[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] Prometheus (Foy's Parlor)  -> Upper Deck: Outside Foyer
[b][color=f9ad81]Skills:[/color][/b] Perception [hr][/center]

	While not an overly selfish man, Foy looked at the situation logically. He was simply not equipped to deal with the fate of a man who was on the cusp of death, not unless he was the guy who put him there. Even then, there would be significantly more blood exposed to open air were he involved, be it spread about by the application of random sharp implements or, and statistically more likely, a hail of well-placed gunfire. He was awfully fond of his Callahan in that regard; it really rounded out his options in a firefight and had an intimidating silhouette. But that was neither here nor there. In this instant, Foy was powerless to do anything for anyone aside from stand there and sip, sip, sip his coffee, nonchalantly leaning in the doorway to the Foy-er. 

	He could see the exertion building on Jahosafat's face, the perspiration building. Foy would spare his friend the indignity of such sweat-inducing pursuits, seeing as they were not related to the understandable activities of training, wenching, or engaging in a gentlemanly "row" (preferably involving knuckle-out fisticuffs). But this was his chosen occupation, and Foy would attest that Jahosafat was indeed quite talented at his profession. It would seem right that he invest his energies and the very water of his life into practicing the medicinal arts, just as Foy might be seen sporting a sheen of moisture across his brow on the occasions that he had to take up arms and/or leave a lasting impression whereever his contract holders requested that an impression last. 

	All at once, the dapper practitioner of all things Barber-y straightened from his position of leaning repose with a sudden look of realization. A minor "Aha!" moment, if you will. He deftly skirted around the people involved with the medical emergency directly, coming to stop within direct line of sight with their pilot, Harper. The wheels of Foy's mind turned and grated, but only for a second. There was a life in the balance, of course. [color=f9ad81]"I say, you have the look of a very [i]relaxed[/i] but horribly vestigial human being just this minute. However would you like to do something beneficial, that does not involve your scrutinizing the repetitive motions of Captain Crowe atop our dear Brother Atticus?"[/color] 


[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] Prometheus (Corridor to the fore of the Lounge, near Foy's Parlor) ->  Upper Deck: Outside Foyer
[b][color=008080]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	Harper looked into Foy's eyes, his own narrowing in response to the man's not-quite-accusatory statement. He was an educated man, and as such was fully capable of following the ins and outs of Foy's constant verbal ...Foyness. It was like he was digging for information without actually asking questions. In this particular instance, it looked like he actually needed something. Harper didn't say a word, merely responding by nodding his head slowly and assuming a more active stance. His hands came together in front of him and cocked his head to one side, imitating the appearance of impatience. 

	[color=f9ad81]"Splendid, Lieutenant Harper!"[/color] retorted Foy, turning around and striding in the direction of the ship's fore. He continued to speak as he walked, confidant that the pilot was following him. [color=f9ad81]"You seem the stalwart and physically apt fellow, despite your former seeming emaciation, my good man."[/color] He was of course referring to the day that he appeared on the docks at Persephone, fresh on a new assignment with his orders in hand. Harper was admittedly a little wiry that day, and in fact still was, though the past couple of weeks were beneficial to him in that regard. 

        Still without speech, Harper fell into step behind Foy, one part of him curious as to what he had in mind and another part simply pleased that he was doing something useful. He hoped, anyway. If this Farradayan was leading him away to help reorganize his collection of fine, silk ties, then Harper may have to readdress his feelings about the Captain's stance on airlock based capital punishment. But as it was, Foy was leading them fore a bit farther, and now at quickening pace. 

        A matter of seconds later, the pair of them arrived at the door to Jahosafat's quarters. The casual nature of the morning, up until the pressing cardiac event, led to the eventuality of an unlatched door, allowing the two of them access to the private room of the Farradayan doctor. To Harper, it felt like a breach of privacy. Curiosity got the better of him, however, and he filed into the room behind Foy. The bespoke suited dandy had already moved to a rather large, flat-topped chest toward the back of the room and popped the fitted lid from it completely, revealing a selection of fine, well cared for hats. Just lovely, immaculate, and brushed hats of leather, suede, felt, even. It really was an amazing collection of quality headwear. The sight of it made a single wire of growing, stinging heat blossom in Harper's mind. For a moment, it looked like he really did want him to help with some bit of redundant uppercrust knickknacks. 

	The idea of bashing him in the back of his finely coiffed head with his spanner and then stuffing his still twitching corpse into the steamer chest full of hats was becoming more and more plausible with each passing nanosecond. Then he might then return to the ongoing emergency and swear up and down that he had no idea what happened to the arrogant bastard. Then Foy said something unexpected: [color=f9ad81]"I say, don't act the surly stone obelisk, Harper; lend the metaphorical and literal hand - or some two, I should say, and let us appropriate this trunk lid as an impromptu body board so that we may transport our comrade-in-arms to the Medical Bay proper. Shall we?"[/color]   

	There was a note of relief when Harper realized that Foy was actually attempting to work in the best interests of the Shepherd. Not only that, but he had a fairly good idea as well. [color=teal]"All right. You get that end."[/color] A truce of sorts between the two men, perhaps. For the meantime, the two men brought the wide, reinforced lid from Jahosafat's quarters back to the scene of the ongoing emergency and laid it down to one side of Atticus and the continuing attention of Jahosafat, Anisa, and now Dorothy. [color=008080]"Let us know when we can move him."[/color] Harper said flatly.