<em>Ingrid talking with Crash, Spencer, and Ghost</em><br/><br/>Behind the bar, she looked at those who drifted in one right after another.  That's the way that it worked sometimes, wasn't it? Everyone came in at once like someone done gone and rang that damn dinner bell.  Smirking as Ghost ordered around the prospect and latched on to the nearest piece of ass, having been in both spots at one point, she just shook her head. Prospecting was harder than being a sweet butt, she had thought. Some of the guys had given her shit, some had been complete dicks, while others had been super awesome and had treated her well. As a sweet butt all she was expected to do was open her mouth and spread her legs, but keep her tongue quiet unless she was asked to talk. That wasn't how she'd handled it though. Ingrid rarely backed down and only when she knew it was a fight she couldn't win.<br/><br/>"Legal for what, Ghost? Voting?" She smirked at that and looked forward to the woman getting to work after her drink - maybe then she and the little sweetener packets wouldn't have war!  She eyed the little things, knowing that it was her OCD and not the sugars. Every packet had to be neatly in the cups, facing the same way, the same number in each cup. Neatly.  She hated it.<br/><br/>Crash at least had the brains not to ask her to get the beers for him; all she'd have done was told him to step lively and earn his colors.  She grinned at the thought and moved to pull out the red tray that held the salt and pepper; sticking it on top of the box that held the demon packets in white, blue, pink and yellow.  Awww. Shit.  "Hey, Spencer, you working today?"  Where the hell was that old sweet bitch Riley at?<br/><br/>"Yeah, celebrate big because in nine more years you're thirty," Ingrid said, grinning widely. "You know what your tits'll say then? 'Perk up! People'll think we're nuts!"<br/><br/><br/><br/>