[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=008080]William Harper[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]http://www.equilibriumfans.com/EquilibriumStill0100-ClericJohnPreston(ChristianBale)MD.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=teal]Location:[/color][/b] Bridge [hr][/center]

	At first glance, this was a typical Alliance crew. Standard patrol vessel, common launch point. Not that there was anything wrong with that, quite the opposite. It looked like the perfect opportunity to fade into the background, eventually get back to a life. Maybe even one worth living. And the ship? That "standard patrol vessel" had one hell of a range for a ship its size, decent speed, and could be crewed with a few choice personnel. Not to mention that it was easily repairable with the most common types of parts available in the majority of the Verse. It was nothing grand, but it was enough. 

	At least, it would have been enough. Being back in the Alliance military wasn't exactly the most ideal situation, but it sure as hell beat the situation he had left behind. Now, less than a half hour on the ship and Liam was convinced that he was surrounded by the clinically insane. A tight-lipped Captain who was dead set on leaving port ASAP without briefing his pilot (and fellow officer) on the nature of their orders, a bonafide Dandy who apparently arrived just after himself, and the ship's Medical Officer who was particularly insistent that William disobey orders upon pain of using the crew as spare parts for his Traveling Medicine Show. 

	Now, if the good Captain had orders to stay put on account of supplies, and was superseding orders from above, then that would be problematic. If on the other hand, he was just handed orders to lift off from Persephone posthaste, then the gaunt figure trying to bore holes in Liam's face with his eyes probably had a point. Of course, if he was that adamant about the whole fuzzy ordeal, it would be a simple matter of filing a report with Local before their hour was up and they exit the world. 

	Lieutenant Harper was not in the mood for drama. Really wasn't. Instead of engaging the Doctor, he pressed the fingers of his right hand onto his temple, rubbing lightly. He squinted his eyes, then smiled at the man and turned his chair back to his console. Shaking his head, Liam fired up two vid screens: One with an interactive map of the ship containing full specs (so as to better acquaint himself with this ship type), and another to pull up his Officer's Log. If the time of departure were really a problem, he wasn't made aware of it yet. In the interest of being thorough, it would not be out of place to log every direct order given to him by superior officers on board the boat. He could start immediately, submitting his log to Central. If this was a pressing issue, chances were good that outgoing logs were being monitored and the situation would be rectified. If it was not, there was no harm in it. 

	The timestamp on his Log entry was highlighted, and it read, [color=008080][i]"Retribution Flight Officer's Log, Initial. First direct order received: At the strong insistence of Captain Quinn, we leave Persephone for Whitefall in one hour's time. Performing a pre-flight warmup and diagnostic system check presently. Hoping for a smooth flight."[/i][/color] 

	He submitted the Log entry, and not to be found as a liar, began a diagnostic routine. William's computer trilled quietly along as his attention redirected to the Retribution's specs. Maybe next he'd check the ship's manifest, though that could probably wait until they were in the Black. Meantime, he was the Pilot, so he'd be the Pilot. Routine boat stuff until he got word otherwise, either by the Local Authority, Central, or the Captain. 


[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] "Foy-er" [hr][/center]

	[color=f9ad81]"Why Mr. Moreau, am I detecting more than casual curiosity about our dear Captain?"[/color] began Foy, leaning against the back of his classical, sturdy barber's chair. He motioned to the seat with an expectant look, silently offering his services. [color=f9ad81]"Haven't much to say on the man, if you simply [i]must[/i] pry. I daresay he is a man of some bearing and grace, in his own way, which by my reckoning is positively [i]glacial[/i], sir. He is a touch resentful that a private contractor such as myself is breathing Allied Navy oxygen, instead of a more predictable Ensign or some such."[/color]

	Foy began stropping his smaller razor, the one he had just used on the Yeoman from moments ago. Working, he continued his monologue to his dear friend Jahosafat. [color=f9ad81]"As you probably well know, the Alliance is generally keen on utilizing their own people. Easier to corral and threaten. That Quinn fellow - he's likely a skosh nervous about the amount of manpower he doesn't have total control of on his little boat. Add to that, the staff (the uh, majority of them, you see) is content with the belief that I merely cut hair and pass out hot lather."

	"There is one, though - powerfully talented lady - of the type that wears blue gloves and causes the occasional gentleman to excuse themselves for means of trading out their undershorts for something more unsoiled, who knows precisely what I am. Well, a good some of me, perchance. You should meet her; she is well acquainted with our brave Commanding Officer. Amazingly useful working partner, if one finds the occasion to require a social difficulty solved quickly and quietly. Takes a room on this ship."

	Ah, but I do ramble on, now do I not? Perhaps we should take that ship tour now? Afterwards, I have the most excellent flask of Londinium Brandy we may toast with, possibly after we hit the Black, and then you can tell me what you've done with yourself on the recent."[/color]