[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] Retribution, Conference Room [hr][/center] [color=f9ad81]"No, I retract my previous statement."[/color] remarked Foy, to absolutely no one. He hadn't the time to return to the Retribution before the shots rang out across the barren countryside of Whitefall. [color=f9ad81]"THAT is a fine How-Do-You-Do..."[/color] Just as much as he would have [i]loved[/i] to switch his rifle to full auto and spray the entire group into so much red, steaming confetti, the fact that Quinn was a corpse made the wording of his present contract highly unclear. Foy did not work with Highly Unclear. And it was a condition that would allow him to ethically break his Alliance contract with partial payment, if he so chose. But he meant what he said earlier. The sudden examples of mortality didn't change the fact that Reavers were on their way, and deathly soon. [color=f9ad81]"Well, [i]wǒ de xīngxīng hé huāhuán[/i]..."[/color][sub]1[/sub] A mild wind picked up, fluttering his very fine coat about him and revealing more of his tailored charcoal-grey suit. He pitched his voice louder, [color=f9ad81]"I say, ladies, gentlemen... does this mean you [i]do not[/i] wish to board our boat?"[/color] He waved them onward. [color=f9ad81]"Come along, then. Time waits for no one."[/color] [hr] The gentleman of action (and hot lather) disassembled and stowed his Callahan Full-Bore Auto-Lock back inside of his quarters. No sense in carelessly slinging a larger weapon with the potential of manifesting a hull breach. He maintained his other armament, apparent and less so, on his person. The most obvious of those being his matching Colt revolvers in a gunslinger's belt and extra large straight razor in a custom leather sheath. He wasn't about to offer the brunt of his hospitality until things smoothed considerably. They didn't know each other; just because they no longer had anything pressing to fear from him (as he was no longer rigidly bound by paper contract), didn't mean he had no concerns with them. Especially after the whole "murder chain" event that occurred while his back was turned. You can believe that the dapper fellow engaged the locks on his quarters. Eventually, Foy found himself standing near to the aftmost doorway in the Conference Room. [color=f9ad81]"I say, after this unpleasant show of establishing hierarchy and setting our plans to (preferably) not do one another injury, anyone wishing a cut, style, shave, or follicle update, perhaps a Core styled coffee and wrapped candy, please do find your way back to my parlor. I have been assured by the previous administration that it will remain a neutral oasis - one I hope the present administration will maintain.[/color] His voice lowered a bit with the last few words of his utterance, but his face remained open and cheerful. Carefully, he removed his bowler hat and held it at his side, surreptitiously covering one of his two sidearms as he allowed his palm to rest upon it. Foy hated waiting. At least, waiting without gentlemanly distractions. [hider=Translations] 1 = My stars and garters [/hider] [hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=008080]William Harper[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/ea/30/b7/ea30b7f41a28014c80fcec6eec87b910.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=teal]Location:[/color][/b] Retribution, Bridge -> Conference Room [hr][/center] Fore visuals revealed a scene unfolding which called for the immediate mobilization of what little Harper had access to on board his boat. He checked his own issued sidearm, and began procedures for immediate liftoff and hard burn away from a situation that, logically, could only end with a metric fuckton of death. Be it his own psychotic crew, these outlaws, or the [i]twenty Reaver vessels he just warned everyone about[/i], he was pretty sure that the best option was to go away, fast and solid, and let the chips fall where they may. Then something odd happened. The shooting stopped, and they seemed to come to an understanding. William supposed that the pressing threat of terminal rape and cannibalism made strange bedfellows, and lets face it: No one deserves to die like that. Ok, very few people deserve to die like that. Fine - He needed both hands and one foot to count the number of people who deserved to die like that, but these people weren't on his list. Thinking about it, this little misstep could very well be the opportunity he was waiting for. And much sooner than expected. When personnel are eaten by Reavers, the Alliance doesn't even bother looking for a body. Not when an official report can be glossed over. A few awkward moments later and Harper was taking orders from the lady they had come there to apprehend (among other things, apparently). Plotting a secondary course to the far side of the next nearest moon around Athens was easy. Hell, Harper didn't even have to log coordinates - a simple long-range scan gave him a real time location in space, and as soon as he could clear the atmosphere to get a visual, manual piloting to location was a cinch. To lessen the possibility of direct discovery, Harper kept the ship low and fast, then abruptly took them out into the Black. He rode the gravity pull of Athens as best he could, giving the engines minimal burn. Less burn meant less signature, and he was fairly confident that the older models of Reaver vessels would have difficulty trying to track an up to date Alliance ship that might or might not have been there in the first place. As they drifted closer toward the next nearest of Athens's moons, Ormuzd, Harper addressed Anisa Crowe in a quiet but clear voice. [color=008080]"[i]Captain[/i] Crowe, I would very much like a private audience with you after you are done addressing the crew. It will prove a very interesting conversation, I can promise you."[/color] [hr] The Retribution was in static orbit on the far side of Ormuzd, unreachable by direct sensor or communication from most anything Whitefall had to offer. Harper had powered down the patrol boat to minimal energy use, and proximity alerts were cranked to eleven. He took the usual spot for a senior officer around the conference table, just to the side of the Captain's place. He intended to show some measure of solidarity, unless the situation expressly dictated otherwise.