Ingrid listened to the others of the patrol filling everyone in of the details of death with an empty expression, being so used to death and despair as she once worked as a source of medical attention during war. Only the inwards curl of her lips would serve the thought of being glad that spencer was examining a severed head, Ingrid loved working with live or [i] barely [/i] alive things, it was one less body bag to send back with pieces of humans during the past wars.

 Under the essence of her quietness, her brain worked smoothly like a clock, stitching together an idea.She unconsciously finds herself rubbing her hands over her arms where her old scars almost feel as if to be itching with an old pain. The memory of hot, burning pain would linger until Marcus made his depart. Ingrid snapped out of her own world, using the couch’s armrest to push her to a stand (her sore joints would crack during this). “Huah. The work of the order ages us all faster than time.” Ingrid added, nodded to Victor, acknowledging his answer and work.

 The blonde female caught up with Marcus when they would be out of the earshot of ones in the library. “Let me accompany you. I wish to hear your grandfather’s wise words if you let me , perhaps the answer is like a puzzle, the pieces coming from a joint agreement.” Her french accent rubbed off on some of the words in an odd way, yet their forwardness added a serious tone.