"That's bullshit," Ingrid replies. She has a Fereldan accent. It's the reason that she has some measure of familiarity with Byerly, if not necessarily respect for him. If they were back home, she'd absolutely loathe this nobleman with his effete and condescending manner; here, their common origin overrides the class difference.

Despite her immediate resistance, she's watching Cassian closely, her eyes narrowed.

"I tried going up there before. They took one look at me and knew I didn't belong there."

Byerly, helpfully, offers - "Have you tried scowling a bit less? It might do wonders if you didn't look like you were sucking on a lemon."

"Get fucked," says Ingrid.

Byerly gives a sanguine shrug. But for all that he's talking to the woman, his gaze is also on Cassian. His interest is piqued.