Riley is, for want of a better term, a paradox. His slim, feminine physique is right at home in skinny jeans, skirts and panties, but his interests go in a totally different direction. Guns, books on military history, and camping are all major hobbies of his- hell, an old Mosin-Nagant carbine sits beside his bed, loaded and lubricated with the finest cosmoline. His second interest, coincidentally, is his college major. His grandfather was very old-school, having grown up on the streets in New York in the late 60's, and passed on some kernels of wisdom to Riley before his passing, though aside from a few fundamental, and often cryptic, basics, Riley has the street smarts of a cuttlefish.

When he can't be found heatedly debating the nature of early Anglo-Saxon warfare with his fellow students, or planning out new out-of-the way (in his own words) "Deliverance-type shit" camping locations off the beaten trail, he can be found bartending at the local establishment, making himself sociable and chummy with the clientele, lending an ear to the girl (or guy) drinking away the sting of a bad break up, or whatever else is driving them to drink.

Riley is never caught (even at college, as his miraculously allows it) without a little pocket-rocket .38 special, usually tucked into a holster in the back of his jeans, hidden by an over-sized shirt and a jacket.

Ave Nex Alea!