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Ingrid was half way through a basket of liquor already, and she was currently slurping down another mouthful with a gleeful "fuck you" to her kidneys. She wasn't drunk yet, but it was safe to say she wasn't thinking too rationally at the moment.
She turned her attention back to the festival and found a tiny pegasus prancing towards her. Woah, he's like the size of a zephyr. He'd be so inconspicuous, probably barely needs a running start to get off the ground... HE'S TOTALLY A SPY.
The pony walked up an introduced himself as Pip. "Hi Pip," she chortled. If that's even your real name,
I mean, if I were a spy, I'd give myself a more bad-ass name for undercover stuff than Pip, but hey, that's his deal.
"I'm Ingrid," she stuttered, clearly far more attentive than usual. He had an accent too. She didn't know exactly where it was from, but it was definitely a spy accent.
"So, who do you work for—I mean, what herd do you belong to?"
