[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 -> Foy's Quarters) [b][color=f9ad81]Skills:[/color][/b] Perception [hr][/center] The secret truths which were to be found within the felt and stitching of Foy's very fine hat were not as forthcoming as he would have liked on that morning. There was very little to say just then, likewise there was very little to do. This was a waiting game, pure and simple. Which was to say that, given his options, the indomitable spirit of the Gentleman Barber was better suited to a comfortable, slightly more neutral location. He had sated his curiosity as to the extent and quality of Jahosafat's collection of hats quite well, replaced everything in proper order (as a gentleman might), and it was time to move on. Foy stood and straightened his black, silk tie, making sure that the platinum pin was secure and centered. Just because he wasn't going out that hour, there was no reason to look sloppy. He twirled his bowler hat around in his hands but once, exited the room of his childhood friend, and quietly closed the door behind him. The short walk from the door back to his Parlor gave him a few seconds to think while not being distracted by things of greatness like hats and wrapped candies, bespoke apparel, and masterful engraving upon the intricate, interlocking pieces of a worthy firearm. Sadly, he did not like what came to his brain unbidden when such things let them. [color=f9ad81]"That confounded Shepherd..."[/color] he murmured to himself. He was hoping that the man would be alright. Atticus seemed to be quite the jovial fellow. His social standing might even be forgivable, considering his presumed standing with what society agreed was a rather likely hereafter, coupled with a Vow of Poverty. [color=f9ad81]"My word,"[/color] he said aloud, pausing his steps for a moment, [color=f9ad81]"What a positively [i]scandalous[/i] proposition: Intentionally vowing to be poor. Why, it flies in the face of appropriate business sense, indeed!"[/color] Foy even suppressed a laugh. Curious that he would find it funny. Curiouser that he would have his mind focused upon Atticus at that point in time, as well. It occurred to him that he actually liked the odd fellow. He was in dire need of a wardrobe upgrade, had some odd thoughts about the class system, but he genuinely seemed a likeable man. Well, better to shake those thoughts away for the time being. Medical personnel were seeing to him and his fate would be determined without any input from him, in the long and short of things. Instead of investing more worry into the situation, Foy took it upon himself to return to his quarters and give his personal arsenal a once-over. Inspect for spotting and sights. Inventory ammunition. He had acquired a couple of new items with which he wished to familiarize himself. One was not a weapon; it was Captain Quinn's personal earpiece transmitter. The other was most assuredly a weapon, and a classic one at that. A Mosin-Nagant 91/30 rifle, long range and capable of filling both infantry and (even better suited to) sniper roles. It was an older model, naturally; one does not become a classic by being new. Nevertheless it has a reputation for being monstrously accurate at very long ranges. Foy only wished he had the time to stop by a gunsmith or vendor to pick up some very standard accessories before their departure. Well, something else to look forward to, he supposed. Still, his "walking around" stash was formidable, as could be seen clearly from outside of his quarters. He had left the door open again, much like in Jahosafat's room while he was still in it. There was no need for secrecy among these people, at least about this. If they all fulfilled their roles properly and in concert with each other to best get their jobs done, they would all learn what the others could do. This was merely a reflection of part of his skill set. Laid out for inspection in his personal quarters was his gunbelt containing a pair of custom Colt Pythons, in short order a fully assembled Callahan Fullbore Auto-Lock with its varied, demolition worthy ammunition, and of course the recently acquired 91/30 Sniper Rifle. He would have preferred more options given his circumstances, but this was a start. Foy's next bit of time was spent inspecting and maintaining his weapons, hopefully to complete prior to takeoff. Every so often, one might notice him twirling the tips of his elegant and very masculine moustache, a triumph of facial accessories across the 'Verse. [hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=008080]William Harper[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BNTg5NmRmYzUtYzM3MS00OWU0LTgzYmMtNzc2OTFkZGZhMzI5XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNzU1NzE3NTg@._V1_CR0,45,480,270_AL_UX477_CR0,0,477,268_AL_.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=teal]Location:[/color][/b] Prometheus (Bridge) [b][color=008080]Skills:[/color][/b] Computers [hr][/center] Harper sat staring at the vid screen for a few seconds after the signal cut, using the time to take in what had just happened. Anisa was a frightening woman when she wanted to be, in a stern, authoritative way. The woman she had just finished speaking with was equally frightening in his mind, but in a manner that implied violent instability. He hoped that he was wrong about this. The short talk he was privy to kicked off a few internal warning signs, like a flaring of the survival instinct he had picked up during his residence at that God forsaken penal colony in the Halo field. The feeling was mellowed somewhat by the fact that she seemed to have a completely separate personality for someone off camera, indicating to him a core of decency beneath what was overtly presented, or a weakness to exploit if things got really bad. Concerning the last words that Anisa spoke, specifically concerning the possibility of being the new girl's bitch, Harper set a quizzical expression and shrugged, saying, [color=008080]"She is a lot prettier than the last person who attempted it, at least."[/color] His tone suggested bitter recollection. It had been a long time since he was considered a target by aggressive ne'er-do-wells locked away in a big steel can. Harper had learned his lessons quickly and painfully, however. Before his unintended release, people learned to leave him the hell alone. Mostly. But that woman looked [i]really, really strong[/i]. Harper straightened in his seat, putting on the air of a dutiful Lieutenant. [color=008080]"I am sending Miss Vinters the ship and docking information she requested, Captain. If you'd prefer, I will stay on the bridge for a while longer to receive any additional communication she might have. We are otherwise primed for departure at your order, Ma'am."[/color] [hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=ff4500]Bridgette Vinters[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/ee08c0f4-d9d6-4483-837d-cef5143cc12c.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=orangered]Location:[/color][/b] Crappy Lodging (Near Lady Luck) [b][color=orangered]Skills:[/color][/b] [hr][/center] The second that the signal was dropped, Bridgette rolled onto her side with sputtering laughter. Whoever that guy was sitting with Anisa, he probably needed to lighten the hell up. And so long as she was thinking about it, good on Cap'n Crowe for finding someone to cross her eyes and test out her vocal cords every now and again. No reason she couldn't share, Bridgette figured, but most people just weren't like that out in the wider 'Verse. Their loss. Her terminal signaled her once again. This time, it was a basic data file labelled "[i]Courtesy of the Captain[/i]", giving basic information about a ship docked not too far from her location. Bridgette expected to see very familiar info, but was surprised to note that this was very much [i]not[/i] the Vengeance. Had something happened? Anisa loved that ship, she thought. It was her [i]home[/i]. And a half-decent mechanic could keep a Firefly in the Black indefinitely, given some time to work. Bridgette had a little experience with mechanics herself. It wasn't her main forte, but she could probably keep something as reliable as a Firefly limping until it could be seen by more experienced people. This ship though? It wasn't even a Firefly vessel at all. [color=orangered]"[i]J'vla helvete[/i], she got a gorram [i]Dragonfly[/i]? What the ass is a Dragonfly? ...whatever. [/color] In the long run, it didn't matter. Anisa was an experienced Captain who wasn't going to voluntarily get junk. She had a position lined up for her that paid, and apparently senior staff kind of paid if she was taking Atticus's share, [i]plus[/i] some personal space for Cyril. She was taking it. [color=orangered]"Hey, Cyril?"[/color] she called over to her brother, who was in the middle of... ok, so he was spinning around on his ass singing that song again. She didn't want to deal with this. [color=orangered]"Pack up, Cyril!"[/color] she said cheerfully. [color=orangered]"I got us a gig on a ship! Regular meals, better living spaces, oh and get this Cyril: [i]Your own bunk[/i]. It's not going to be very big, but it's only you in there if you want to be alone, alright? Well, unless the Captain says different, but I know her. It'll be okay. We just have to work for her."[/color] Bridgette nodded her head, giving Cyril a soft smile. She definitely wasn't like this with anybody else. [color=orangered]Hurry up and get ready to move, we have to be there in one hour. Come on."[/color] In truth, it was going to take less than an hour to get to this new ship, "[i]Prometheus[/i]". But she did want to make sure she got everything together and grabbed something to eat along the way. Cyril might be fine with Fluffernutter this early in the morning, but Bridgette was not. And if they were going to meet some new people, as implied by the presence of that unknown man with Anisa, she wanted to put on a proper first impression. The vast majority of her belongings were still packed away in a very large utility trunk propped up on wheels. A couple of tools lay about which were easily stashed, her terminal, as well as a few articles of clothing. The remainder of her stuff - her working and functional gear - she intended to have on her person. First, she pulled a pair of work boots on over kneehigh, rainbow colored socks, tying down the fat, pink laces with hurried double knots. She had passed out in her brown cargo pants and black tank top the night before, so that made things easier. From the trunk, she acquired and donned a set of secure armor, vaguely resembling Alliance gear but lighter, more form fitting, and grey-black in color. After clipping on the extremity pieces, she slipped the collapsible helmet onto her belt clip and began buckling on her gunbelt. This gunbelt was built with shotguns in mind; two of them in fact. Short barreled over/under hand cannons and enough shells to make things interesting in most any social affair. Most folks might pack a revolver, but not so Bridgette. Half the time, she didn't even want to have to aim. She slipped a nasty looking seax into the back of her belt, one that she crafted herself. And there pretty much ended any connection she had with the modern 'Verse in equipment. A [url=https://www.gdfb.co.uk/ekmps/shops/11b299/images/viking-round-shield-3199-p.jpg]roundshield[/url], three feet or so across leaned against the wall along side a broad, seven-foot long hewing spear. The shield itself was an up to date protective device made with materials of the day; ballistic and impact trauma accounted for in great detail. Bridgette paused for a moment, deciding first to garb herself with a great mantle, long enough to be considered a cloak, made of thick, white bear fur. She took up the spear, gave it a heft, and watched expectantly as the shaft seamlessly shortened by three feet. It clipped onto a firmpoint on the back of her shield, which she then slung across her back with a reinforced leather strap. Bridgette felt her ears and neck to make sure her torc, earrings, and ear cuffs were straight and centered. Then, as a final touch of intimidation, smeared a bit of red facepaint across her chiseled yet unmistakably feminine features. [color=orangered]"Let's get out of here, Cyril. I want to get some breakfast before we meet up with the ship."[/color] She smiled at her little brother. He might not deserve what he has to endure in his life now, but she wanted to make sure he didn't have to endure much more. Everybody else was either friend or fodder as far as she was concerned. Bridgette grabbed the extended handle of her utility case and strode to the door. She indeed looked quite the mercenary.