[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]

	Despite the suddenly more appropriate (to his mind) tone of voice coming from his would-be Executive Officer, Foy continued his role as Tracker, attempting to suss out the subtle changes of dust and blood spatter upon he ground that might have indicated a change in direction or chunk of "Red Herring-ing", much in the way the man himself would have utilized a Bacon Double Cheeseburger in the event that he were being pursued by a particularly girthy constable. [color=f9ad81]"Shhh! Madame, such skilled displays of perception and proficiency require the utmost of concentration..."[/color] His voice trailed off, polite still but with a hint of irritation. 

	[color=f9ad81]"Ah, by St. Swiven's cirrhotic sweetbreads!"[/color] swore Foy. He began pacing back and forth, forth and back, wondering to himself how precisely he had just lost what was a trail that was so blatantly obvious to the man just moments ago. He tucked his guns back into their holsters, as it was apparent that he wouldn't get to shoot at anything for longer than he'd been realistically expecting. He had lost the trail all by himself, but as there was someone who he could blame nearby someone who had attempted conversation while he was tracking, at any rate, he decided to vent his frustration at failure upon her. 

	The ordinarily proper gentleman spun his slender frame around to face Dorothy, face awash with negativity. He raised an accusatory finger, and began with [color=f9ad81]"Now see here, [i]Miss[/i], you... ah, you, eh..."[/color] Foy's plan to berate and belittle her came to a swift and sputtering halt as Foy noticed the unmistakable combination of a errant, untrampled fragment of a footprint in the dust behind her, alongside a minuscule droplet of crimson. [color=f9ad81]"...yes... Yes! Now see here, [i]behind[/i] you, madame."[/color] His hand, once raised to signify frustration, now pointed confidently as if he wished all along to display his ability as a Tracker in the same manner as a child might request a favored crayon be magneted onto a domestic refrigerator. Undoubtedly, this bit of self-gratification was done to cover for the fact that he was about to launch himself into full "Snooty". 

	He hurried around to catch glimpses of more, fresher clues, eventually leading him around and behind a series of storage crates and over to an open manhole. [color=f9ad81]"Ah, bebother and attend to the irrevocable damnation of this brazen phallus-monger! I just put on this suit..."[/color] His lamentations about the situation were minor, comparatively, but justified. [color=f9ad81]"Ugh... Hopefully, it's merely a storm drain, and not a proper aqueduct for used epicure."[/color] 

	[color=f9ad81]"Ladies first? ...nevermind."[/color] 

	Foy's role in the group, despite formal contract (and his general appearance), was as The Heavy. It only made sense that he take point with this endeavor. He just wanted to give the very professional lady to his side the opportunity to understand that he wasn't quite the chauvinist that he might have portrayed himself as earlier. At least, that's the excuse he was telling himself that second. With a regretful sigh, Foy lowered himself into the dusky and largely forgotten sections of Newhope.                               
	




[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]	

	[color=008080]"I agree, Doctor."[/color] remarked Harper, setting the picture in one of the voluminous cargo pockets on his grey and black coveralls. [color=008080]Time grows short, and I'm sure we all have arrangements to make. I for one do not want to spend any more time on this vessel that isn't necessary."[/color] Harper found this version of the Farraday Gentry easier to speak with than Foy. The barber/whatever seemed to eye him as a commodity, and pass off oddly short-lasting pleasantries followed by probing inquiry, followed by oddly short-lasting pleasantries. 

	[color=008080]"I'll be done here in less than a minute. Just need clean up my last tracks and I'll be out."[/color] His fingers danced across his personal terminal briefly, prompting a quick look of muted satisfaction across Harper's face. He disconnected his piece of personal electronics from the ship's system, set it into a carrying case, and rose from the desk. [color=008080]"Room is yours, Dr. Moreau. I'll be joining the rest of the crew in Cargo."[/color] Harper gave a last look around, just in case he missed anything. Content that he wouldn't have to come back to the room, he stepped from behind the desk in route to the main corridor. Before he exited the room, he voiced some concerns to Jahosafat concerning their next moves. [color=008080]"Doctor? I don't suppose you know if lodging has been arranged as of yet, do you? Otherwise, can you recommend a respectable place? Unrelated, has there been any discussion about the next ship our Captain will be procuring? Curious, is all."[/color]