<em>Ingrid, Lobby with the others. FIRST DAY OF WORK not second.</em><br/><br/>She wasn't sure if she'd rather just crawl back in the bed or not, wanting a cigarette and to get the hell out of dodge, Ingrid shifted her weight from one foot to the other.  She hated large crowds and rarely attended parties or the like around the studio.  Just the auctions.<br/><br/>Her mother had called the night before, her cell phone had unfortunately been in her purse and not burned up in the fire.  Why the fuck not?  She groaned at the memory and had blissfully told her mother where she could stick it.  She hadn't needed a mother since she was eleven, even if she'd had one till she was fifteen.  She didn't need one now, nor their fucked up and butchered rendition of the past.  Memories? Try motion picture events. Based on a true story?  Those usually had little truth and a lot of smoke.<br/><br/>The rest of the previous day she'd spent trying to find things to use as props. She had a whole 'Urban Chic' thing going and they'd see soon what could be salvaged from the old studio. For now the oh so homey dump would work.<br/><br/>Walking in to the room, getting off the outskirts of the people, she kissed Aline's cheek and looked at the woman, waiting on information.<br/>