[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] Captain's Office[hr][/center]

	Harper's intense scrutiny of the picture to the exclusion of all else bore no immediate fruit, with the exception of drawing his attention away from his terminal, which was giving a notification. Setting the picture down in front of him, the enigmatic pilot shifted a portion of his thoughts away from the image and toward the systems to his immediate fore. The reformatting had paused momentarily, due to the appearance of protected files. Harper established a temporary archive and inspected the more troublesome files there, insulated away from the rest of his system. 

	Sadly, it was no juicy tidbit of sellable information, nor was it something instrumental in the operation of the Alliance Industrial War Machine Complex. No, merely the coded identification of Alliance crew members already attached to the ship. Nothing that he hadn't already run across and gotten rid of, the remaining lines of code served as an otherwise inaccessible piece of ghost data that needed to be burned out before the full reformatting could take place. 

	A few keystrokes later, it and the temporary archive it contained were just a memory, and the process continued unabated. With this problem resolved, Harper turned his attention back to the picture he had discovered earlier, attempting valiantly to ponder the existential mysteries therein. 



[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] Cargo -> Docks [hr][/center]

	The most dapper of gentlemen (with painfully few exceptions in this the entirety of this 'Verse) gave a smile and a nod to Dorothy and set another large case of his belongings onto the dolly. [color=f9ad81]"Positively, madame. You have but to lead the way."[/color] 

	Foy turned his dolly with industrious, almost chipper demeanor, and made his way out into the air of the Newhope docks. He breathed deeply of the air, more naturally occurring than the recycled atmosphere of the Retribution, and let out a huge, satisfied sigh. [color=f9ad81]"Ah, the mingling of the moneyed and the squalorous; clean woody cologne and the grime of labors coming together with the scents of growing vegetation and hydrogen exhaust. Opportunity! This is truly the smell of opportunity..."[/color] he wrinkled his nose suddenly, [color=f9ad81]"And apparently fish. I say, I believe someone's frying haddock nearby. Why on earth would - "[/color] 

	His poignant monologue on the proper consumption of haddock in the open air was halted very abruptly by a shot ringing out [i]very[/i] nearby, this from Dorothy. While his speech stopped, a smile grew on his face. The ever-ready Foy Coiffeur noted the lady's target and drew his own weapons, a matched set of contemporary Colt six-guns. Using his cases as partial cover, Foy cheerfully congratulated the crew's new Second, [color=f9ad81]"Well done, Doctor! Wearing those ovaries on the outside, are we? [i]Bravo[/i]."[/color] He tipped up his bowler with the barrel of his sidearm, and from cover, risked a little sardonic communication across the lines.

	[color=f9ad81]"Madame?"[/color] he called out, [color=f9ad81]"Madame... You have the appearance of a woman suffering from a severe lack of options. I should say an explanation is in order."[/color] He cocked the hammers on his revolvers, the tiniest surge of adrenaline hit his bloodstream, hinting at the possibility of real excitement to come. [color=f9ad81]"Or not! Makes little difference personally; it has been a slow day otherwise."[/color]