[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=f9ad81]Foy Coiffeur[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]http://goodwillwatching.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/A-million-ways-to-die-in-the-west-640x350.png[/img][hr][b][color=f9ad81]Location:[/color][/b] Newhope - Lady Luck (Floor, Main Room)
[b][color=f9ad81]Skills:[/color][/b] Carouse, Perception, Athletics - Coordination [hr][/center]

	It was the first time since signing on (officially or otherwise) that he showed a glimpse into his athletic ability. He was a slender, physically unassuming type, despite displaying a sense of self-importance that could likely knock a hole through a mortared brick wall. But the muscle beneath his fancy duds was wiry and capable, which was nothing compared to the fluidity and grace that he possessed. One hand around Jacqueline's waist and another taking clasping her fingers gingerly, Foy led the dance to upbeat fiddleplaying and backup musicians that he might describe as [color=f9ad81]"adequate to our necessity this evening, quite."[/color] He was finally within a zone of his competence, be it secondary. Even marginal. Dancing for him was merely a thing which one did during the grand affairs of the Farradayan Aristocracy; he was simply better at it than most. It was also an excellent way to keep one's self in properly limbered shape for his less respectable endeavors. Or to put it differently, Foy was referred to as a "dashing blade" as more than a metaphor. Stepping lively heel to toe was an invaluable exercise when brandishing a handsbreadth to an armlength of sharpened steel in practice was inappropriate. 

	Foy's face held a look of perceptive confidence as he moved forcefully yet elegantly across the floor. As the dance slowed toward the decrescendo, Foy took the opportunity to respond to his partner's prior declaration. [color=f9ad81]"Flattery, madame, is a social transparency. Nevertheless, I must reciprocate; you have a more comely, less caustic demeanor when the music moves you."[/color] 

	If the goal was to get to know Foy on a more personal level, it might be revealed that he was a fairly open book. Everyone had their little secrets, granted. As it was, he was curious about learning more about the lady with whom he was frolicking as well. He had assessed her as a grifter, an assumption that she had backed up in their conversation back at the table. Learning more about a potential wild card of uncertain loyalties was a priority, though not the topmost. Were the esteemed Mr. Coiffeur to wish to dip into the psyche of anyone on his new crew, it would most assuredly be their new pilot. Things did not fully add up with him, and now that he was off in a shady backroom with the Captain, a woman who openly despised anything Alliance? Oh this was becoming just too much, like a big, shiny red button that read "DO NOT PUSH".  

	Of course, a perceptive person dancing with Foy might notice that the sharp and talented Barber had something affixed to one or both of his forearms, underneath his bespoke suit's shirt sleeves. Such a thing could pass a casual inspection, but was a little more noticeable when one was in prolonged physical contact. If Foy suspected anything, it did not appear on his face.