[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] Prometheus (Galley -> Lower Level Bunks)
[b][color=f9ad81]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	It appeared that whether or not Foy accepted Jacqueline's assistance, it was being conscripted by their new Captain anyway. Foy didn't mind the company, and was in fact going to take up the young Miss on her offer of help. Granted, he questioned her motivations, though he figured any opportunity to get some breathing room from most of these people, if even for a few moments, was preferable. Likewise preferable was the company of the immaculately dressed and generally pleasant-smelling Mr. Coiffeur, as he would say himself. 

	[color=f9ad81]"Indubitably, Miss Croix."[/color] he responded, answering her question despite the fact that Anisa's words had made her offer an order, [color=f9ad81]"There should never be an occasion wherein a gentleman would spurn the aid nor attentions of a lady with the fine taste to offer such."[/color] He began a purposeful stride toward the nearest stairwell in the aft of the Galley. Fine speech and platitude aside, he continued speaking as he descended the stairs, [color=f9ad81]"Understand however, Miss Croix, that we engage in a chore [i]most[/i] domestic in nature; the only positive note to this task being its respectably short duration. New crew ushered to an unused dormitory generally means spartan conditions to an extreme, particularly in a vessel such as this. Sundries and personal effects are not our concern..."[/color] 

	This point in his little rundown (without bothering to ask if she was familiar with the process in the first place) brought him to the door to the first room in question, a bit of quartering that was listed as a double despite Foy's own silent objections to the room's classification. He opened the door and peered inside to note precisely what he expected, a small sitting room with a distinct lack of anything resembling decor or style. It was sparsely furnished with the bare minimum of items, including a light source, table, chair, and fixed terminal. Another doorway was set within the far wall, presumably leading to a small bedroom, and a simple desk was attached to the wall. In general, the room had the feel of a motel, albeit highly generic in nature. It was clean, which made his job a lot easier. [color=f9ad81]"...for as you can clearly observe, madame, this is much like a naval vessel. That is to say, we need only ensure that the linen is fresh (generally stored beneath the bed, if anything like my experiences shipbound), the terminal functions properly, and there is nothing in the way of dust. Touches of home are the responsibility of those acquiring the room, not those providing. To force one's sense of upright style upon newcomers, regardless of propriety and social standing, would be ungentlemanly at best."[/color] 

	Foy smiled and turned to Jacqueline, twisting the end of his moustache with a smile on his face. [color=f9ad81]"I might adorn their pillows with a [i]wrapped candy[/i] or two, if I may trust you with my disclosure. Come along now, let us get started. The sooner we find ourselves done, the sooner I might divest myself of these pedestrian labors."[/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 (Galley -> Cargo Bay)
[b][color=008080]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center] 

	And so it came to pass that William Harper, Pilot and apparently "Slim Piece of Man-Meat" was sent to welcome in people who he was not only warned about, but who expressed an interest in borrowing him from Anisa for horizontal stress relief without so much as inquiring as to whether he'd be okay with it. She was a pretty enough woman, but there was a touch of violent instability about her, not to mention that he couldn't just [i]dismiss[/i] what he had shared with Anisa the night before. Not the first shred of humane, personal contact he'd had in years. He didn't know if it would be considered a betrayal, but he wasn't going to risk the appearance of betrayal until he could hammer down exactly what it meant, if anything at all. Hopefully, the Captain's assertion would be enough to quell further difficulties. 

	The thought suddenly hit Harper: He was imprisoned for years without exchanging sexual favors for protection. Lord knew it was tempting after a while and probably would have spared him some awful scarring, but easily led to other problems. Now that he was free, Harper was relying on a person of reputation to avoid a potential "dropped soap scenario" with another person of reputation. Even if this Vinters lady was kidding, and he figured it was probably just the equivalent of soldiers' talk between two hardasses who hadn't seen each other in a while, it had been established that (in the context of this exchange) Harper was Anisa's bitch. 

	The thought stopped him in his tracks, halfway to the main Cargo doors. Then he began to laugh. It was sputtering at first, but grew in volume and clarity. He bit down on his knuckle, wiped a tear or two away, and otherwise did his best to shove it back down, but damage done. Exhaling a final bit of mirth, he said aloud in breathy voice, [color=008080]"Oh Harper, you dumbass, this could be [i]so much worse[/i]."[/color] Indeed it could. He was in a much better position than he was a few days ago, and a significantly better position than he was a couple of weeks ago. He attached himself to this woman and this ship for a reason, a damned good one, and she had been kind to him, in her own way. Whatever she needed of him over the next couple of years was just fine by his reckoning, and whatever she [i]didn't[/i] want from him was a-ok too, at her preference. Harper was perfectly fine with being her Pilot With Benefits. Life was too short and he'd already wasted part of it. Moral flexibility was his forte these days anyway. 

	The completed journey aft toward the main cargo doors was completed with a swifter pace, seeing as they had crew waiting patiently on him. Well, on Anisa, but he was serving as welcome wagon on this occasion. Either way, he needed to get them inside. Harper jogged over to the controls and hit the main button, opening the cargo bay to the sights and sounds of the Newhope Docks. The first such sight and/or sound experienced was the duo of heavily muscled blonde siblings standing just beyond the reach of the loading ramp. Somehow, the groggy conversation over the Cortex didn't do justice to the sight of these people. The woman in particular looked goddamned painful, attired and armed as she was, with the visible parts of her arms showing cords of lean muscle that promised awful, awful things to those who crossed her. The man... okay, not what he was expecting, but still a powerhouse of a human being, whatever else he might be. Unbidden, a thought escaped his brain in the form of a misplaced vocalization: 

	[color=008080]"Shèng Lā Shǐ[/color][sub]1[/sub][color=008080], you're a Viking."[/color] 

[hider=Translations]
1	=	Holy Shit
[/hider]



[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] Newhope Docks (In front of [i]Prometheus[/i]) -> Prometheus (Cargo)
[b][color=orangered]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

        Bridgette disliked impatient people, even if the occasion happened that she found herself being impatient. She disliked pushy people too, again making her something close to hypocritical. Like Cyril, she was awash with mixed feelings. Some of it was a little scary, changing up one's life even if it meant a better one. It was certainly exciting; no matter how many times she moved around there was always a sense of wonder, bordering on optimism. The chance to experience something new that the 'Verse had to offer was something to look forward to. Working on a ship like this would provide many such opportunities. So yes, Bridgette was a little anxious and [i]yes[/i], that translated into a moment of impatience. 

        Her brother's response was admittedly not the most ideal, given the circumstances. [color=ff4500]"Frost your shit, Cyril."[/color] she said in a concerned tone of voice, [color=ff4500]"These people are getting ready for a funeral. Show some restraint. You want your own bunk, right? Safe place to sleep? They need to see the strong, kind Cyril that helps out his big sister. They can meet the Cyril that drop-kicks fuckers and wears their ass for a hat another day. Okay bro?"[/color] 

        At that moment, the cargo doors began to open. Just a crack at first, but as the mechanisms kicked in properly the front end of the vessel parted to allow them sight and access into [i]Prometheus[/i]. Bridgette lifted the handle on her big utility trunk and rolled it over to the ramp as it settled upon the paved surface of the docks. A devious grin split her face as she looked up to hopefully greet her friend Anisa, only to catch a second of disappointment to view Harper instead. 

        She responded to his observation of her decidedly Nordic influence with a flat, sarcastic, [color=ff4500]"Yeah, and what, Anisa changed her mind and you're my 'welcome aboard' gift? Cause I got a few minutes to fuck through some mixed emotions there, man-meat."[/color] She was a little annoyed that the Captain couldn't be there to meet her, but generally accepted Harper's coming explanation of the situation: 

        [color=teal]"Hardly."[/color] he answered, remaining stoic. [color=teal]"Unexpected things hit us recently, including Shepherd Pearson's passing. The Captain is taking care of something important, otherwise she'd be here herself, but she will be meeting us all in the Galley in a half hour."[/color] He gave a curt wave, intoning, [color=teal]"Permission to come aboard granted."[/color] 

        Bridgette blinked for a second, eyeing the fairly straightlaced man in tac coveralls in front of her. He was armed and comfortable with it, had decent posture, and didn't react to her barbs. He was military. Judging by his Core accent, he was Alliance military, or used to be. Not that she could judge, her paycheck was once-upon-a-time funded by Alliance credit. Plus, there was no way in hell that Anisa would get in bed with, literally or figuratively, anything having to do with them. Shrugging, she hefted her trunk and pulled it along behind her, making her way up the ramp and into Cargo proper. 

        [color=teal]"Quarters are being prepared for the both of you. In the meantime, you may store your belongings in aft Cargo and I will show the both of you to the Galley."[/color] 

        [color=ff4500]"Whoa there, Cruise Director - you got a fucking name or do I have to guess it?"[/color] It didn't seem fair that this guy overheard her and her brother's names while sitting in on a wave with Anisa. The man seemed to get it, acquiescing to her rudely put request. 

        [color=teal]"Harper, William. I am your pilot, Miss Vinters."[/color] 

        [color=ff4500]"Okay then 'Harper, William',"[/color] she replied with a sarcastic smile etched into her features, [color=ff4500]"we can be friends now."[/color]