[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 (Jahosafat's Quarters) [b][color=f9ad81]Skills:[/color][/b] Perception [hr][/center] Whilst perusing the many hats of the highly regarded Mr. Jahosafat Moreau, Foy had to admit a touch of jealousy. He did have a lovely and varied collection. The dapper purveyor of all things barber-y did not wish to be viewed as some sort of Peeping Thomas, skulking about simply to rummage through another man's hats, and so left the door to his friend's quarters open. A number of minutes had passed, far longer than what was required to ordinarily resuscitate someone going through a temporary loss of circulatory control. Or not. For all Foy knew, it was over and done with, and Josie was having sherry with the man and Dorothy someplace quiet on the ship. Or conversely, for all Foy knew, the process by which one was brought back from cardiac issues took hours. The man was in the business of removing life, not preserving it. Foy settled back upon the bunk nearby. His posture remained as straight and proper as always; he just didn't feel like being on his feet. [color=f9ad81]"Ludicrosity."[/color] he spoke, albeit in quiet voice. [color=f9ad81]"Utter and contemptible ludicrosity, in its total, unabridged form!"[/color] A sterner voice was used this time. This situation was strange to him. Foreign of concept, possibly. He didn't care when people were gunned down in front of him a week or two ago; people from both his ship and the opposition's. He even went as far as to make pithy remarks and snarky comebacks for those who were involved, all the while holding the equivalent of an automatic, man portable assault cannon (It was his very favorite gun). Foy was fully ready to engage the survivors in mortal combat, short range small arms leading the way. And he likely would have come out on top of that exchange, save for one person who [i]might[/i] have out-drawn him. He took off his own bowler hat and inspected it, for no other reason than to have his hands do something. Pursuant to his earlier thought, Foy enunciated, [color=f9ad81]"It would have been necessary to cause a distraction, indeed, and eliminated their Captain on the primary..."[/color] followed by a meaningful, [color=f9ad81]"The lady has the look of an experienced gunfighter. Indubitably, fortune smiles protagonistically upon those who shoot first. Oh, how a crate of mentally disturbed howler monkeys, properly set ablaze and released at precisely the appropriate time would have been an investment most worthwhile. Hmmm..."[/color] But it was funny how things worked out, seeing as how circumstances placed him under under her employ. He was not bitter about how it all came together in the end, not in the least. As he stared into the worked material and careful stitching of his hat, he simply mused at what a myriad of possibilities life had to offer. [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 (Bridge) [b][color=008080]Skills:[/color][/b] Computers [hr][/center] Baxk on the Bridge, Harper was going through the motions of a very standard system restart. With the exception of the electrical system amd a couple other minor items related to crew comfort, everything needed to be initialized. First, of course, was the engine. It thrummed to life, immediately beginning to charge the power cells elsewhere in the vessel, and immediately went to a more passive cycle. They needed to be ready for takeoff, not hit the Black immediately. A shipwide system check came back great, all systems registering either at full power, within safe protocols, or both. He was almost ready to wrap things up and possibly catch an hour or so of shuteye before the scheduled departure time (unless the Captain had other duties in mind) when Anisa entered the Bridge. She did not look overly happy. And by that, he meant [i]in the least[/i]. The order given to Harper informed him that the Shepherd was dead. No going back now, no saving him. As her commanding voice faltered, even just a fraction as the word "death" came out, Harper's head involuntarily flicked to Anisa's direction. He disguised the motion, but probably not very convincingly, as a nod to confirm her order. [color=008080]"Aye aye, Captain."[/color] he responded quietly, and wondered exactly how he was going to find someone in all of the 'Verse with just a name. He had to assume this person wasn't registered with the Alliance core database nor census. Hmm... Communications were online and fully up to date, allowing for a respectable broadcast range. He pulled up the ship's computer on a nearby screen and entered what information he had. There were a lot of people named Winters in the 'Verse. But from what he could tell, the only Bridgette Winters was a toddler living somewhere in or near Ariel. That... Absolutely couldn't be it. A couple of minutes later found Harper stumbling across an amazing piece of luck. A chance misspelling (an extra vowel or another such random mistake) prompted the computer's anticipatory spell correction to kick in, offering suggestions and alternate versions of the name. Not only that, but public profiles and last registered locales. And as strange as it seemed to look at the most likely candidate out of the bunch, it had to be mentioned. He hastily typed up a standard notification of death, a thing he had do do a few times back when he was an officer with the Alliance, tacked on the ship's communication info, and addressed Anisa. [color=008080]"Captain, um, I have a Bridgette [i]Vinters[/i] pulled up. Last registered address was with a training settlement on Borr in the Himinbjorg system, before that Aesir. If this is your girl, all I have to do is hit [i]send[/i]."[/color]