[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=008080] Harper[/color] & [color=f9ad81]Foy [/color][/i][/b][/h1] [img]http://images2.fanpop.com/images/photos/8400000/John-Preston-christian-bale-8481603-500-480.jpg[/img] & [img]https://snippetstudios.files.wordpress.com/2014/05/a-million-ways-to-die-in-the-west-640x350.png[/img] [hr][b][color=teal]Location:[/color][/b] Cargo Hold -> Med Bay[hr][/center] [color=f9ad81]"Oh I say, Harper old boy..."[/color] began Foy, attempting in his own, slightly narcissistic manner to engage the more straightlaced man in conversation, even while straining to move a box full of incapacitated Reaver to Medical, just up the ramp and down the hall, [color=f9ad81]...you don't seem the particular variant of Core denizen that spent their formatives growing accustomed to the more laborious pursuits of lifting and toting, if I may make the observation. Yet here you are, crisp uniform and neatly combed locks, conveying supplies unknown with a total stranger. You didn't even have the psychological wherewithal to cite duties, thereby excusing yourself from my endeavors. You could have, my Osirian acquaintance, but chose not to. It is demonstrative of character. Or detestably submissive behavior."[/color] Harper glanced back at the better groomed man, unsure as to what he was trying to put across. This was supposed to be a simple task, moving a couple of crates from Point A to Point B, while he had some free time (obstinately to "acquaint himself with the ship"). He opened his mouth to say something, but being as he was on the front end of this scary, black box, Foy could not see this. It would have been a coin toss as to whether he would have spoken, even if he did notice. As it stood, he continued. [color=f9ad81]But I do not detect that, were the Gendarmes to remove you to termed incarceration, you would do much in the way of, ah... [i]catching[/i], if you decipher my metaphor."[/color] At mention of the word "incarceration", Harper's head snapped back again, eyes narrowing into something predatory. If this discussion was about to get ugly, he was fairly confident that he could give the foppish man a faceful of melee wrench and jam him in an airlock before anyone noticed. It would be a simple matter, hacking the ship's system and retroactively altering any security footage that may have made it back to Alliance datastorage. No one would know. And the next time they compressed and incinerated their garbage, that would be the end of Mr. Coiffeur and his very fine tie. Disappeared without a trace off of an Alliance Patrol Boat. Truly a mystery for the ages. Harper stopped in the middle of the ramp, turning to one side a best he could without dropping the big, black box, and let his eyes rest fully on Foy. [color=008080]"What exactly do you mean, [i]sir[/i]?"[/color] he inquired in a low, quiet voice. Foy flashed a quick smile, his eyes seemingly twinkling. Something had hit a nerve. Maybe this Harper fellow had served some time. It was amazing what one could pick up about a man from casual reactions. [color=f9ad81]"Nothing to inspire such a grim face, Lieutenant Harper, I assure. I am merely inferring that you seem to be quite the assertive gentleman, and do not find that the banalities of manual labor are beneath you. Quite the opposite, you hurl youself unerringly toward it. Curious."[/color] [color=008080]"Idle hands, Mr. Coiffeur."[/color] returned Harper. This man spoke too much, seeming to probe for information without actually asking anything important, if anything at all. He turned, and continued the walk up the ramp, cargo in tow. [color=008080]"I've had an eventful life so far. It taught me to never be afraid to get your hands dirty. I'm sure you can relate."[/color] Foy smiled again. So the Pilot knew enough about this game to make insinuations of his own, as well as make blanket statements that might provoke information bearing conversation. [color=f9ad81]"There we are, just around here and a bit aft, good sir. Excellent."[/color] Overall, it took only a few short minutes to get the first of two crates up to Medical. The two unlikely work partners carried the large black box directly inside, and looked to Dr. Moreau. It was, as usual, Foy who spoke up first. [color=f9ad81]"If I might inquire, my debonair compatriot, would it vex you terribly for us to set this down at present locale, or did you have someplace specific mapped out for this intimidating bit of cargo?"[/color]