[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=008080]William Harper[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]http://images6.fanpop.com/image/polls/1473000/1473595_1430407209248_full.jpg?v=1430408080[/img][hr][b][color=teal]Location:[/color][/b] Retribution, Bridge [hr][/center]

	Harper sat in the pilot's seat, feeling an odd mixture of apprehension and boredom. It was like waiting for something terrible to fall upon them; he wished dearly that whatever was going to occur in this next phase of whatever plan Quinn or Dr. Moreau (or whomever was really in charge of this Black Ship fiasco) would just happen, so that he could put these new variables into his master plan to NOT DIE. Harper was very keen on this, the not dying part.

	While he waited for something Lovecraftian to be dropped upon them, the Pilot used his free time keeping his eyes upon the surroundings and ears waiting for any feedback from the ship's sensors or the proximity alarm. He wished that he could hear what was being said out there, in front of the ship, but without an audio relay the people in parlay toward the other ship may as well have been telling knock-knock jokes in Hindi or discussing the finer points of slug ranching for bachelorette parties. The most he could accomplish was to enhance the fore imaging and attempt to interpret hand gestures and the like. 

	At least no one else had tried to crash the party yet. It was one of the benefits to being this far out from the Core: No one seemed to pay you much mind, sitting on an unused piece of landscape off in terraformed creation. Still, for all of Harper's retirement plans, Whitefall was not foremost in the mix. 

	He really should have insisted upon someone from the crew bringing along a comm. But with broadcast, there was the likelihood, however remote, of someone listening in or recording. At least that's what he hoped the Captain was thinking. 

[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] Whitefall, surface [hr][/center]

	The presence of a gun in the hands of one the crew of the Vengeance was expected. According to his contract with the Alliance, it was precisely one of the reasons he had been asked aboard. What surprised him, and only mildly, was that the Lady Captain chose to point the barrel at one of her own people. Between this and their earlier conversation, Foy could not help but surmise a more than passing familiarity between Quinn and this woman, now apparently between the gunpoint attentions of both sides of this tiny chunk of drama. 

	It seemed that the broader talking points had already been established. Anything after this threatened to be more in the style of posturing repetition, a thing which if handled by persons of wit and vocabulary can be a pleasurable experience of tete-a-tete negotiation, but in this instance wasted time and invoked the vanguard of grinding boredom in the face of certain conflict. 

	Foy raised his hand away from his firearm briefly, tipping his very fine bowler hat to the women opposite him in this meeting. It quickly found its way back to the gentleman's readied Callahan. [color=f9ad81]"Captain, Captain, Ma'am,"[/color] he began, addressing Quinn, Anisa, and Camilla in turn. [color=f9ad81]"This is all very lovely banter, and I take no small amount of levity at our predicament, but if we are going to start shooting at each other, might we please commence? I take my preferences in catching a bullet or distributing several others to you fine persons well over the raspy affections of the bulk of the Reaver force hurtling toward this vicinity at present."[/color]