[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=008080]William Harper[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]http://cs5.pikabu.ru/images/big_size_comm/2014-09_1/14096592888412.jpg[/img] 
[color=008080][sub]"...wrapped candies...?"[/sub][/color] [hr][b][color=teal]Location:[/color][/b] Foy-er [hr][/center]

	It could not be understated, the benefit of sitting down someplace quiet and slowly sipping on a hot cup of coffee. Again, Harper lamented his present lack of something with more "octane", but not with any gusto - years of doing without had filled him with a sense of patience, especially for lack of luxuries. A glimmer of a moment had Harper, in his sudden realization that his Perfect Plan had hit a hitch, mentally scanning for creature comforts. It was a holdover from a previous life; likely one he would never fully shake. Everyone had little vices, benign or otherwise. 

	A cup of something warm and a moment's pause wasn't so bad, all things considered. Just a little ritual to center himself in this place that didn't belong on a patrol ship; practically an anachronism except for a few very modern conveniences. Given precious seconds to adjust to the surroundings, Harper found it fairly comfortable. 

	This worry helped no one. No, he was the Flight Officer of the I.A.V. Retribution, the latest of the Alliance's nigh mythical Black Ships. Harper was going to do precisely what he said he was going to do and familiarize himself with the boat. Afterwards, he intended to make himself available for Piloting and Navigation duties, as fit his job description. Keeping his sense of military obligation in mind, Harper rose. 

	He carefully rinsed his now empty cup in a small hand sink, dried it gingerly, and replaced it with the others. His head tiled deliberately to either side until a muted popping sound issued from his neck, providing what appeared to be a fraction of discomfort followed by lasting relief. Straightening his coat, Harper walked to the door with a destination in mind - His second home away from home: Engineering.