[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=008080]William Harper[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]http://bp1.blogger.com/_Cvg_ihwb29U/R0UTBXWNcjI/AAAAAAAAAFs/VvbUgB18a7A/s400/EquilibriumStill0100-ClericJohnPreston(ChristianBale)MD.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=teal]Location:[/color][/b] Bridge [hr][/center]

	Lieutenant Harper couldn't quite suppress a smile as he engaged the Retribution's atmospheric grav propulsion, lifting the vessel lazily off of the ground. It had been quite a while since he'd maneuvered a craft any larger than a personal conveyance or industrial (read: Prison) hauler; the experience was ambrosia to the starving. It took a great deal of self-control not to slam the ship into a controlled, rising spiral and slam the docking thrusters on at the last nanosecond, pointing them in the precise direction of departure, followed up by an immediate and dramatic flare of twin engines running to Alliance standard precision. The sudden jolt would have put them offworld before the G-Force inspired vomit of the crew ever hit the decks. 

	But no. Another time, maybe, [i]gorramit[/i]... Nope, this time it was quiet and simple. The grav units brought his New Girl up nice and easy, thrusters maneuvered her into position, and the Retribution steadily angled into position, idling carefully into the flow of traffic making their exodus from the Eavesdown Docks. 

	The moment they had open sky, Liam aligned the ship's forward momentum with Persephone's axis turn and, making the planet's gravity work for them, at least marginally. Not that it was [i]required[/i] for a stocked vessel of this power; it just felt good to do "pilot stuff". And, it didn't break regulation. Just the tiniest flourish, if you will; the signature of a pilot taking a ship up for the first time. 

	The very second that the Retribution hit the Black, Liam breathed an audible sigh of relief. He was off Persephone and moving far, far away from the hole that took years of his life. He was Lieutenant William Harper, Alliance Navy Flight Officer with a shiny new assignment doing routine Alliance Navy [i]lā shǐ[/i]. Distasteful, but it bought his freedom. At least he could fly, and that was something. 

	Lt. Harper opened the P.A. and addressed the crew once more. [color=008080]"Attention, Flight Officer Harper speaking. We have successfully hit open space. You may unharness and return to duty. Per orders, our destination is Whitefall. At present speed and heading, we should arrive in approximately two days, sixteen hours. That is all."[/color]

	He had noticed the return of the Captain, electing to stay on task rather than risk an unnecessary conversation with a man he hadn't previously met and did not know a thing about. Instead, he sought to keep it brief. [color=008080]"Sir? Sir. We are presently at full burn in clear and open sky. Proximity alert is set and coordinates are fixed to high orbit around Athens, synchronous with Whitefall. With your permission, I would like to see to my personals and familiarize myself with the ship, Sir."[/color] 


[hider=Translations]
gorramit - (have you watched the show at all?)
Lā shǐ - Shit
[/hider]


[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=f9ad81]Foy Coiffeur[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://snippetstudios.files.wordpress.com/2014/05/a-million-ways-to-die-in-the-west-640x350.png [/img][hr][b][color=f9ad81]Location:[/color][/b] Quarters, Out And About [hr][/center]

	The Esteemed Mr. Foy Coiffeur strapped himself into the nearest harness. He never did like those things. A halfway decent pilot would have been able to bring them swiftly and carefully out of the atmosphere and on their way without much in the way or bumping about. At least, smooth enough to weather it with a simple handhold on a support or rail. Still, Foy was on an "Official Alliance Vessel". As such, it was bound by "Official Alliance Regulations", which meant that, unless he wished to thumb his nose at his contract holders, he was going to strap in just like everybody else. 

	Foy reached into his vest pocket and produced a masterfully crafted platinum pocketwatch, complete with filigreed moustache. As the ship lifted from the earth beneath it, the Gentleman Mercenary made it a point to monitor the time it took until the ride gentled, indicating full immersion into open space. [color=f9ad81]"Not bad, New Guy. Not bad at all, sir."[/color] He took a few seconds to wind the very fine chronometer, not that it needed it. The watch itself would run for a great span of time before requiring upkeep, but the manufacturers knew that many of its clientele would be timepiece purists; the sort of people that would want the tactile experience of an Earth-That-Was pocketwatch. 

	He unbuckled his harness and leapt up smartly, striding with enthusiasm toward his quarters. He had promised someone a dram of Londinium Brandy, and there was, of course, the vulgar topic of new orders. Well, such was the life of a Private Contractor bound to an Alliance Contract. There were ways to extricate himself from an unfavorable contract; Foy had seen to many such clauses in his own standard paperwork. Still, a good friend, good spirits, and the intrigue of a mystery out here in the Black... 

	A flask and two glasses accompanied Foy on his quick and simple search for Jahosafat. This looked to be quite the day indeed.