<em>Ingrid, pissy, seething, and watching</em><br/><br/>She watched Aline doing her auction thing, smiling a tiny bit at how the woman could command a room.  Surprised at how the woman abruptly left the stage, she listened to the clicking of Myobi's heels and watched her swoop in upon someone who was passed out. Oh. Wow.  She shook her head. "Morgan," she whispered under her breath.  Brilliant artist, complete tool.<br/><br/>A smirk curled her lips as Aline shoved the photographer into the floor.  Sweet.  That already made her feel better. A bowling pin shoved up his ass would likely do him wonders. She privately rooted for it.<br/><br/>Snorting at Aline's words about her return, she shook her head. "Couldn't stand those sons of bitches when I was fifteen, can't stand them now."  She nodded. "Shot of whiskey."  Ingrid, a recovering addict, only drank socially or when she was likely to put someone on the business end of a bowling pin.<del>Hello, Morgan</del><br/><br/>She hugged Aline and sighed, looking down at the drunkard. "Eat shit and die, Morgan," she muttered.  "Yes, streak, so we can all laugh at your little baby dick."  Okay, so maybe picking on Morgan wasn't the most adult thing to do, but it sure made her feel better.<br/>