-Technically in Ingrid's Studio.... just not her pants, you pervs....-<br/><br/>Morgan totally did not Perv Ingrid, nor did he rifle through her stuff. He had seen enough when he had been rescuing her art from the alleyway it has landed in. In fact, there was still a pile, albeit, a delicately placed pile, but a pile none the less, sitting stacked on a table. He had held back on his natural inclination to rifle through her clothes and 'borrow' something for one of his shoots. it was not so much a fetish as it was a kleptomaniacal imperative that made him dance on the edge of several stiletto shod ass kickings. Then again, as long as he could pick the lock to Aline's studio, he would never run out of material. if she caught him however, either borrowing, or occasionally putting things back, he was a dead man. In a way it was like the setting of 'The most Dangerous Game,' but in a library where you had to keep coming back to return stuff.<br/><br/>He pushed the thought from his mind, instead focusing on looking out the window. No, it would not help to totally Perv ingrid, get a little happy, and Pinocchio his pants. She would make a comment and then *boom* pants would be down for the jury to decide. Not that this had ever happened.... much.... sometimes. Oh God damnit, alright, he knew it happened rather regularly. That is what the impulse control of a mongoose on crack will get you.<br/><br/>He listened, making sure the shower was not accompanied by the solid thump of a body hitting the floor. Course, if it did he would help Ingrid, that much was certain, hell he would not even take photos. For some reason he felt bad for her, a strange feeling, her was sure he was catching a cold or something. The shower stopped, operation clean body a success as he heard her get out and getting dressed. As he stood there he saw the lights flicker and appear odd for a moment."<br/><br/>"Hey Ingrid.... is there something wrong with the lighting in your studio, I could have sworn they flickered for a moment."