[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 paused in his efforts to pack away the contents of his Foy-er to look at Atticus. [color=f9ad81]"What an interesting series of questions and observations you submit there, Psalms. While it is true that I am motivated by the Lure of the Coin, my good sir, it is not the only ambition for which I strive."[/color] Methodically, the dapper gent went through his selection of natural coffees, deciding what he could bear to part with. Nothing that he owned was of Alliance origin, from his buttons to his munitions, but there did weigh upon the horrible thought that, lacking options, he might have to leave some things behind. Perhaps he could argue his point that no traces of their presence should be noted... but that seemed very weak a reason. No, unless he could charter an extra room for his belongings or fit them into a cargo hold for safekeeping until he got wherever he was going to be, he would have to figure something out. 

	[color=f9ad81]"You see, it is the mark of any good businessman to open new opportunities for trade and travel, you see. Out-of-the way-spots might be useful for raw materials on the cheap. Middle Class accommodating planets become potential consumer areas. Locating the right manner of ruffian can net a man a preexisting, discreet network for transporting one's goods, if need arose. Profitable? No sir. Profit is where one establishes it."[/color] Was he trying to talk himself into this? He would be a smarter man to cut his losses, eat up the cost of his equipment's transport (or leave it behind for the vultures), and make his way back to Farraday to plot his next big venture or wait for another contract to seek him out. Maybe lay low with a woman or three and get a little 'stache action going. But here he was, contemplating leaving the extreme security of home and business to have a sideways, There And Back Again style adventure. "...in a palace on Farraday, there lived a Coiffeur..." 

	[color=f9ad81]"Besides, I am already a wealthy man. Even if I lose everything I possess personally, my family is still wealthy. I daresay, even if I find my liquid currency curtailed by such quaint concepts as "going underground", I could still finance a decent sized ship's fuel and ration needs well enough to keep a crew healthy and flying for a good, long while. Though truth be mentioned, I would much rather keep myself running in little luxuries; life's comforts, if you take my meaning."[/color] Luxuries such as his elaborate barber's chair and Londinium Brandy, for instance. Well, the brandy, certainly, as well as the wrapped candies. The chair... That was a business draw. 

 	[color=f9ad81]"You see, despite handsome training with various agencies and my capability to withstand hardship in many forms, I am quite the confirmed hedonist."[/color] Yet still he thought it over. Why? It made no sense. He was a mercenary and an Upper Class one at that. Farraday aristocracy. Touring around the 'Verse with people like this could cause harm to his reputation. But it could also give him access to places he otherwise could not go. New experiences to be had. And he could take these people places they otherwise would not be welcome. Cotillions. Traders' Meets. [i]Shindigs[/i]. Having the financial power to keep them in the Black during rough periods would mean that they might be obliged to him on occasion. But if only he could upgrade his accommodations. This was not fully ideal, and they were ditching this ship for something probably lesser in overall "Wow Factor". 

	Foy sighed. He was pretty much done packing, anyway. Time to shove off. Only a few trips with the grav dolly were necessary, three perhaps, and he could hire ground transport from the dock easily. [color=f9ad81]"I tell you, Vicar, that my interest in your venture is piqued. But I fear that I require just a hair's breadth more incentive to commit to contract. Tell me something compelling. Best me in a wager. You religious types are fond of [i]signs[/i], yes? Any one might suffice. But for now, either route I take will involve offloading my personals to the dock below us. Would it be too terrible an imposition to ask for your assistance?"[/color] 


[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] Outside the Retribution -> Quarters -> Outside the Retribution [hr][/center]

	[color=008080]"Right away, Captain."[/color] responded Harper, throwing a fast salute and jogging back into the ship. Harper had already packed. It was too easy; he owned very little, and even less now that he had to get rid of anything that came from that ship. Harper had secured his belongings from Persephone, almost completely, with the exception of a series of personal effects and weaponry that belonged to his identity's original owner. He had ditched the personal effects and had to acquire more uniforms planetside, but nothing he now possessed could be traced back to the [i]I.A.V. Retribution[/i]. 

	He remembered what seemed like so long ago, walking toward the ship for the first time. He was very much the Lieutenant, standing tall and authoritative, either wearing everything he owned or pulling it in a case behind him. It would be exactly how he left the ship, probably for the last time, except that his authority was much lessened, and instead of a crisp Alliance Officer's uniform, he would be in black and grey utility coveralls, and having intentionally let his facial hair stubble him up somewhat. At least in these, his large wrench looked less conspicuous; it found a perfect nestling spot by his side in a long tool pocket with secure closure. 

	As Harper picked up his bags and started back toward the exterior hatch via cargo, he had to permit himself a small chuckle. The thought of hiding out with a group of outlaws for two years and then returning as a released prisoner set to retire from service hadn't quite been part of the plan, but it really couldn't hurt any. Anything over a year, and he would have been subject to consideration by a promotions board. Hell, he might retire with two years of back pay as a Captain for all he knew. Not bad at all. That'd serve those bastards right. Deny him a life, he'd just take one back from them. With interest. It wasn't a bad plan. 

	Still standing straight and tall, Harper returned to where Anisa stood, outside of the vessel. He waited next to his gear, what little of it there was, for Dorothy's return to go through it all. We mustn't have anything listed as contraband, a classification now ironically given to anything originating from the lawful presence of the [i]Retribution[/i]. [color=008080]"It seems that I will have to do a bit of shopping, Captain. A lot of my belongings are issued by the military. I don't suppose you can recommend a good gunsmith on this rock, can you?"[/color]