[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] Merchant Area [hr][/center]

	The price cited caused Foy to raise an eyebrow. It was considered petty cash to a man like him, a trifle of an expense. He just did not expect to hear such a number quoted to him on what was technically a Rim planet. [color=f9ad81]"Art, truly they are, Sir Cobbler, but a cost such as this..."[/color] he silvered out his words with a hint of a smile, counting out the stated sum with crisp scrip credits, [color=f9ad81]"...one might consider an investment."[/color] 

	The man did something peculiar. Subtle, really. A look across the way, the raise of an eyebrow, and a return to business at hand. The exceptional price suddenly made more sense. [color=f9ad81]"Positively my good man, I do appreciate someone who understands the gentlemanly writ of business."[/color] Foy hurriedly returned his socks to their appropriate feet. They were dirty and yet damp, but he didn't honestly think that they had time to jog down the block for a pair of mid-cut semi-formal cashmeres. Foy's hands raced along the laces of his new black balmoral shoes, fastening them as a man born to fine footwear. He was given a sign, and did not intend to pass it up. [color=f9ad81]"I thank you your time and efforts, craftsman, and may our next meeting be as mutually profitable."[/color] 

	Straightening his bowler hat upon his very dignified head, Foy mentioned aloud, [color=f9ad81]"I should dearly require the apt assistance of someone who might repair my shirt. It was an endowment; tremendous sentimental value from which I simply cannot part. Perhaps the clothier across the thoroughfare has the appropriate tie and tools. Ah, well. Good day to you, sir. We shall meet again."[/color] 

	The dapper yet mildly disheveled Foy returned to Dorothy across the street, and in a clear, open voice, stated, [color=f9ad81]"Ah, [i]there[/i] you are, my Rum Couverture Petit Four. If [i]Your Sweetness[/i] would forgive, the other shopkeep mentioned that this is not the place for socks."[/color] he closed the rest of the distance between himself and the good Doctor, saying in quieter tones, [color=f9ad81]"He recommends we try [i]up the block a bit[/i]."[/color] Foy motioned his eyes over to the Dressmaker's and gave a small but affirming nod. [color=f9ad81]"We need to get around the back of this place."[/color] he whispered, leaning in as if to give his ladyfriend a peck on the cheek. If the front were locked up and no sound could be heard from within, Foy wanted to scout the location. If the leather guy's information was accurate, they might even get lucky. 


[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] Prometheus - Newhope (Docks) [hr][/center]	

	Harper's attitude has very near completely dissolved back into that of the dutiful officer, his childlike glee at the ship's full-throttle joyride tucked away (but not forgotten) by his personal responsibilities and his duty to the ship. A slight cockiness could still be observed about his features, a thing not fully erased by time and painful history that was evoked by the simple pleasure of pushing the capabilities of a new vessel. There was something about free flying that spoke to him. 

	When Anisa gave him a room assignment, he gathered a couple of assumptions from it. First, he couldn't help but notice that he was given officer's quarters, one of two preferred rooms on board the ship (minus the Captain's, of course). Right near the Bridge, prime access to Cargo. The status of a crew member aboard a vessel can often be determined by their quarters, and his were on par with the Executive Officer's. Further, they were right across from the Captian's quarters. This showed an element of trust. When given his room assignment, and again when ordered to stow his belongings in it, he responded with a mildly enthusiastic [color=008080]"Yes, Ma'am."[/color] He didn't want to seem too eager, even if his core still held that Kid In A Candy Store excitement. 

	Following Anisa out, Harper took to note that she already had room assignments in mind for the crew, as if she had plotted this out in advance. It did occur to him that he might have severely lucked out by this turn of events. He didn't have to rely on the military to provide his cover anymore, which was a risky proposition considering his situation. So the pilot known as Harper would have to evolve to suit his new circumstances. His Captain already knew what he was, but no one else did. He questioned their level of trust and acceptance if they ever found him out. 

	If nothing else, he was going to give this a chance. [i]Prometheus[/i] was a fine ship, he had a respectable position, and as far as he knew, he wouldn't have to hoard any food he acquired, nor sleep in a manner geared toward the defensive. He could perform acts of personal hygiene without being on guard against attack of varying motivation. Full relaxation was still a foreign concept, as was intense personal trust, but he had space that was his and purpose behind his actions. It was enough for now. 

	As soon as Anisa finished with assignments and orders, Harper made a beeline for his belongings. Two trips, maximum. He didn't own much. Hell, maybe he could even fix that. A little money in his pocket and a fresh start worked wonders. One day soon, he might even be a full-fledged [i]person[/i].