Date: December 16th 2020 Time: 10:19 am Location: Ground Up Café

Listen: it’s not like she meant to come storming into the cafe looking like smoke’s about to come out of her ears. Really. Not the intention, not at all. But there’s no avoiding it. Not right now, as she clenches her jaw so tight it feels like it could snap in on itself. The barista is practically shaking in his boots at the sight of her and Ingrid is bound toward ordering anyhow when she spots Morgan. Sitting with an expression that seems to be either alarm or concern (or, knowing Morg, both) and already with two cups of coffee in hand. It’s enough to make Ingrid deflate, or at least check herself, exhaling before muttering a gruff apology to the employee in question. She then settles onto the stool across from Morgan — though settling may be a strong word. A foot taps, hands clench and unclench, and nostrils flare. “Such bullshit, Morg — thank you.” She’s not so uncouth as to not be grateful for the coffee. Even if caffeine may be the last thing she needs right now. All the same, she takes a sip, then runs a hand down her jaw before continuing. “It is such bullshit. Says he doesn’t know a thing. Which, of course, why would he tell the truth? But he’s not even going to save the skin of his own people? I’m not his closest fuckin’ crony, I get that, but he’s gonna let me die for that? Forget me, huh, what about Clark? Says it’s ‘a most unfortunate tragedy,’ and he wishes he knew. If he thinks I believe that fuckin’ garbage—” It’s only then that she realizes that her voice has risen, that eyes are on her again. With a clearing of her throat, Ingrid settles further down in her seat, waiting for eyes to be averted before she continues, softer now. “I don’t wanna feel like I’m bound to go through that shit again. Hell, I don’t wanna put you through that shit again. I just... I can’t fuckin’ take this sitting down. I can’t. But no one’s gonna help me, it seems. Everyone’s forgotten but me. You and me.” Foot still drumming, Ingrid gives her head one last vehement shake before looking to Morgan fully. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to — I’m not trying to yell at you. Sure isn’t your fault. I just...” A shrug, a sip of coffee, and she tries to mind her manners. “How, uh... how’s your morning, anyway? Better than mine?”