name. A few burgers hit the table and he went to catch them, a few hitting the floor in a storm of gangly limbs.
"Sorry, sorry, hold on!" Ritchie waved a hand for a moment as he picked the mess up, looking mournfully at the spilled food before he stood up, clearing his throat. He smiled at Giles, plate half full now, extending his hand to shake it firmly. "Uh, sorry about that! M-My name's Ritchie, yeah."
Giles reminded him a bit of his dead with his accent (different from the Scouse-American bastardizationhybrid he had), not to mention the suit. "Ever'one calls me Ritchie. Nice t'meet you. Gave a nice speech, even if I, uhm, didn't know everyone mentioned."