[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 - Lady Luck [hr][/center]

	There come a time in every man's life (or a certain type of man), now and again, when the stresses of being in the Black for a time weigh upon him. Specifically, those weights tend to lean heavily upon the nethers of said men, and in such a way that it prompts them to remove those weights in the only way that is socially acceptable in a place that caters to the varies tastes of spacefaring individuals. Like many services that may require a specialized touch, it was always best to inquire of a professional. 

	While it was not certain what the charmingly dapper gentleman known as Foy Coiffeur said while addressing the young woman he had chosen for his intended professional activities (which he had to repeat twice, changing the wording each time to avoid confusion), the slap that resulted from it was visible from across the establishment. Foy looked confused for a second before laughing and pressing a single piece of scrip in the woman's hand under the pretense of taking her hand in a farewell gesture. The lady nodded, now also smiling, and pointed to another, more provocatively dressed lady. He tipped his hat and removed himself to start the initial conversation anew, this time with a slight change in cast.   

	Thankfully, this discussion went much smoother. Before you could say, "Sorry hon, that'll cost extra", Foy and this mystery woman were escorting one another toward the staircase leading up to the Rooms of Questionable Intent, her hanging off of Foy and genuinely appearing to be interested in his company with zeal that can only be sourced with capitalism. As they passed by near the table that Jahosafat reserved for the crew, one might hear him exclaim, [color=f9ad81]"With certainty, my steampunk courtesan! You see, it is graced with its [i]own[/i] moustache, of course. Ho ho... Indeed! A [url=https://media.giphy.com/media/wdVKfnUwSQWEE/giphy.gif]'stache-ing[/url] we shall go!"[/color] Again thankfully, but this time for anyone else listening, the two of them ascended the stairs and were quickly out of earshot. 

	The Courtesan, as we will refer to her starting now, stopped by a door. She produced a key from somewhere inside of her corset and opened the door. Foy waited until she entered the room first, removed his hat and coat, and sauntered in with the certainty of a man who just paid for it. As the door swung closed, one could faintly hear the dapper gentleman's cry of [color=f9ad81]"Indubitably!"[/color] before the lock clicked home.




[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] Newhope - Lady Luck [hr][/center]	

	Harper raised his glass to his lips as Anisa threw back her whiskey. Admittedly not much of a drinker and unwilling at that moment to take leave of his senses, Harper's beverage was something from the kiddie menu in comparison to hers. Still, the manner in which she handled her booze was impressive. Time would give the final tally on that one, however. He just wasn't comfortable enough to fully let loose. 

	The Captain seemed fairly dismissive of him at first, casually tossing a response at his small show of gratitude. It seemed to pass after he complimented the ship, he noted. Perhaps she wasn't the type who cared about manners and the like, or perhaps her priorities went to her ship first and herself second. So far as Harper could figure it could go either way with this lady. Though thinking about it, he didn't really have a baseline with which to measure her responses. If he was to pilot the [i]Prometheus[/i], he would need to be able to read his new Captain better; as much for his well-being as the ship's. When time permitted, he needed to observe the woman. 

	As she jabbed a finger into his chest and slid from her seat at the bar, Harper retreated a half step to allow her room to egress. It was the polite thing to do. Responding to her comment just prior, he confidently beamed, [color=008080]"Not to worry, Ma'am. Your ship is in [i]excellent[/i] hands."[/color] then met her glance as she brushed past him, offering a wry smile in return. Addressing both Anisa and Dorothy as they stepped away, Harper intoned, [color=008080]"Ma'am, ma'am... do have a good time."[/color] and returned to his place at the bar next to Daphne. 

	He took a mental note of where the bartender had pointed earlier. Someone from outside of the crew had purchased a drink for Anisa. Had it delivered. It was a little unusual, granted, but as far as he knew it happened to the Captain all the time, which may account for the nonchalant way with which she knocked it back. But, Harper made the mental note anyway. Filing that particular piece of information away for another time, he leaned against the bar and took a sip from his big glass mug. [color=008080]"Sorry about that, Daphne. Dr. Moreau found us a table, but if you could indulge me, I would love to hear at least one story about piloting for these people before we join them."[/color] He raised his glass just short of obscuring his eyes and gave her a quick, [color=008080]"Cheers, Miss."[/color]