<em>Ingrid, entering the auction, a little late, she thinks</em><br/><br/>After coming back from her trip home, tying up some family matters after the private detective had come knocking on her door, she had assured her parents that she was alive.  They were the reason that she'd run away as a teenager, furious with them for their cruel treatment.  She couldn't make them happy in any way that she turned and now that she had made a name for herself, without their help, they wanted to find her? Fuck that, fuck them.  She didn't give a shit.<br/><br/>Late for the beginning of the auction and quite without a costume.  Her leather jacket, Daniel's that he'd left behind when he'd split, hung over her shoulders and whipped around her hips.  Her black jeans clung to her legs, thighs, and ass as she made her way in, and her black band tank top hugged her breasts.  She had her hair down and curled, her makeup on heavily as usual. She couldn't blame him for leaving, she supposed, the job offer was a good one but she was angry that he'd done so with such little preparation.  That alone told her that he cared little for her.<br/><br/>She held a half-smoked cigarette in her hand and stood near the back, daring anyone to make her put it out.  She wasn't in a good mood and she needed to talk to Aline as soon as possible.   She realized that it was perhaps the first time that she'd been without her camera in that building.<br/><br/><br/>