[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=008080]William Harper[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-joToxLegqZk/UlP_OiXe43I/AAAAAAAAcfs/_sbEOs83YPQ/s400/Peinados+de+hombres+al+estilo+de+Christian+Bale-1.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=teal]Location:[/color][/b] Retribution, Quarters -> Outside the Retribution [hr][/center]

	Well, no one else died. That was a good thing at least. While there was a very definite feeling of a lack of purpose, not to mention his oppressive absence of options right then, Harper could console himself with the fact that, upon landing, he was not immediately turned over to the authorities as was hinted by Anisa just three days prior. It didn't inspire immediate loyalty, [i]not[/i] being sold out, but it was a small comfort. His tension would have been higher were they on a more Alliance-friendly world. Harper wasn't out from under the thumb of the Alliance yet. Until he was, someone would always have the means to manipulate him. Perhaps it was a stupid decision, entrusting his past to this Browncoat. He saw a possible opening and took a risk, hoping that it would pan out in his favor. If nothing else, he was a talented pilot and engineer, with technical skills that he could use for trade wherever he went. Especially this far away from the Core, where people of his education were even rarer, Harper suspected that he would land on his feet. 

	Then Anisa paid him. That was unexpected. Plus a bit extra to cover his lost property. Between this and his identity's last paycheck, it was a fresh start, if he wanted it. But it probably still wasn't enough to get a decent, long-range ship from this world that didn't have something horribly wrong with it, and he didn't feel like getting stuck here for very long. However, the ship was being sold off. The I.A.V. Retribution was not going to be his home for the last two years of his term of service. He had to pack. It wouldn't take long, he had carried everything that he owned with him when he boarded. 

	As he put away his gear and personals, a couple of thoughts occurred to him. For starters, he would have to get rid of his Alliance equipment. Maybe keep a uniform and a couple of papers hidden someplace, as it may prove useful later, but the vast majority would have to go. This meant that he'd have to re-outfit himself before they left the planet. New clothes, new sidearm, everything. Except his tools, at any rate; and especially his wrench. Had to keep that wrench. Another idea, he might not have to abandon his Harper persona after all. If he kept under the radar with these people, he could easily go to any Alliance outpost after his term was up and claim that he was a captive during that time. He'd likely regain access to his identity's monies again, with interest, and one hell of a P.O.W. bonus besides. Harper could retire (understandably) with honor, and move on with his life [i]without[/i] being under the yoke of the Alliance anymore. It was a plan. If it looked like it wouldn't work out, he could always go back to Plan B. 

	Packing done in a couple of minutes, Harper quickly changed into less official engineer's coveralls. He left his cases just inside of his quarters and made for the exterior of the vessel, to find Dorothy and Anisa standing outside, watching the ebb and flow of humanity in the cool morning air. Harper took a deep breath, and strode to the two of them. If they accepted him, he would be addressing his two new commanding officers. 

	Harper effected a salute, intoning [color=008080]"Ma'am."[/color] to Dorothy, and [color=008080]"Captain."[/color] to Anisa. [color=008080]"I'm in. I will require a little latitude for this to work out right. You know why, Captain. Otherwise, I'm your man."[/color]  


[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]

	Foy had his own cross to bear, as it were, getting his supplies together. His personals were already handled, packed and ready to go, including his extensive wardrobe and selection of hats. With the exception of his Callahan, the odd gentleman made sure to keep himself fully armed at all times. This day of packing was no different. He cursed the timing on the dismissal of the Alliance crew; though he made excellent use of them getting all of his professional gear packed neatly away and personals moved to an accessible central location, he still had to go through the monotonous task of itemizing and shuffling away all of his sundries. Then, of course, thee was the question of relocating his vintage Barber's Chair. That would require the grav dolly and some patience. 

	Likely, he would have to do it himself, too. Such was the curse of being one of two, maybe three people who could appreciate things of this nature. [color=f9ad81]"Ah, Yoe-y..."[/color] he mused aloud, thinking of that one Yeoman whose hair he was trimming when Jahosafat made his initial appearance on the scene, [color=f9ad81]"Wherever have you gotten off to, now that manual labor is a requisite? It is for shame. Mayhap I should track you down before time takes you too far from the vessel and contract you as a houseboy... Hmm..."[/color]

	Foy still wasn't sure what he should do. He didn't want to leave his friend and fellow Dapper Gentryman behind, not in his state. But his own contract with the Alliance had run its course. He would weave a tale of the ship being taken over and him bribing his way to get to the next port of call, collect his money, and be on his way. And speaking of money, the Browncoat lady did win some points with him by giving over a share of the profits from the last venture, even though he referred to it as merely: [color=f9ad81]"Walking-around cash, of course. But my gratitude. I did mean to replace a handkerchief or two."[/color] In his defense, he did tend to spend a bit of money on luxuries. If almost defined him. Considering his options in that moment, he could easily charter a cruise to someplace warm and green, vacation for a while. He felt that he greatly deserved it, considering the insufferably mediocre people he was forced to deal with during his most recent time with the Alliance. But these Browncoats, though sorely lacking in funds, seemed tons more interesting. 

	Then another thought hit him: This could be an opportunity. His financial resources, which he would have to massively shuffle, even to the point of cutting himself off from a good portion of the family fortune, coupled with his business connections, put him in a unique position to make use of a bunch of non-tethered outlaws, even as they might make use of a former Agent like himself. Naturally, there was still Josie to think about. Either way, he would have to leave the Retribution in an hour or two, as it was being sold off soon. The others would have to secure their own transportation, likely another ship (though not as "grand" as this, he wagered). The Respectable Mr. Foy Coiffeur would make his decision then, unless circumstances forced him to do so earlier.