[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=f9ad81]Foy Coiffeur[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://d.gr-assets.com/hostedimages/1407262757ra/10664930.gif [/img][hr][b][color=f9ad81]Location:[/color][/b] Foy-er [hr][/center]

	[color=f9ad81]"Cinnamon, cinnamon... Aha! Here we are, my dapper sir! Cinnamon. And Cassia, though it is to more pedestrian liking, and... ah, here we are, my ebon compatriot! Capsicum! Yes, the extracts of our noble and most piquant Farradayan Ice Peppers, infused within the deliciousness of crystallized glucose. My good sir, you have a most troubling option, if your desire is heat: Do you choose the tincture of Cinnamon, or the infusion of Capsicum?"[/color] Foy looked over the latest bit of professional grooming he had performed for his childhood friend and now working companion, checking for any asymmetry or minor mistakes. Naturally, he found none, but it was just good work ethic that prompted the inspection. 

	In the end, Foy wound up offering a small handful of both. 

	The past couple of days were actually quite diverting; living, working, and socializing with his oldest friend in the 'Verse. Catching up was long overdue, even if it was done so while squatting under the shadow of Reaver involvement. With the good Doctor taking over the vast majority of orders given him, he took to what official work presented him with a certain sense of gusto. Not the type of man that responded to orders on a usual basis, really, but he was under contract and Moreau's orders generally contained such pleasantries as "Would you please...?" or "If you would be so kind as to...". The small elements of gentlemanly banter presented with respect and polite demeanor went far with The Esteemed Foy Coiffeur; Gentleman Barber, Entrepreneur, and Cutthroat Mercenary Extraordinaire. 

	[color=f9ad81]"There you are! You look quite the rakish rapscallion yet again (if I may intone thusly), dearest Jahosafat. Why, were a cotillion afoot, I daresay that you would be verily swimming in young debutantes vying for your more carnal attentions."[/color] He chuckled heartily at his own observation, quite content with how the start of his workday was progressing. 

	Foy sauntered over to his personal caffeination station, pouring a small cup of something particularly dark and potent. Naturally, it reminded him of Jahosafat. [color=f9ad81]"I say, would you care to partake in a demitasse of espresso? It's actual bean, sir."[/color] he offered, holding out the cup. [color=f9ad81]Excellent method of starting out the day, especially..."[/color]

	His words were cut short by the shipwide page for their pilot. They were almost upon Whitefall, which meant that soon, the nature of Foy's work was about to change. [color=f9ad81]"Hmm... I should estimate that we've enough time for coffee, possibly a croissant depending upon how breakneck that Harper fellow handles this grand conveyance, before I must ready myself for a pressing social function."[/color] Foy looked to his fellow Farradayan, nodding gravely for a second or two. Their obvious fellowship aside, the two men were professionals that had trust in each other. Such a thing was rare. The more dangerous part of the job was about to begin; a tiny moment of seriousness was in order. But just a tiny moment. 

	[color=f9ad81]"Now, a topic for coffee dialogue: What manner of tie is most appropriate for meeting this sort of people? Oh, and possibly opening fire upon them, of course. Bolo, cravat or ascot?"[/color]  


[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] Bridge [hr][/center] 

	The call went out, and Harper stood ready to perform his duties to the best of his formidable abilities. Being back on board an Alliance vessel for a couple of days had jogged his memory quite effectively, even to the point of smaller idiosyncrasies common to shipboard personnel such as corridor right of way and the most effective use of a ladder (he didn't bother using rungs while descending anymore). He fell into the routine nicely. The work of a pilot was mostly one of observation and small corrections, based upon any fluctuations in local gravity, looking out for proximity alarms and the like; at least off in the Black. Now that they were approaching their destination, he had the privilege of taking a more active role in maneuvering the I.A.V. Retribution. Though he disliked being a part of an Alliance patrol boat crew, he was damned good at the job. And being honest, he was looking forward to getting behind the controls and really pressing the abilities of this boat. It was a fine piece of machinery. 

	Harper was at the Bridge in quick time, offering the appropriate salute at the appropriate time, giving just as much pause as was necessary before jumping into the pilot's chair and switching to manual control. The transition was very fluid, only a fraction of a second of system noise as he took full control of the Retribution. A sense of prideful competence washed over the man as he checked all instrumentation and engine levels, just the routine work of a decent pilot. The Captain might be in charge, but in this moment, the ship belonged solely to Harper. 

	[color=008080]"Systems are normal, Captain. We are approaching at full burn, and are within standard for short range vessels. Would you prefer to make landfall or establish geosynchronous orbit, sir?"[/color]