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

	At first, Foy was surprised that Dorothy deigned to give over her arm, echoing his sentiment of Solidarity. He had the distinct impression that the authoritative Browncoat found him to be of a rather oily, unpleasant sort, despite his own high opinion of his culture and sophistication. It was a burden sometimes, being him. But someone had to shoulder it.  

	Arm in arm, the well-dressed (if slightly unkempt) Farradayan walked the two of them back out of the alleyway and up the main thoroughfare proper, angling in the direction of the Docks. He scanned the signs along the walkways until he found the appropriate directions. Although Foy very likely could have returned the way they came to the Merchants' Area, he had a burning preference to remain above ground this time. Overland travel was preferable to the storm drains of Newhope, particularly as he had just acquired a rather dashing pair of brogued Oxfords he would just as soon not lose in the same manner as his second-favorite pair of Madisons, just earlier. As the pair walked, Foy engaged Dorothy in light conversation, as was his wont. [color=f9ad81]"Unreservedly, madame. Solidarity. We have engaged in uncontracted extra-curriculars that, sadly, have not yielded the desired outcome. So much as it is not foremost within my character to one I am not bound to by paper agreement, indeed [i]honesty[/i] is, as they say, the best policy."[/color] 

	Upon seeing a distinct opening in the foot traffic nearing the Docks, Foy raised his free hand as if hailing a taxicab or trying to flag down someone he knew. he intoned to Dorothy, [color=f9ad81]"At the trot, Doctor."[/color] as he increased his pace to a jog, hoping to cover more ground as inconspicuously as possible. [color=f9ad81]"We each went to great length and the best of our ability to locate our unwanted guest, engaging in sewer-crawling, bribery, cautious scouting, and the like, and still came up negatively. The young lady's location is a mystery, and so priority must shunt toward the [i]defensive[/i]. It is the only prudent response."[/color]

	The jog slowed to a mere hurried walk as they entered the more confining terrain of the Docks, watching row after row of arriving, departing, and held-over vessels as they passed by, eager to return to the [i]Retribution[/i]. Foy found that he had a distinct feeling of uncertainty. Where to go from here? What to do? The Alliance still owed him a little money on his contract, which he supposed would eventually be cycled into the family account by and by, but that wasn't the biggest issue for him. He may have to lay low for a time, at least as much as was appropriate to avoid suspicion. Simultaneously, he needed to either get home, or arrange for the handling of his legitimate business affairs in the interim. He then recalled the suggestion from the Browncoat Captain, Anisa, that if one needed to send a message off-world, they should run it through Harper. Apparently, the Central Planets' favorite son had some area of specialization that would make it more appealing than sending a public broadcast across the Cortex. Very well then. Secure belongings, talk to Harper. 

	Foy slowed to a casual, almost stunned walk as they approached their docking space of origin. Something was off. Very, very off. The sizeable and mighty Alliance Patrol Vessel was replaced by a smaller ship, unmistakable as a more contemporary version of a Firefly vessel. Civilian, less eyebrow-raising, but not quite as familiar to his professional experience. [color=f9ad81]"Oh heavens, I do hope we have the right place..."[/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] Prometheus - Newhope (Docks) [hr][/center]	

	Harper regarded Daphne with a questioning look. Apparently, his choice of words to the younger pilot were enough to put her on the defensive, else she had a general personality that geared toward the sarcastic. [i]Or[/i], she was testing him somehow. Harper supposed that some form of muted hostility was a foregone conclusion, considering the nature of his present station within the crew. All the same, responding along similar lines would be counterproductive. He was going to be around for at least two years. There was no sense in making enemies now. 

	His posture stiffened, feet coming slightly more apart as he adopted a more professional, "parade rest" stance. [color=008080]"You're right, ma'am. I'm not a twenty anymore. I prefer to think that I traded naivety for experience."[/color] That would be an understatement, thinking back on his worldly experiences in recent years. Harper suppressed a shudder, instead offering a smile to Daphne. [color=008080]"I don't think my best years are behind me [i]just[/i] yet. Well, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a last sweep of Cargo."[/color] A quick nod of the head and he stepped smartly away, down to the main Cargo doors.

	In truth, he wanted a moment to himself in a place with actual wind ruffling his hair. Even though there were people milling about on the docks around him, he could partially count it as alone, owing to the anonymity of the crowd. No one seemed to care who he was nor what he as doing out there, which was just fine to him. Naturally, he couldn't stay for long before his more practical sensibilities took over. Survival instincts, quite possibly. It was a short moment that he gave himself before the thought of a stranger being on board the Cargo deck of the [i]Retribution[/i], and their unknown motives, nagged at him. It was probably best to pull back for a while, get some work done on the ship while the incident cooled down. 

	As he was turning to retreat farther into [i]Prometheus[/i], a distinct bowler cap caught his eye. The Gentleman, Mr. Foy was returning, oddly arm in arm with his new Executive Officer, or the civilian analog thereof. Harper cleared his throat, calling back into the ship for whomever could hear him, [color=008080]"They're back! Dorothy and Foy, they're back!"[/color] Somehow, he had a feeling that the interesting part of the day was just about to begin.