[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=008080]William Harper[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]http://i36.photobucket.com/albums/e34/ScorpiusZ/picspam/1.png[/img][hr][b][color=teal]Location:[/color][/b] Retribution, Bridge [hr][/center]

	[color=008080]"Aye aye, Captain."[/color] barked Harper, responding to Quinn's orders to find a spot to land. The Lieutenant himself would have felt a ton happier if they had made use of the Short Range Enforcement Vessels located in the Retribution's hangar, or if they wanted to go for a less martial opening, perhaps one of the shuttles. Meanwhile, the main ship could stay aloft and give plenty of cover as needed. But, Cap'n wanted to land. Maybe it was a reaching act of goodwill. Maybe the crew of the Vengeance would recognize that an experienced, decorated Alliance Captain was giving up a massive tactical advantage and be more willing to parlay. The instincts of the good Lieutenant told him that this was a mistake. 

	Of course, a deft man could turn a mistake into an opportunity. Either way, First Lieutenant William Harper, Pilot of the [i]I.A.V. Retribution[/i] was going to follow his Captain's orders and set the boat down within short distance of the Firefly vessel. Naturally, as he wasn't entirely a stupid man, positioned to set her down in a manner that allowed the use of some the armament available (should they be playing possum). He did take the time to voice an observation, just in case the rest of the crew hadn't noticed. 

	[color=008080]"Bringing her down, sir. If I may; the Vengeance has made no sound nor movement after being repeatedly hailed and receiving a positive weapon lock. Either they've got [i]gāowán[/i] of solid, shiny cadmium steel, or they don't even have operational sensors."[/color] 

	As for joining the cause outside, well... Harper was the pilot. So much as he would love to get himself involved in a firefight on a planet he'd rather not be on for a ship serving a military he'd rather not be in for presently unknown orders, his job was to fly the damned ship. Perhaps that well dressed socialite could hang his immaculately groomed head out onto the landing and see to getting himself shot in a prompt and forthright manner. 

[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, Bridge [hr][/center]

	Foy was positively beaming. It had been a good, long while since he had gotten the opportunity to work with either Jahosafat or his old partner from the Agency, Carla, and here he was entwined in contract with both of them. It was good to have true enough comrades around him as he readied to head into a potential combat scenario with impressive sidearms and a crisp, mottled charcoal suit featuring cream on cream osbaldean-tied cravat and platinum pin. He was freshly shaven and smelled faintly of wood and floral notes, tempered by mellow pomades of varying application. It was a good day, regardless of whomever else was being crushed by the past hour's events. 

	[color=f9ad81]"Gregory?"[/color] questioned Foy, at Carla's familiar use of the Captain's name. He continued in a playful voice. [color=f9ad81]"No no, Miss Lobo. One must relinquish the expected, etiquette-motivated deference when alluding to the ranking military officers in our immediate proximity. Why, without them, this summer picnic would be short the very tubers of its prize potato salad."[/color] 

	He regarded the mention of nonlethal tactics, [color=f9ad81]"Although I do find myself betwixt the horns of that most singular of dilemmas: Kill or Capture. The innate contractual distinction is important, mind, but I am afraid that I did not bring the proper dancing shoes for a two-step, as you have most eloquently metaphored the situation. My attire is fluidly and completely ensconced in the full regalia of the ballroom waltz. That is to say, I have packed little that would assist in [i]capture[/i], but very much to the affectation of [i]kill[/i]. I shall have to improvise."[/color]

	But he would not let this little detail ruin his mood. [color=f9ad81]"Nevertheless! I find it particularly agreeable to be in the presence of one of my most favorite dancing partners, whatever the music playing."[/color] Foy set his black, felt bowler hat upon his head, running a finger along the brim. The dapper fellow then smoothed his black, very fine duster about his form, motioned in the general direction of the airlock, and in an optimistically gracious voice, queried, [color=f9ad81]"Shall we, my dear?"[/color]