[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 (Underground) [hr][/center]

	Foy hated when other people were right. But here she was, the First Officer of a ship-that-wasn't, being all logical. It irked him. But, as the thought hit him, the esteemed Mr. Coiffeur could not deny that she was, in fact, correct. And they would just waste time arguing about it. [color=f9ad81]"Ah, contrarian fiddlesticks!"[/color] he exclaimed quietly, or at least as quietly as one could exclaim something, given that they were on the hunt. He sighed, and remembered his manners. While Foy was in only few situations a [i]nice[/i] person, he endeavored in all situations to be a [i]polite[/i] person. Sometimes he failed, but he was only human. Damnit. 

	[color=f9ad81]"Forgive my outburst, I intended to exhibit frustration in myself purely. Of course, you are correct."[/color] Far from only speaking these words, the impressively moustached man was slipping a foot back into his remaining shoe on the ground next to him, and removing the sock from his head. He placed it onto his other foot, and with just a mild shudder, retrieved the wet sock from where it splatted upon the wall, twist-squeezed it a bit, and slipped it on over the first sock. Not the best, most charming look he'd ever sported, but it would assist somewhat in not casually impaling his foot on a bit of discarded machinery or shard of something. He'd just have to be a bit careful. [color=f9ad81]"Being in a state of questionable dress is temporary when compared to a pustulated discharge and limp acquired by rash behavior. My gratitude, Doctor. Though I shan't require your socks."[/color] 

	Now, back to that blood splatter, and his best, most appropriate estimation concerning what he could from the pattern; speed, gait, and the most important bit - [i]direction[/i] of their intended quarry. 




[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] Cargo (and just beyond)[hr][/center]	

	[color=008080]"Point of fact, Shepherd, I have seen the ebony doctor."[/color] remarked Harper in direct and even tones. [color=008080]"He is finishing up with his duties and should be reporting shortly."[/color] The straightlaced man did his best to ignore Atticus's unwillingness to share information about the location of the rest of the crew [i]and[/i] the goings on of the last space of time. Just like in the Alliance, when there were things that were "above his pay grade" or on a "need to know basis". He didn't react, but inwardly chided himself, curious now as to what the huge difference was going to be between piloting an Alliance Black Ship as opposed to a Browncoat... well, Harper didn't know what kind of ship he was going to be at the helm of, really, but he did suspect he knew what crew he was going to be ferrying across the 'Verse. 

	He did, however, note a growing chunk of hypocrisy concerning the fact that he was expected to trust the Browncoats at the drop of a hat, but as a whole [i]they[/i] were unwilling to extend the same courtesy. Survival tactic, he supposed. And moot - his new Captain knew most of the truth about him. He had no choice but to trust now. 

	[color=008080]"Be happy to help finish up, Shepherd. I came down here for that purpose."[/color] Harper hoisted a crate and grunted as he endeavored to get a better grip. [color=008080]"Can someone point me in the right direction? I don't think I was here for the first trip."[/color] Nevertheless, he stood ready to carry from Point A to Point B like a pro. 

	[color=008080]"Wait, isn't that the Barber's stuff over there, on the dolly?"[/color]