[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]

	An odd question from Atticus, considering his own lack of loquaciousness when given a similar query. [color=f9ad81]"What places me on the decks of the mighty Retribution, you ask? Contract, sir. The obligations involved with putting pen to paper and officially agreeing to terms in exchange for compensation."[/color] Foy considered precisely where to begin with the odd Shepherd's cleaning and polishing, before deciding that the towel's preparation had left his face in greater readiness than his hair. He brought out a sleek pair of barber's scissors, complete with adjustable screw and finger rest, and began deftly clearing away excess facial hair in the same manner as a sculptor would shear off clay from a budding masterpiece. 

	[color=f9ad81]"You see, working for the Alliance (amongst other moneyed entities) is oft a herald to provide unique opportunities to secure additional venues and locales for the expansion of the Family Business."[/color] he moved his hands with grace and dexterity, finishing his use of one tool and moving along to the next. [color=f9ad81]"Any new place that is not entirely self-sufficient and contains persons that can afford even the most minuscule of hygienic luxuries will do; even places along the Rim, or locales in mid-terraform bearing technicians or other staff - demands must be met, and most times all one requires is to provide knowledge that such a service exists and is willing to ship for a negotiated price. A capital bit of capitalism, if I do say so myself. And we produce the vast majority of products ourselves, sourced from nearby celestial bodies."[/color] 

	Foy was working fast. The uplifting conversation (mostly about himself, of course), served to motivate and center the man. [color=f9ad81]"Though you are [i]devastatingly[/i] astute, Preacher. This is most certainly not Alliance uniform material."[/color] He expertly handled his straight razor, carefully carving out curves and whirls along the edge of his facial hair in a wispy, flame pattern. [color=f9ad81]"A gentleman's wardrobe is a source of inestimable pride, when properly cared for and matched with like accessory."[/color] 

	[color=f9ad81]"I am a Gentleman of Fortune, my half-groomed compatriot, and a Gentleman of Fortunes as well, if you take my meaning. But money or diversions aside, I am foremost a Gentleman of Farraday. The Business Aristocracy, with comfortable financial backing and the desire to increase said comfort, said finances, and said backing. As for the "guns blazing" you mentioned, dear sir, one's trained profession need not always be ones ancestral profession. I assure you, there is only one other person aboard this ship you would want coming after you [i]even less[/i]."[/color] 

	Foy took a brush to the man's face. He grinned smugly, secure in the knowledge that he had done a masterful job with his facial scaping. [color=f9ad81]Yes, yes. Quite satisfactory. Now, the hair! A light trim and style should suffice; you have very good follicles and it frames your head quite nicely. But I do insist on that rakishly slanted part - at least on the front half of your mane."[/color] He brushed off the man's torso and shoulders and took position behind him with pomade and a pair of scissors. 

	[color=f9ad81]"Now, a lack of fashionable uniform might very well cause someone like myself to inexorably alter loyalties. But a disciplined man of the Cloth like yourself? No, there must be more to [i]that[/i] story."[/color]