[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] Newhope Docks [hr][/center]

	The ordinary hustle and bustle of your average series of docks, such as the one they were moored upon, is easily stressed by something as ubiquitous (for a man like Foy, anyway) as gunfire. Many of the workaday pedestrians began to duck and cover, or run and scream as individual cases tended to vary, but some more world-weary residents of Newhope manage to continue about their day, barely noting the presence and use of firearms. Were Foy's hands not full of solid Colt craftsmanship, he might have tipped his hat to those who chose not to let a little thing like potentially mortal danger prevent them from moving along with the doldrums of their daily lives, ants scurrying about their little hill floating about in space. [i]Might have[/i]. As it turned out, he was about to busy himself, and could not be bothered to mete any meaningful attention for these people at the present except to note that they were in his way. 

	[color=f9ad81]"You are quite the presumptuous one, Doctor, handing along orders without holding contract. I am the consummately aghast, of course."[/color] It was true, he had not officially signed on with Anisa's crew as of yet. But circumstances were non-standard right then. [color=f9ad81]"But I feel gracious, madame."[/color] He stepped out from behind his cover and made a cautious advance toward what he figured was the best position to hide, if one were injured and still concerned with being forcibly gifted yet another bullet. [color=f9ad81]"Quite the endeavor to cure my waxing ennui, if I do say so."[/color]  

	He holstered one of his pistols and began the painstaking search for proper sign of their quarry's passing. In very short order, he noted a dark spot on the ground that looked like an irregular drop spatter, the direction of spill hinting at a direction to follow. Then he found another. He might have gotten a better look at yet another, a couple of feet forward, but a very nervous and portly fellow stepped right into the damned thing, anxious to clear away from the dangerous situation in any direction available. 

	Foy's eyes widened in disbelief for a half second before narrowing in frustration with the man's clumsiness. He drew his second pistol again, glaring at his new acquaintance, who kept moving in the same direction with an even more urgent twist to his face. Others were still moving for cover, making his efforts to track blood trails and tiny, repeating scuffmarks difficult, to say the least. [color=f9ad81]"Oh, come along now, plebeians! Why all the hither and yonder like recently decapitated dining-fowl? Someone only got shot! It's not as if we're short on cognac."[/color] He puzzled that last statement. With a trace of worry, he asked aloud, [color=f9ad81]"We're not actually short on cognac, correct? Our Dear and Shiny forfend..."[/color] 

	By the time he had made heads or tails of the actual route taken by their fleeing target, he had to contend with various indifferent and scared people alike, ducking and threading through the throng of persons and things around the docks. [color=f9ad81]"Yes, female... moderate leg injury venting the good crimson stuff... erratic. She was here, and then stopped. And..."[/color] Seconds later, Foy turned to his companions with some measure of certainty. He motioned over to a seried of shipping containers off to the side, finishing up with, [color=f9ad81]"To use the parlance best befitting the situation with lesser dictioned individuals, Sir and Madame: [i]She went that-a-way[/i]."[/color] 

	[color=f9ad81]"Now, we should give proper chase; the waif is obviously injured and moving none too quickly, though someone should ensure that our belongings are not absconded with upon our departure."[/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] Captain's Office[hr][/center]	

	Harper's generally professional demeanor slammed back into place with the arrival of Jahosafat. He sat a little straighter, spoke a bit more straightforward and terse in nature [color=008080]"Dr. Moreau, this is a surprise for myself, too."[/color] The Captain's terminal beeped, and a signal from Harper's black box confirmed the terminal's notification. [color=008080]"Just a moment, please."[/color] Sure enough, the I.A.V Retribution's onboard computers had gone through a complete reformatting, and a bare command prompt blinked back up at him with quiet, unassuming patience for his efforts. Were he to enter a command now, he could begin resetting and customizing the craft's settings. Job done. 

	He wasn't ignoring Jahosafat, though. Especially he part where he had mentioned that Camilla had a copy of the picture. The revelation came at the same moment that he noticed the photo access slot looked a little different than standard, piquing his curiosity further. [color=008080]"No Doctor. I'm just about finished here. If I may?"[/color] he offered the picture over to the man with the notch facing him. [color=008080]"I have to admit, I'm very curious about this. It's probably nothing, sir, but I don't suppose you have something to open this with? I'm afraid I left my more delicate hand tools elsewhere."[/color] Risking a glance at it again before handing it over, he gave a light sigh, intoning, [color=008080]"Does that look like a keyhole to you, Doctor?"[/color]