[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=f9ad81]Foy Coiffeur[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://i.pinimg.com/originals/de/32/ca/de32ca1bb56ed12e256aa147a7a911c4.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=f9ad81]Location:[/color][/b] Newhope Docks (Prometheus, Foy's Parlor)
[b][color=f9ad81]Skills:[/color][/b] Art, Perception [hr][/center]

        Not to be undone by conversation so early in the morning, Foy retorted to the newest of guests aboard Prometheus in shorter form (for him), [color=f9ad81]"Why madame, when out pursuing endeavors clandestine within the enveloping arms of the diatant Black, a Farradayan aristocrat is oft found conversing with one's self. Many a time, it is the only way in which stimulating conversation may occur."[/color] The smile on his face made it uncertain whether he was saying this as a joke or with smug certainty. 

        [color=f9ad81]"Although, let it never be spoken aloud that I do not possess the trappings of genteel civility. And to that end..."[/color] he continued speaking, even as he poured a wide, shallow, porcelain cup of aromatic and rich brown coffee. He set it upon a saucer with two smallish candies wrapped in silvered paper and held it out to Jacqueline, [color=f9ad81]"Good Morning."[/color] The words were spoken as if a grand presentation, and not merely the offering of an a.m. pick-me-up. Though to his credit, this [i]was[/i] the high quality stuff. 

        [color=f9ad81]"Though, concerning your hair, madame, I should believe that you, being in the ah... profession that you are, you would prefer something versatile, but with body. Hmm, indeed. A style that you may change readily, that holds up well to repeated dyeing. Volume, of course, and perhaps some highlights. Maybe even a tinge more red... Have you any preferences to add?"[/color] 




[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=008080]William Harper[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://cdn.pastemagazine.com/www/system/images/photo_albums/christian-bale/large/15-bale-amidsummernightsdream.jpg?1384968217[/img][hr][b][color=teal]Location:[/color][/b] Newhope Docks (Prometheus, Captain's Cabin)
[b][color=008080]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	Harper couldn't quite tell if the silence he received in response to his awkward query was due to amusement on the Captain's part, or if another motivator was present. Nevertheless, the ramifications of the previous evening would have to be sorted out at a later time. He needed to get his personals together and make a discreet exit from Anisa's cabin before anyone noticed. It was not accurate to say that he was ashamed of what had transpired, but overt knowledge (to his estimation) at that time would lead to professional complications that he, quite frankly, had no desire to address. Some may accuse him of currying favor in the age-old and well respected method of sleeping his way to the top, while others might berate the Captain for taking advantage of a new crew member. Harper wasn't sure how it worked out on the Rim, but in the military these little complications led to division. He didn't need that and he was pretty sure that Anisa didn't need that either. 

	Yet there she stood, staring at him from the shower. Harper sighed and slipped on his coveralls and boots. He grabbed his things and stood by the door with minimal hesitation; this close to the bridge, there were fewer people that he might run into when he opened the door, in theory. The three officers' cabins were clustered up this way, so it was Anisa, himself, and Dorothy. The only one he had to worry about running into, again in theory, was Dorothy. So, it was time to act nonchalant. Ish.  

        [color=008080]"I'll have your coffee ready in the Galley in about fifteen minutes, Ma'am. We can continue our [i]debriefing[/i] at a later time."[/color] Wait, was that sarcasm? That was sarcasm. Probably not the smartest idea Harper ever had. It just slipped out, like a dormant part of his personality that bled through the cracks of whatever persona he had to adopt to survive. But this lady knew the truth about him. Once upon a time, he was an able ship's officer. No reason he can't be one again. Harper cleared his throat to suppress a smile, and left the room with a respectful, [color=008080]"Captain."[/color] 

        Oh, he was in it now. The thought that he was most definitely bound to the fate of this ship and her Captain for the next two years was not lost on him in that moment. Whatever this new development meant or didn't mean, Harper had to look back on the total of yesterday and smile. He was [i]living[/i]. Participating in humanity, ups and downs of all of it. Yesterday was a really good day. 

        Harper spent the next few minutes in his cabin readying for the day. Military training and a lack of personal resources kept his morning rituals short - fast, utilitarian shower followed by dressing in essentially the same type of clothing he was wearing the day before. Black and grey tac coveralls and a fitting shirt underneath. He buckled on his gunbelt which used to belong to the crew's previous mercenary, a woman he had only seen through glass and at a distance once before her death. He had her field knife, too, though it was more of a utility item than a first selection for melee. No, for that Harper had his massive wrench, a thing which he spun in his fingers once and slipped into the tool pocket of his coveralls opposite his pistol. 

        Confidence and caution reinvigorated, Harper sought to hit the ground running today. First order was coffee, for himself and for Anisa, as he had promised. He was pretty sure that there were still leftover bits of what Atticus prepared the day before, which would suffice for a passable breakfast. But first, coffee. 

        Striding down the length of the ship's upper deck, he sid note the scent of coffee wafting through the air; a common variety and a note of something a little more pricey, which from experience told him that it must be coming from Foy's corner of Prometheus. He'd rather avoid conversation with the man foest thing in the morning, and so took the route to the galley that did not have him passing the man's parlor. Once in the area of the ship that doubled as their lounge, kitchen, and dining area, Harper set about the task of reading a simple cup for himself, and a place setting for the Captain at the head of the most prominent table. It was the least he could do that morning.