[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=008080]William Harper[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.cinemablend.com/filter:scale/cb/6/4/a/b/d/a/64abda9122910e2617318cdc3d43516062ebc1ae5b880e96ddb5beadc78d4655.jpg?mw=600[/img][hr][b][color=teal]Location:[/color][/b] Newhope - Lady Luck (Back Room)
[b][color=008080]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	People were pushy. It didn't matter where you were in the 'Verse, be it the Core, some blip of a barely terraformed moon along the Rim, or a frigid penal colony in a cluster of lifeless rock in the Halo field. People were pushy. Moreover, unless you had a hell of a reputation wherever you were, you had to be pushy to survive. Acceptable alternatives to pushy were "invisible" and "could-snap-any-moment-crazy". At the moment, Harper wished to be invisible. Blending in was his thing; being nondescript and not volunteering personal information had kept him alive. A dash of crazy was helpful, too. More helpful than he would like to admit most times he had to dust it off, to the point that it was difficult to separate himself from the learned mannerisms that he had picked up during the years-long tertiary education he received at the behest of a government he used to work for. It was no secret that Harper was once an officer with the Allied Fleet; Anisa had met him while he was still wearing his black & grey Class B uniform. The timetable of his actual, voluntary involvement differed, however. 

	But back to the present. People were pushy, like this man with the accent that stemmed back to Earth That Was. Maintaining it over generations meant that his people either lived in cultural isolation since Colonization, or he came from a prominent background in one way or another. Or both. Even if it was birthed of his personal history, the man thought himself important enough to control the situation, detail for detail. It was likely that the muscle around him felt the same way. So while Harper did not wish to indulge anyone with personal information (such as using his name around people who might be inclined to research it), he also had no desire to cost Anisa business or upset the local black market bigwig. The Captain's livelihood had become his own, and pissing off the criminal element would get him noticed in a hurry - at best. 

	[color=008080]"Apologies for speaking out of turn, Captain."[/color] began Harper, keeping his eyes on the man behind the desk, [color=008080]"If I'm correct, the gentleman just wants to know he's respected in his own home."[/color] He nodded in a manner that suggested acquiescence. [color=008080]"But the Captain is right. I'm not the guy putting my X on the dotted line. She is. And my business is with [i]her[/i] directly. You need a word to put with the face, okay. Call me Anjin."[/color] It was a name he picked up years ago, perusing one of the libraries back home. If he were a well-read man, he might have been exposed to a copy of Shogun. Anjin was the name given to an English pilot contracted to a Dutch ship that ran aground in the Japanese islands during the European colonial period. It was a complete work of fiction, but somehow being put adrift into strange waters such as this made it all make sense to him. Had this man read the book, he would be able to figure out that Anjin readily identified him as a Pilot and Navigator, formerly military. And who knows? He might have some Japanese in his background he didn't know about. 


[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 (Table, Main Room)
[b][color=f9ad81]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A[hr][/center]

	Foy slapped his cards upon the table with a hearty chuckle. [color=f9ad81]"Ho hoooo..."[/color] he chortled, [color=f9ad81]"Well, isn't THAT a fine How-Do-You-Do? Why, Fitzy old boy, I should declare that you have had the most [i]ensorcelled[/i] slice of happenstance that I have ever held eyes upon personally; at least so far as cards are concerned. That, my good sir, or you are the most charmingly convincing hustler to enter this place in many a year!"[/color] With a chuckle, Foy pushed his wagered monies farther in the direction of the younger Engineer. 

	He did give a quick glance over to Mei as she mentioned the dressmaker's shop. Of course! Even though the tracks went somewhat cold in the busier market area, it stood to reason that she might have holed up there. If the owners were feeling particularly kind, that would have also explained why the business was closed up during the day, barring some little known cultural holiday that they were observing. He gave a knowing, [color=f9ad81]"Hmm!"[/color] to the commentary and nodded to Dorothy. They hadn't [i]failed[/i], persay, more than cut their losses from a "maybe" situation and returned to base, which happened to have transformed into a totally different vessel by the time they returned. Life was funny that way. Foy did mean what he had said earlier: Though it was not his usual type of contract, thusfar working for them was not boring. 

	Then, as if on cue, something inquisitive came from the mouth of the blonde grifter across the table from him. [color=f9ad81]"Barber Boy, madame, is the name of my sidekick whilst I toddle off upon one of my more altruistic crime fighting benders, naturally."[/color] The sarcasm was heavy in his voice. [color=f9ad81]"I must disagree with you, you see. Though my background might be chock full of intrigue and mystery, business dealings and random 'stache-ry, I would be more proper to inform that the details of my life are inconsequential, given the breadth of informality and levity to which our present situation holds us. I do stand by all of my earlier statements about myself, if this is of any support to your query, madame."[/color] He thought about it for a moment and piped up, [color=f9ad81]"One may surmise that I have talents beyond my capacity for style, though truthfully, what more does one find truly requisite in life? In all fairness, I am verily [i]replete[/i] with history, but my willingness to follow the letter of contractual obligation prevents detailed discussion."[/color] 

	Foy gave a little smile and sipped a good amount of his whiskey. He set down his glass and concluded coldly, [color=f9ad81]"I sincerely doubt that talk of business dealings and intellectual properties are your cup of Chamomile, by the by. But what of yourself? Lady of clandestine self-making, I should imagine?"[/color]