---

---

Mei already knew about the death, but she was still thankful it was nothing more than the man's unhealthy habits catching up to him. That sounded bad. She was not happy he was dead, but she did not know the man. At all really. So she could feel no remorse, but she could understand how the others felt. She wondered who felt it more though. She really wished she had gotten to know him better. Rather than make herself known, Mei waited patiently for everyone to finish up so she could talk to the Captain. With new people coming on board, she was sure her talents would be needed soon.

Jackie wanted to speak. Desperately. She had only met Jesus Freak the night before. "I, for one, only just met the man, but I could tell he was a good time. I don't say this often so enjoy it while it lasts, but I am truly sorry for your loss." Jackie made a note of the reactions in the room as some were quiet, others voiced their feelings. Crews were often losing people, though the means of the loss was not usually health habits.

Jackie looked over to Barber Boy. What preparations could he possibly need to make for a new crew member? And why did her and the others not get this? Jackie was now curious. "Barber Boy, need some help? Not sure what to do with myself until we get things going around here." Plus, Jackie didn't relish the idea of spending more time with Fitz and the Ditz (hey, that could be a show name!).

Mei glanced around her as the others, more or less, finished up. She wanted to get to work, but didn't feel it was in her place to rush anyone along, especially the Captain who was dealing with all of this as best as Mei could observe. She had seen men and women before break down from grief. It was an Achilles heel to many. Mei would have to keep an eye on her, just in case.

---

---

---

---

Jahosafat gave Dorothy a moment to read over the letter he had handed to her. While she read that he looked over the will he had found in the Preachers room, skimming it quickly and glancing towards Dorothy here and there and waiting for her to get done. Once she had, he finally answered her. "Indeed. It seems he left most all of his possessions to a one Bridgette Vinters. Save two items of note," he said as he slipped over to her and pointed to a single line in the will, he read it out loud as his finger ran underneath the text. "I do here by leave all my possessions to Bridgette Vinters with the exception of the following items. My personal bible and rosary are to be bestowed to Doctor Dorothy Pender, may she find a use for these items other than throwing them at people."

Jahosafat quirked a brow and shrugged to himself as he reached over to thee table and picked up the rosary he had already removed from the pocket of the preacher. Holding it out to her. "He had several bibles in his quarters, I assume you will know which one he is referring to," he said in an caring voice. It was an odd choice of items to leave a person, especially to one who seemed as scientifically focused as Dorothy was but he wasn't going to let his mouth run away with him right then. Not with her.

Anisa swallowed slightly. "Yes, very well. Get the quarters in order Foy. Harper go greet Miss Vinters and her brother, Daphne, please take Fitz down to medical before he vomits on my floor. Jackie make sure Foy don't be flowerin' up the rooms too much. Mei you are with me, we have somethin' to discuss before anythin' else occurs," she said before dismissing the group. "We will all meet back here in thirty minutes for an update on funeral services for the Preacher and information on our job."

With that she turned and motioned for Mei to follow her. She needed to have a talk with the woman before Bridgette and Cyril were brought to her. Something else was going on in the ship and she wanted to test the woman. This would be a hell of a test. Getting to her room she opened the door and left it open for Mei to enter after her. "Close the door behind you," she said as she took a seat. This was about to get interesting.

Granted even if something interesting wasn't happening on the ship right then, it would be soon enough. Bridgette was there now along with Cyril and Cyril looked like a child about to go on a roller-coaster ride of some sort for the first time. A little bit scared but really excited at the same time. He usually got like this before they moved into a new place but it was obvious he looked a bit more excited than normal. This was the first time in a while where they were moving somewhere that could turn into a more stable place to live, and he would have his own bunk!

"Should I get the fucking door?" Cyril finally asked after a while of waiting and Bridgette sending the message. That voice from him was not his childlike voice, it was another voice. It was a voice that didn't come up often and for good reasons. Wrath wasn't a voice one wanted dealing with normal people. Not unless someone needed to be killed.

Daphne nodded her head, she knew that her sister was likely down in medical anyway, and she wanted to talk to her about Atticus if she was able to get her alone. The odds of that happening were generally pretty slim on a good day, at least lately, and if she was in medical, and probably saddened because of Atticus' death, she figured it would be harder to have a conversation when it was just the two of them. Of course, that didn't mean she wasn't going to try, and at least she had an excuse to go to medical aside from to talk to her sister.

"Come on Fitz, let's get you looked at or something," Daphne said, giving him a smile, before she grabbed him by the arm, and started to drag him towards medical. She hoped that he would calm down somewhat, so that he actually could talk normally, or at least somewhat normally. What exactly was normal for Fitz when it came to talking with other people? Maybe this was normal for him, she hadn't known the guy for very long, so how would she know? Anyway, her first priority was to get Fitz to medical or whatever, the next one, and really her main concern, was talking to her sister.

---

---

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.

"Indubitably, Miss Croix." he responded, answering her question despite the fact that Anisa's words had made her offer an order, "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." 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, "Understand however, Miss Croix, that we engage in a chore most 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..."

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. "...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."

Foy smiled and turned to Jacqueline, twisting the end of his moustache with a smile on his face. "I might adorn their pillows with a wrapped candy 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."

---

---

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 dismiss 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, "Oh Harper, you dumbass, this could be so much worse." 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 didn't 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:

"Shèng Lā Shǐ₁, you're a Viking."

---

---

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 yes, that translated into a moment of impatience.

Her brother's response was admittedly not the most ideal, given the circumstances. "Frost your shit, Cyril." she said in a concerned tone of voice, "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?"

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 Prometheus. 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, "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." 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:

"Hardly." he answered, remaining stoic. "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." He gave a curt wave, intoning, "Permission to come aboard granted."

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.

"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."

"Whoa there, Cruise Director - you got a fucking name or do I have to guess it?" 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.

"Harper, William. I am your pilot, Miss Vinters."

"Okay then 'Harper, William'," she replied with a sarcastic smile etched into her features, "we can be friends now."

---

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---

Dorothy wasn't certain if the proper response was to laugh or to cry at that - it was so typical of Atticus and from her recollection, he started it anyways - and so, she did a small mixture of both. Dabbing at her eyes, she took the rosary and looked at it. She had never held one before in her life, despite seeing Atticus with it from time to time. She ran her hands over the beads, counting them in hopes that there were an even number of them on each "side" before she slipped the rosary into her pocket. "Yes, it was one of the few bibles he didn't throw at me," Dorothy explained quietly.

Had it been another day, perhaps she would have taken the time to sit down and explain the entire book throwing fiasco. But at the moment, she wasn't in the mood to discuss her relationship with Atticus to anyone. She didn't want to have to explain the choices she had made - or as she now realized - the time that she had wasted. If anyone came to confront her about what Atticus had meant to her, she was liable to breakdown fully - to let all of the stress she had been holding in out. And of course, even beyond Atticus, there was still the question of what to do with her sister - and if either of them had a future on this ship.

---

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---

Fitz's eyes widened. He was not going to puke on her floor! Though just the thought of vomit made him begin to feel a little bit queasy. He was one of those people who if they saw someone spilling their guts out, he was going to be next - no matter how healthy he was. And there was something about that word too - puke - that made his skin crawl just a little bit. And of course, the more he thought about his aversion to the word, the more his stomach began to churn and Anisa's words were on the verge of becoming a self fulfilling prophecy.

However, he didn't fight Daphne dragging him off. His mind glitched or short circuited or something when she grabbed him by the arm. "I-I-I d-d-don't n-need m-m-medical..." he muttered to her, just following along with her. He doubted that medical wanted to deal with him now, anyways, given that Atticus had just died. He had to imagine that the body was still down there and they would have questions to answer still - or at least, preparations to make for burial. He wasn't really sure what the entire process was - but he knew he didn't need medical. He was always like this around new people.

---

---

Jackie shot up as Captain Ballcrusher issued her the command of following and helping Barber Boy, even without his approval, which he gave shortly after. She mock saluted, "Your wish, my desire." She turned and followed Barber Boy out as he spoke. His lips moved, but honestly, she tuned him out. It was as if everytime he spoke, a pocket watch was being dangled in front of her, sweeping back and forth, urging her to sleep and close her eyes. The way his mouth moved made her want to...do things. Bad things. Fun things. But things. Conflicted in her desire to shut him up for once in his gorram life, but also to keep listening wracked her brain.

Finally, she tuned in, just in time to hear him finish his speech about how to tune up a room and leave something on a pillow. Did she get a little something on her pillow? She didn't recall. "So not only do you cut hair, but you are also the maid? Do you do the laundry too?" Confused about just what this man did on the ship, she shrugged and followed, regardless. She did offer to help and Captain Ballcrusher saw fit to have her accompany him (if for nothing else, than to be sure Barber Boy didn't do anything else).

"Let's get this over with then. Lead on, Fifi."

---

---

Mei stood in attention as the others got up to go to their respective duties and Mei followed after the Captain. She was anxious to get started and wondered if the Captain had her own thoughts on the matter. After all, she joined the ship in the strangest of circumstances, but Mei was always a person of honor. Hopefully, the Captain could see that, but she would not blame the woman for not trusting her and putting her through a test.

Once inside, Mei closed the door behind her and proceeded to walk over to where the Captain sat. She did not sit down, however. She felt it would be disrespectful to sit like they were bunkmates and not Captain and crew. "You wished to speak, Captain?" Mei had her own thoughts and questions, but she would let the Captain speak first. Given all that has happened, it seemed only right the Captain get her own thoughts out of the way first.

---

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"Bridgette, how would I frotht my thit?" Cyril asked innocently as he blinked. "Would it thtink lethth?" His eyes widened a bit as thoughts went through his mind. His hand coming up and the button eyes glaring at Bridgette. "Thanks bitch, now I have to hear about how to ice crap for the next three days." This was what happened when his sister did stuff like this. Cyril took her literally. Jericho had to hear it as he spoke. Wrath went blank and tuned it out. Was a neat enough trick whether she knew she was doing it or not. At least now Wrath was gone, for the time being. How long it lasted depended on how shit went down.

Harper showing up made Cyril giggle. "I'm only half Viking," he said giving a hard pat on the shoulder of Harper. It was true. Cyril was only Bridgettes half sister, his Celtic half kept him short. Granted six foot three wasn't short for most people but other than his brother most men on Bridgettes side of the family were taller than him. Hearing his sister declare them friends made him give a tight lipped goofy smile. "Friendth? Okay! I'm Cyril, this is Jericho, do you like Fluffernutterth?" he asked as he showed off Jericho on one hand and lifted his trunk with other.

Anisa rubbed her temples and lit up a cigarette. "I have a lot of new crew members. In fact the only steady ones left now that Preacher is dead are the Pender sisters and I fired one of them. You're new but you're different. I want you to test folk, find out shit for me about them, from them. Find out what they are willing to talk about, what they aren't. I'm not naive enough to trust them off the bat." Taking a long pull from the cigarette she held out the pack with her free hand to Mei.

"You find out what I want, I get the information you want." It was a job, and an offer of payment outside of the room and board. Turning she walked a few paces before sitting down and ashing the cigarette in a tin container before taking another puff. "First one on the list - Foy." That was an interesting choice, she could have picked Harper or Moreau or even that kid Fitz but she chose Foy as the first target. Was the choice a test?

Jahosafat chuckled a bit. "Interesting fellow, dare I inquire as to why the man was constantly throwing the words of God at you?" he asked as he stepped over towards the cabinets, idly checking them. Opening each and then closing it. Turning around finally he looked over at her. "I would have to suspect that he was hoping they would sink in." He gave her a subtle smile as he picked the will back up and stepped towards he door of medical.

"You obviously knew the man of the cloth better than I, could I impose on you to fetch the Preacher a frock you believe would be fitting for a burial? I should attempt to find the Captain and get this will to one Miss Vinters." His voice was even, he wasn't sure if she wanted to do the task and not have to be in medical to watch the body or if she would rather stay behind and have another moment alone with him.

---

---

The entire exchange with Bridgette was expected. Even welcomed, as it meant that her persona over the wave was genuine. No matter how off or offputting someone might be, continuity of personality meant that the person could be read, given enough time and study. Harper had seen people sort of like her before. Maybe not in theme, but in swagger and potential for violence. Something like it was common among veteran soldiers he'd seen back when he actually was an Alliance officer. These soldiers usually had brutal deployment histories. It made him very glad that he was a flier and didn't see but a part of the Unification War. But the thing was, despite her obviously glaring difficulty with polite discourse, Harper didn't immediately dislike the woman like he thought he might.

Perhaps that had something to do with the huge guy with the sock on his hand accompanying her. Obviously the little brother that she described briefly, earlier, but the description didn't quite to him justice. Especially when he gave Harper's shoulder a little "pat" that seemed more like a minor assault, causing him to wonder how much damage Cyril could do if he really wanted to hurt someone. He seemed exactly as Bridgette said he would be; very much like a kid. His own lack of experience with children aside, he did have an idea that they generally did not want to be treated like children. He kept his phrasing simple with the man. "Hello Cyril. Ah... Jericho. I don't know what a 'Fluffernutter' is exactly. Maybe you can show me another time. Right now, I have orders to see you aboard. Please follow me." A little stiff perhaps, but he meant it with reserved professionalism.

The trip to aft cargo was pretty straightforward. They were in fore, and a short walk had them in aft. Straight line, even. Thus was the journey when you had a mid bulk transport ship that was presently without cargo, aside from the personal effects of fallen crewmembers. As they came to the rear of the cargo area, Harper motioned toward the door to their left and intoned, "Quarters are through here. You can leave your things on the landing, there." Stepping through the door, he motioned to an open area, "Over here we have Med Bay, guest Bath, quarters down the corridor. The Galley and Lounge are up the spiral staircase. If you would please?"

---

---

"If I would please what?" asked Bridgette, clearly showing some concern but speaking in a tone that was damn near sweet. "Oh hell no, Harper-William-Pilot," she continued, voice shifting from dulcet to loud and obstinate. She dropped her trunk to the ground with a reaching, hollow thud that reverberated across the lower deck, "You and me are in this for the long haul, yesfuckingsir! When someone says they're taking a Lady to the Galley, they're sure as dick gonna take a Lady to the Galley. Or that Lady's gonna staple his lungs to his forehead and make him look like a cartoon fucking rabbit. Are we clear, Man-Meat?"

It wasn't clear whether the look on the Pilot's face was one of confusion or the result of being impressed. His eyes just kept getting wider and wider until he composed himself against the wind tunnel of threats and vulgarities. He responded, "I was suggesting that you and your brother to go first, Miss Vinters." remaining as neutral of tone as possible. "The meeting is taking place right up those stairs."

Bridgette gazed at Harper as if she hadn't considered the possibility that he was attempting to be polite. "Oh. Well shit. Sorry there, new friend." She picked up the takeaway container that had fallen on its side from the top of her trunk, offering, "Pudding?" Her eyes were bright and she nodded vigorously, the earlier flash of anger fully erased from her demeanor.

Harper tried hard not to smirk. He wasn't sure if she was trying to be funny or sincere, and felt it was best not to react. Bridgette was still heavily armed and (quite possibly) even crazier than he was. "No, but thank you." he said politely, waving it off.

Rice pudding still in hand, the tall, blonde Shieldmaiden gave Harper a wink and a big, warm smile, then saw herself up the stairwell. It was a little tricky at first with a three-foot shield on her back, but she was accustomed to maneuvering in full Berserker gear by means of her nonstandard military training. She emerged to a pretty cut-and-dry Galley; large for a ship of this type. Then again, that pilot following her up did mention that the Galley was merged with the Lounge area. Not a bed setup, in her estimation. She could call it home. But first, there was the business with Atticus. Questions upon questions.

---

---

The sneer of derision was almost physically palpable, emanating from underneath Foy's very fine moustache. "What a question, Miss Croix. 'Maid', indeed. Chores to a domestic flavor are better suited for person of likewise more domestic affinity." He reeled in the expression somewhat and set himself to task, this one being the fairly mundane job of inspecting the available mattress (which looked no better than military surplus to his eyes) and applying a set of basic, fitted sheets.

He ignored the latest in a line of interesting nicknames that Jacqueline had picked out for him, this one better suited to a chiefly ornamental French dog. He could not call out the lady on the application of the ancient origin of his family's surname, though the intent was more than a little derogatory, obviously. "And as for laundry, madame, unless circumstances become extenuating to the extreme, and/or an order comes down from my contract holder, I shall only see to my own needs concerning a proficient Fluff & Fold. One cannot trust tailored and bespoke finery to inexperienced hands; the result is chaos - pure chaos. Similarly, the others' drab garments are their concern." Though unspoken, he did not count Jahosafat among that number.

One bed down, one to go. His lack of enthusiasm in handling chores like this was not a reflection on his ability to do so. Years ago, he was a stalwart if colorful member of the Alliance Military, later an Agent. He could pass a full press inspection like a professional. It didn't mean that he enjoyed it. Foy reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small handful of Farradayan Wrapped Candies, placing them upon the plain, white pillows on the bed. "Do be a lamb and confirm the electronics in the sitting room are functional, if you would please, Miss Croix."

Foy was just about to move along to the next room when he heard a loud sort of crash coming from just up the corridor outside of the room, followed by swearing in an unfamiliar accent; unfamiliar at least to its precise origin. "...hmm... a soupçon of Himinbjorg aboard our dear vessel. They have such charming formal wear. Bunad, you see, if traditional..." The verbiage-heavy Barber peeked his head out of the door for just long enough to catch a glimpse of the new arrivals. One eyebrow immediately shot up as if trying to achieve orbit and Foy pulled himself back into the room, a most complex look upon his face. "I've heard of these people..." he half whispered, continuing, "Jacqueline, dearest, if you would please indulge me, I suggest we make haste with the second room. Our reinforcements have arrived."

"Are you sure Fitz? You seem like you are going to pass out or something... I'm worried about you... Look, at least let them see if you are okay, for me, okay?" Daphne said softly, giving him a smile. She was concerned, and it would probably help him in the long run if he didn't stammer or freak out so much, since she doubted anyone else would be insanely nice to him if he just stuttered randomly or panicked.

She led him down towards medical, not really caring if he wanted to go or not. It wasn't really going to be easy for Fitz to try and stop her from dragging him along. When they reached medical, Daphne hesitated for a moment, before she walked inside. "Uh, hey there, was told to see if there was something you could do for Fitz... To help him calm down or something..." she said, looking over at her sister.

---

---

---

After a certain point, it was sometimes hard to pinpoint how exactly something had begun. The book wars some could argue started due to proximity - or perhaps just a manifestation of their belief systems, going head to head against each other. But as her mind thought over the letter from Atticus, Dorothy couldn't help but think of a third explanation as to why they threw books at each other - as a manifestation of the feelings they did not express. "Oh, somethin' like that," Dorothy answered Jahosafat. She then nodded. She would need to retrieve Atticus' personal bible anyways. "I'll get right on that, don't worry."

She was about to leave when Daphne came in, dragging the bumbling engineer with her. "Uh....Yes, of course, take a seat Mr. Fitz," Dorothy instructed Fitz, steeling her emotions and her resolve. She didn't particularly want to fully break down in front of anyone at the moment. If anything, she wanted to get on with the work, bury Atticus, and contemplate the direction of her life in solitude. She took another breath, trying to muster a smile but she couldn't quite do it without her bottom lip starting to wobble. She knew that if she allowed that to happen, it'd be all over, so she settle on a straight faced expression.

---

---

---

"I-I-I-I a-a-always seem like this," Fitz muttered, looking at the ground slightly. He couldn't help but partially wish he could just turn invisible or become a puddle of goo that would ooze through the ground - his nerves were getting the best of him. And what if the body was still there? He'd never seen a corpse before - and especially not of someone he had just met. The very thought made his nausea creep up again. He bit his lip hard as Daphne dragged him into the room, spotting the corpse and he instantly looked at the ground, trying to avert his eyes.

"I-I-I-I-I'm fine, m-m-m-ma'am," Fitz stammered, shielding his eyes with a shaky hand as well. He had no idea what sort of shape Atticus would be in. He knew they probably performed an autopsy - would his guts be out on the table, covering every surface? Would he look like a broken toy doll that they gave children to play with? Would his skin have a green tint to it? His mind kept on exaggerating the image, as if Atticus was turning into a cartoon zombie from Earth that Was.

---

---

Jackie was not happy to be some hired help for the new visitors, but Captain Ballcrusher had ordered and she would obey. Plus, she rather enjoyed listening to Barber Boy speak. If for no other reason than to remember it for later when she had trouble sleeping so she could be put right out. "Ya realize maids are hired purely for their...what was it...domestic affinity, right? And I was kiddin' about the laundry, but it seems ya felt the need to give more details than required. Do you wear anything other than that get-up by the way? Also, for the hell of it, boxers or briefs? Or are you going commando?" Jackie asked, with a grin, imagining Barber Boy waltzing around in his tailored suit, with his manhood swaying to and fro.

She sidled up and checked the electronics, like asked, and she, too, heard the crash from outside. The swearing that followed made Jackie light up like a little girl at Christmas time. "I can already tell I'm gonna like her. Shall we "make haste" then Jeeves? Don't want these colorful individuals to be turned away because their beds aren't put down properly or they don't got their chocolate on their pillow." Jackie was sarcastic, and didn't hide it, but she followed Foy none the less.

---

---

Mei listened intently as the Captain spoke. She had already felt like this was going to be asked of her and she had been ready. She had already made some simple observations of the crew, but she didn't want to overextend herself in case the Captain felt it was unwarranted. But her feeling was correct.

Mei waved her hand, turning down the cigarette pack. "Thank you, but no thank you Captain. I do not smoke." It wasn't like she detested it, she just felt given her profession to not be tied down to an addiction. At least, not yet. "I will do as you ask. If I may ask, Captain, am I allowed access to the ship then? I do not want to abuse any privilege you give me, but I feel I would be better at my job and this task if I could? I give my word that I will not impede you or your work or ruin this experience you have given me. Especially concerning some of the crew, if they do not tell me much I am sure I could find out information through other means." Mei, of course, meant spying. She would do it if the Captain wanted. Otherwise, she would be content with the basics.

---

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Cyril followed and gave a surprised look. "Fluffernutter ith the betht! Ithn't Jericho? Oh my bad, Jericho hath hith mouth full," Cyril said with a giggle as he noticed that the hand that wore the sock Jericho had a mouth full of trunk right then. "But he'th thurprithed ath well." Cyril was sure that Jericho would be surprised that someone didn't know what a flutternutter was. How could someone not know what flutternutter was? Had he been living on a rock the last few years?!?!

Dropping his trunk next to his sisters Jericho moved a bit and looked at Cyril and then over at Harper. "You better learn fast," Jericho chimed in as his mouth moved. Cyril wasn't paying attention as he looked around the ship. "Wow, it'th tho big." The man boy was in awe of the ship. He liked ships. "We've seen bigger." Cyril didn't care, he just followed his sister as he looked around, Jerichos button eyes turning this way and that with Cyrils hand movements.

"Well my we have a bit of a growing crowd for our dear little medical quarters. I can attend to the young rapscallion. Sisters before misters? That is the phrase is it not? Oh yes, quite. Why not take a jaunt up to Atticus's room with your sister, I have things well under control here Doctor," Jahosafat said with a broad smile as it became evident that perhaps Dorothy needed some time away from a dead body.

"Fitz was it? Welcome to my abode. How can I put your nerves at ease? Do not worry about the dead man in the corner, he shan't be any trouble I assure you. My don't you look peakide, did you eat something that did not settle well with you?" the doctor asked, getting right to the matter at hand and hopefully freeing up bot the Pender sisters for a moment so they could speak. Sometimes it was good to have a shoulder to lean on that was blood instead of one that was recently covered in the crimson fluid.

Anisa gave a nod. "Yes, I will have Harper add ya in as head of security for now. That should give ya all the access and reasonin' you need to be able to look into matters without it drawin' lots of attention. Considerin' you were able to break in without bein' noticed until you were leavin' it makes sense that you would have this job for now. You obviously have a knack for findin' weak points." Taking another long pull from her cigarette she held in the smoke as hse snuffed out the cherry on the end of the filter.

"I'll expect once a day reports oh and before you start. We have a Reaver on board," she said rather matter of factly as she took a seat behind her desk and kicked her feet up onto its edge. "Most on the ship know, minus the new comers from last night and our new arrivals that are joining us. Doesn't matter if they find out, probably better they do but I didn't want you shooting the crate out into the black. It's part of the deal to keep Moreau on the ship for now."

---

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The sound of feet moving upon stairs and growing quieter with distance was pleasant, except for the fact that now he could hear his partner in domestic labors with slightly greater clarity. It seemed that his knack for conversation was a bit of a double-edged sword with this woman, nonetheless he endeavored to keep his words turned toward the gentlemanly as their work continued. "Such a fusillade of inquiry concerning my selections of attire, madame. Though it warms my spirits greatly that one with indeterminate background take such an interest in the haberdasher's arts, and as I must confess a particular proficiency in style and selection therefrom, I hesitate to provide a full edification in such with duties present."

Foy gathered up that which was necessary to tend to the bedding in the second dormitory-style room, curious as to what these new people were gong to add to the already variable collection of eccentricities that made up Anisa's crew. Even if the expected payment was far below what the Alliance would pay him to keep his contracts, he could already tell that this collection of human oddities would make for a much more amusing - and much less boring - series of interactions. It counted for a lot, in his opinion. Money he had, even if he could not take full advantage of it at the time. Dexterous hands flew over the sheets, folding and tucking as necessary. His dislike of domestic chores was tempered by his preference for order and neatness; if one must do something it should at least be done correctly. Attention had to be paid.

Nonetheless, it would be considerably rude to simply cease what was turning into a diverting conversation with his new acquaintance, despite the obvious fact that she was attempting to get under his skin. "Pursuant to the nature of my unmentionables, Miss Croix, which I might add is not the most ladylike of material for discussion but for which I shall attempt to bear you no judgement seeing as the circumstances of your social development differ wildly from my own, I must confess leanings toward the more athletic boxer brief, given its lack of lines, presence of support, and overall flexibility. However, depending upon factors of climate, I do make the occasional use of an older fashioned union suit of breathable, natural material." If there was one note to his long-windedness of speech, it was that he could make and smooth out a bed in the time it took to explain his undergarments. "There..." He took a moment to review his work before depositing a few of his Farradayan Wrapped Candies upon the pillows, and returned to the sitting room. "I am finished here. Now, unless you have inhibitions of discussing such topics about your own habits of dress, perhaps you could sate my own curiosity in the reciprocal: Whatever does a lady of flexible social bearing wear close to the skin?"

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The puppet was clearly offputting to Harper, as evidenced by the small, polite smile that he forced onto his face and the fact that he declined to continue the discussion with the much larger man. It seemed to him, not being familiar with Cyril, that whatever else was wrong with him he was using the sock as a means of being rude without having to deal with the consequences of his actions. A poly-cotton scapegoat of sorts. The reality of the situation lost on him at the moment, Harper just decided that it was best to keep interactions with the guy short and direct. Anisa had given them six months, barring something catastrophic, so that's how it was. Although he was curious to see how she would react to Cyril.

Until something changed in the dynamic on the ship, Harper was going to fill his role as best he could, adhering to the persona of former Alliance now serving under a private Captain. The problem being that every time there was a change to the group, logically there was a change in group dynamic. Hopefully the addition of two more sets of hands, albeit difficult in their own ways, would alter this in only a minor capacity.

Steadfast in demeanor, Harper followed Bridgette and Cyril up the spiral stairs and into the public Lounge and Galley area. Motioning with steady hand over to the tables they all had just vacated, adding, "I'm sure that the Captain will be right with you." He paused, as if just remembering something, then addressed Bridgette directly with, "Oh! Excuse me for not saying so earlier, but I'm very sorry for your loss. Atticus seemed a decent fellow." When she did not respond immediately, Harper simply found a countertop near the Galley and leaned on it, waiting for whatever was going to happen next.

Hopefully, they could officially receive orders and get underway soon. As long as he had something to occupy his mind, it prevented it from wandering with survival scenarios in mind. He had already played his chances for getting out of this room alive if things became too tense with these new people, and sadly he was not very optimistic. This was a "make friends" moment, not an "assert dominance" one. At the very least, defer and deflect to those in charge while appearing to be nothing more than support. Until conversation swung directly his way, he was going to try to keep in the background as much as possible for the meantime and study these new people.

---

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Bridgette looked to Cyril for a second or two and gave him a quick smile. Though she was outwardly warm to him, inside she was worried. Maybe it was just the sudden changes, but he seemed to be relying more and more on that fucking sock to speak for him, which was going to lead to problems. Especially when they had to work. If anything, it appeared that he might be getting worse. Maybe this gig shouldn't last longer than the six months that Anisa had promised her. Hell, maybe it was almost time to bring him back home for more professional surroundings and treatment. Bridgette was no psychologist, obviously, which was made worse by the fact that she had her own breathtaking issues with anger due to natural personality, coupled with her own significant traumas. It could be argued that it made her stronger, but she worried about her little brother. He seemed fractured. Maybe this kind of life wasn't for him.

Such thoughts were not new. They were immaterial to the subject of the hour, that being meeting with Anisa and handling Atticus's funeral. His final wishes were her responsibility, though for the life of her she had no idea whatsoever why he chose her for any of this. It's not like they were especially close in any massive emotional capacity. Well, there was that one thing, but she never got put in anybody's will for a little stress relief before. Whatever. Here and now were important, and that's what she had to deal with. Speaking of, "Hey Cyril?" she inquired in a sweet, almost maternal voice, "We're about to meet the Captain of this ship, okay? The pretty lady on the screen from earlier? Yeah. Her and her crew in a little bit here. Her name is Anisa Crowe. We used to do business back home sometimes. I need you on best behavior, okay? Best. Like we're in court or something. If you're not sure what to do, just keep quiet. I'll handle our business and get us set up."

The otherwise vulgar woman unslung her spear and shield, setting it down on the table in front of her along with her container of rice pudding. With practiced ease, she also removed the great mantle of white fur and folded it casually, placing it next to her shield. She gave a long stretch, popping various joints in the process in a manner that was actually rather impressive, but that signified repeated injury and intense physical activity. Her arms flexed and tensed, showing off the raw, brutal physicality that she could bring to bear on obstacles both living and inanimate, but they also bore the scars of a warrior that had seen the close sort of combat that few contemporary soldiers ever had. She was something of an anachronism. Take away the modern armor and pair of sawed off shotguns in gunslinger's harness, she could fit easily into a more barbaric period of human history. But some places in the modern 'Verse, her kind was exactly what was needed.

"Hey Harper! Did Anisa say how long she was going to be? I mean, I got nowhere to be, but if this is going to be a while do you think I could put my shit away?"

Daphne was actually thankful for Jahosafat's comment, since it seemed like he would take care of Fitz for the time being. She also had done what the Captain had asked her to do, which was taking Fitz to Medical so that they could check on him or whatever, so as far as she was concerned, she was free to talk to make sure her sister was okay. Seeing her sister, who of course was managing to hide what was going on, made her wonder what exactly was going through her head. She was worried about her, but she figured her sister wouldn't answer any sort of questions in front of others.

"Thank you Jahosafat," Daphne said, nodding her head. "I'll be back to make sure you're alright in a little bit Fitz. Come on Dory, let's go," she said, before she let go of Fitz's arm and headed out of the room, hoping her sister would follow her. They really need to have a long conversation about a lot of things, from what happened the night before, to her and Atticus who had just died. Daphne wasn't too sure how things were going to go, or what the two of them would do, but she knew there was a good chance they'd figure it out soon enough.

---

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---

Dorothy let her sister drag her out of medical, but she didn't allow Daphne to pick the destination as to where they were headed. She needed to fetch things for Atticus from his quarters anyways - and she had to pick up the Bible that he had left to her. Once they were upstairs and in Atticus' vacant quarters, Dorothy looked through his belongings until she found exactly what she had been looking for. The rosary in her pocket felt incredibly heavy and she didn't turn to look at Daphne, just crying softly. This collection of items - it was all that remained of Atticus.

"W-we can talk here," Dorothy told her sister, her voice cracking slightly. They had so much to discuss, but all Dorothy wanted to do was either throw herself into her work or cry in a ball like a child. When she was little, back before Daphne had been born, she used to hide inside of closets to cry after encounters with her father. She still felt like the little girl from Boros, no matter how hard she had tried to put that life behind her. "So...erm....you want to start, mei-mei?"

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Fitz kept his hand up to block Atticus' body from sight, just in case. Despite Jahosafat's assurances that the dead man in the corner wouldn't be any sort of a problem, he couldn't help but feel drawn to look at it. And each time he even began to contemplate it, Fitz only felt more and more anxious. Of course, that in itself wasn't entirely unusual for him. He had left his safe bubble - his lab at the university - and had found himself in the middle of a quite insane group of people. Plus, a pretty girl had kissed him underneath a bed.

"I-I-I-I'm f-fine, r-r-really," Fitz stammered, looking at Jahosafat. "A-a-and I haven't ea-eaten anything," he then added. He didn't want to be in medical getting attention that he didn't need - it was wasting resources that could be used on people who were actually in trouble. He was always like this and it wasn't going to change as long as people continued getting shot at and dying of heart attacks around here - but Fitz wanted to try anyways. This was all about getting new experiences, after all.

---

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Despite the colorful language Jackie struggled to get her head around, she did take in notes of Barber Boy's questions and comments. "Oh honey, you have a lot to learn about women. Even the poshest of posh dames won't shy away from questions like what underwear are you wearing." Jackie had to admit that she wasn't sure how and why Barber Boy traveled on this ship. It seemed like something that would be beneath him or something he wouldn't be caught dead doing, but here he was, performing maid services for new members like it was an everyday thing.

He did, however, answer her question, to which she had to give credit where it was due. She asked almost expecting him to sprout some flowery words at her before dodging it. Perhaps she was getting him to open up a bit more. "Had to admit, would not have thought that. I pegged you for a thong guy. Easier to put the stick up there an' all. As for me, there's not much in the way of lady's undergarments, though I tend to prefer softer fabrics and usually boyshorts down below, or a G-string if I am feeling particularly frisky." With their job done, she waited for Barber Boy to lead on. "Shall we go greet our new companions?"

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Once Mei was verbally given clearance, she began mentally preparing for the task in front of her. She had only been on the ship a bit, but she knew to be able to look around would give her, and thus her team, an advantage should they be attacked. It almost got past her once the Captain mentioned a Reaver being on board. It took Mei a minute to process this, but she glanced at the Captain to see if this was some jest of hers to keep her on her toes. From the looks of it, it was not a joke.

That was interesting information, to be sure. The fact the Captain trusted her with it either meant she established a solid bond, or the Captain knew that in her investigation she would come across this Reaver and would freak out. "Thank you for sharing this information with me, Captain. I will endeavor to prove myself to you further. If there is nothing else, I will get started on my task." With that, she gave a bow before turning to leave, allowing the Captain some alone time to process all that has happened thus far.

She knew where Foy's room was. She would make her way there.

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Cyril wasted no time once they got to the galley, looking through what they had and seeing if there was the stuff to make a fluffernutter. The man was like a kid in a candy store. As Bridgette spoke to him he stopped and grinned. "The Captain? Oh! Pretty lady!" he said slightly confused at first and then a very happy expression came to his lips. He nodded and went back to looking. "I thhould make the pretty lady lunch, thhe let me have my own room," he said innocently before a look of disappointment came over his features. "They don't have any fluffernutter." He was heart broken.

That was until Jericho spoke up. "Asshat, your trunk." Jericho said as his button eyes stared coldly towards Cyril.

Jahosafat grinned broadly. "Well then my good man we should go hence forth and fetch you some tasty tidbits to level out that blood sugar level post haste. It wouldn't do well for me to have to waste an injection of glucose on you when all you need is a little something in the belly box. Let us head to the galley shall we?" he said as he covered Atticus' body and motioned towards the door as he retrieved his coat and slipped it on. The man had to look his best at all times in public.

"Oh right!" Cyril exclaimed before leaping over the counter and barreling his way like a kid playing tag as he raced out of the galley. "Be right back!" he yelled as he rushed to find his trunk and get his beloved flutternutter. "Fluffernutter! Fluffernutter! Fluffernutter! Fluffernutter!" he yelled as he came to a sliding hault in front of his trunk on the lower level in the cargo area by the stairs. There was no way in hell anyone on the ship that wasn't behind a closed door didn't hear that shit.

Jahosafat surely did as he stepped out of Medical and quirked a brow. "I dare say, some one has the right notion. A bit plebeian for my tastes but a flutternutter would filly your gullet right quick." Stepping down the hallway Jahosafat rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks as he witnessed the monster of a man pick up his trunk with one hand, open it with a sock covered other and start rummaging through it. "Jumpin' Me! I do believe we are being invaded by a viking god of old, tell me, good sir. would your name happen to be Thor?" he asked as he stepped forward and looked over the man.

Cyril grasped the jars peanutbutter and marshmallow fluff before looking over towards Jahosafat. "Oh don' be thilly. I'm Cryil."

Dropping the trunk with a thud, Jericho was finally free to speak. "Oh my lucky stars, a negro." For once in his life, Jahosafat was rendered speechless.

It was probably best that since Anisa was in her office and couldn't hear any of this going down. "Yes, we're good. I'll go find Harper and have him take care of your clearance levels," she said as she stood up and snuffed out her cigarette. Blowing the smoke away from Mei and waving her hand a bit to clear the air before straightening her belt and checking her guns. It wasn't like she ever took them off while on captaining duty but right now there were far too many people she didn't know, it was best to double check.

Stepping over to the door, it slid open and she stepped out, glancing around. "Harper!" she bellowed from her quarters/office. Turning she made a quick check of the bridge. He wasn't supposed to be in there right now but since she was two steps from it, it was best to check it before she moved towards the rest of the ship. Next stop was the galley. "Harper! Where's yer ass at?"

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"...There is a lot we need to talk about... Mainly, whether or not either of us has a place with this crew anymore... I've been thinking, maybe it would be best to just leave all of this behind. You might not have admitted it to anyone, or even yourself, but I knew you had feelings for Atticus, and with him gone... I'm wondering if you might want to leave with me."

Dorothy looked at her sister, letting Daphne see the tears falling from her eyes as she clutched the Bible from Atticus. She had been worried that Daphne would wish to leave the ship - but she didn't know what to say to her. She thought she had been prepared for this conversation earlier this morning, but now, everything seemed to have changed. Perhaps she had gained perspective - or maybe she had lost it. "...He left me a letter," Dorothy said, taking it with trembling hands and handing it to Daphne, so that way she could read it. "I...I wish he had told me when he was alive still...But I don't think there would have been a happy ending for us. There wouldn't have been...I guess, a little house with children or anything near serenity...It just wouldn't have worked out, I don't think."

Daphne looked at her sister, before she gave her a hug. "You don't know what could have been... You don't know if it would have worked out or not, but you can't keep thinking about the what if situation Dorothy, you just can't, otherwise you'll never be able to move on," she said softly, giving her a smile. Usually, she was the one going to Dorothy for help, or advice, but now it was her turn to be there for her sister, no matter what happened. "It'll be alright Dory..."

"It isn't time to move on - not yet," Dorothy said, stiffening for a moment as Daphne hugged her before she relaxed and returned the embrace. She had just learned of Atticus' feelings for her that day, the same day that Atticus had died unexpectedly on. It wasn't time to move on from those feelings. She wanted to allow herself to explore them, to be honest with herself that she melted a little on the inside when Atticus had smiled at her, that she had felt angry when he went to sleep with the prostitutes at the Lady Luck...That she had cared for him.

"I know... But if you try to think about the what could have happened, there is no way to truly be alright again. It'll be alright, you'll see... Maybe we should leave, you know, go our own way, away from all of this, from you know, all the memories. We might do alright by ourselves, you never know..."

Dorothy hesitated. There was only one person left on the ship that either of them had any sort of personal connection to - Anisa. And the night before, Anisa had nearly killed her little sister. Dorothy knew that she wasn't cut out for the role of second in command. If she were to resign the post, she'd be stuck as secondary medical to Jahosafat. "What about Anisa?" Dorothy asked quietly. "And your new friend....the nervous one...."

She just shrugged, "Well, Fitz I don't think really wants to stay on this ship, he's kind of terrified of Anisa. Now, about what to do about him, or her, I don't really know... I honestly wouldn't mind Fitz coming with us if we did choose to leave, but Anisa? Well, odds are she won't be very happy about it..." This whole thing was hard to think about, what exactly they'd be doing on their own, but they'd figure it out.

"Anisa is my best friend," Dorothy explained. "She just lost Jackson...If we leave, she'll have lost her entire crew," Dorothy whispered. She didn't want to leave her best friend all alone. But then again, she had joined up with this crew in order to spend time with Daphne. Daphne had been fired. And the work that Dorothy would be doing on this ship, in a place filled with traumatic memories...It didn't justify splitting apart her family again. "Maybe we leave..."

"Well... If we leave, we'll have to tell Anisa... I know that she's your best friend, and I know that she's lost a lot of people recently, but still... I'm asking you to come with me off this ship, you don't have to come with me, I'm just saying that maybe it would be better for both of us to leave..."

"I don't know if you're right or wrong, mei-mei...I...I joined this crew in the first place to reconnect with my little sister and atone for the crimes I was complicit in as part of the Alliance," Dorothy explained, thumbing the beads of Atticus' rosary. She regretted that she never had gotten to kiss and slap his dumb, stupid, handsome, and annoying face. "But I won't lose my baby sister...Not again. So I will come with you," she decided. Daphne was her blood. She would choose her every time - it was the very thing that had made her a mediocre at best second in command during her short tenure.

Daphne was a little surprised to hear her answer, it actually silenced her. The fact that her sister didn't even really seem to hesitate in that answer, considering all of the problems that she herself had created in the past 24 hours. "I have to admit, I'm a little surprise, but... Let's go talk to Anisa... We need to let her know," she said, giving her a smile as she headed out of the room.

Dorothy nodded, but when she went to stand off of the bed and follow Daphne out, her feet felt like they were made of lead. She couldn't move a muscle and her chin started to wobble, before the waterworks began in full strength. Leaving this room would be akin to saying goodbye to Atticus again - a goodbye that had been painful enough with just his corpse. It felt as if her entire life, she was trying to catch up to those she loved - to her baby sister, to Atticus... And this time, she hadn't been fast enough. Her head hit the mattress and she sobbed uncontrollably.

Hearing her sister, she turned around and went back into the room, going over and sitting down next to her. In her entire life, Daphne never remembered a single instance when her sister had just broke down and cried. Growing up, she had always wondered why she did that, since to her crying every now and then was a good thing, but now her sister was just crying. "Hey, it'll be alright Dory... Things will get better, don't you worry, you'll see," she said softly, looking at her sister.

Dorothy didn't say anything, just sobbing as she continued to handle the beads on Atticus' rosary one by one. It was the closest thing to a religious experience that she had had, outside of Atticus' proclivity for throwing Bibles into her quarters.

Daphne just sat there, comforting her sister, it took her a little while, but eventually she had managed to calm her down somewhat. It never was easy losing someone, especially if you didn't know how much you'd miss them until they were gone. "Come on Dory... Let's go talk to Anisa..." she said softly, standing up again.

---

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It was an interesting conversation with the Grifter, certainly. Not quite endearing, obviously, as Jacqueline's half of the dialogue swayed frantically between inquiry and blatant insult, but it was not so irritating as to force his hand to something drastic - like ceasing to speak at all. It was within the best interest of every rational, speaking person that Foy continue to exert his vocabulary based influence upon humanity at large, starting with this very crew. A smattering of class never hurt anyone. However, the talk passed the time while tasks were being worked and was not without its own ounce of entertainment.

"Truth be made apparent, Miss Croix, I charged headlong toward and through that response, albeit in full honesty, as a gambit to see whether I could elicit a similar response from yourself. Primarily, understand, as I felt your questioning merely another in the series of barbs you have had the initiative to hurl in my direction. To that regard, I should apologize; such mentioning of one's unmentionables in form of query is patently not the act of a gentleman, at the very least among persons such as ourselves who are not overly familiar with one another." The dapper Farradayan gave a light bow, cocking his head to the side slightly in token submission. "Madame, my sincerest."

The work was done to Foy's satisfaction. It was not very hard, merely a matter of setting sheets properly and making sure everything functioned, along with a few spot checks to ensure basic comfort and quality, whatever passed for that upon a vessel of this size and comparatively utilitarian function. For just a split second, Foy considered spending his time renting out a spot on a luxury vacation liner, traveling between resort destinations in the Core, rather than taking duties aboard a Dragonfly vessel. He could revel in the anonymity that the crowd of multitude of different types of people could provide and have several new suits tailored for him in the meantime. Maybe work on his poker game a bit. Take in shows. Reacquaint himself with the fashions of the 'Verse and alter his plans for a Haberdashery once he had his business back under direct control. But even that, over enough time, would get boring. There were few sins greater than boring, and if nothing else, this tiny boat was not that.

And now, it was time to meet the new people. Hopefully the last crew change before they got to business. Now, Foy was a man who was all about business, from the top of his very fine bowler hat to the soles of his polished Oxfords, and every part in between. When Jacqueline suggested that they go to meet the new people, the upper crust Barber was in total agreement. "Indubitably, Miss Croix! I concur wholeheartedly. If you would give me but a moment..." Foy said, gathering up his hat and coat from the furnishings where he left them from earlier. Donning them hastily but with perfect seam alignment, he then strode from the double dormitory and held the door open for Jacqueline.

His first steps into the corridor, hand still upon the door, gave him one of the very best birthday gifts he had received in a very long time, the actual date be damned. A very large, muscular man-boy wearing a sock on his hand just expressed something through said sock, puppet-style, about "Lucky Stars" and his surprise at seeing "a Negro".

It too every ounce of his sense of flagging propriety not to collapse in a gasping heap of his own barely restrained mirth. Once control was finally asserted properly, he was able to finally get out, "Oh beneficent and merciful Dapper Dan, sovereign Lord of Hair Treatment and Pomades everywhere, that is a conversation I shall revisit much, much later. Jahosafat, dearest brother-in-finery, I shall leave you to your new friend and his ...proclivities..." And much quieter, "Do let me know if you require assistance, old fellow. I shall be just above."

Foy sauntered as only Foy could, past the large, childlike man. He doffed his hat for a second in passing, giving Cyril a rather generic salutation of, "My best to you and your family, sir." Without breaking stride, he made his way up the stairs and into the Galley area.

---

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The first thing that Harper noticed was that Cyril seemed particularly comfortable poking around in their provisions. Perhaps these things were just commonplace where he and the sack of glass shards he called a sister were from. A sense of communal ownership, if you would, that was necessary wherever they were from because of a tighter sense of community and more limited resources. Or it could just be that the big guy didn't think that far into his actions, distracted by some particularly shiny internal monologue about making a snack.

Well, why not? They hadn't exactly signed papers yet, but they would. Such was his life now, colorful to the extreme because of the people swirling about in it. Also, he had to admit a mild curiosity about precisely what a "fluffernutter" was, despite the fact that the discussion involved a sock. That would take some getting used to.

The second thing that he noticed was the big guy leaving the Galley fully, headed back down the stairs on his epic quest to locate the makings of his sandwich. He glanced over to Bridgette who seemed to be okay with the turn of events. She must be dead to anything that her brain did not pick up as immediate trouble, so far as her brother went, like a mother who instinctively knew which kind of sniffle meant her child would be full-blown sick in three days and which just meant that the air was dusty. Harper turned more fully toward the vulgar but oddly caring woman, trying to figure her out. Naturally, she responded by returning the look and adopting a facial expression that seemed to ask, "What?" Harper quickly dismissed his gaze with a head shake and focused his attention elsewhere.

It seemed a very interesting set of circumstances he had landed in. Surrounded by quite possibly the oddest collection of random assholes and frontier types he had ever personally witnessed in the same place at the same time, ever. At the same time, there were not the kind of people that intelligent, rational folk wanted to mess with. Strangely, he thought that for once in a great while, he might be in exactly the type of company he needed to be. Harper allowed the barest hint of optimism to creep onto his psyche. He was the pilot of a Dragonfly vessel, a home in the stars for the disenfranchised and mobile Island of Misfit Toys that was doing a fantastic job of finding just the right people to crew her.

And speaking of crew, the mildly unhinged man who presently went by Harper caught a voice filtering back from the fore of Prometheus. It was his Captain, Anisa, calling for him. Completely unbidden, a giggle escaped him that was highly uncharacteristic of his Former Alliance Officer persona. It started suddenly, as if something painfully funny had just occurred to him that he couldn't quite keep in, but deepened into something sounding more cartoon villain-esque. His eyes sparkled just a bit, and he glanced up to the only other person in the room: Miss Bridgette Anne Vinters. She held a very confused look on her face. Very confused indeed.

Harper silently gave her a "mock guilty" look, as if pantomiming getting caught doing something very naughty, then jogged over to the nearby PA panel. He hit the mic button, intoning (in his usual straightlaced manner), "Galley, Ma'am. I have Miss Vinters with me." Not a trace of his earlier outburst remained on his face, though he did look to his guest in a helpful manner, "Coffee, Miss?"

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If nothing else, Bridgette noticed that her little brother was quickly becoming comfortable on this ship. It was a pretty nice vessel for one its size; good use of interior space and a clear, simple layout. It was a shame that someone had to die for her to get work with Anisa. Bridgette did like the lady, even if she was a pushy bitch. This was new though - she was generally the liaison between the former Vengeance crew and her people back on Borr, where folks looked a little more like Bridgette. Interesting spot to lay low. More interesting spot to stage jobs in the rest of the System. But that was a thought immaterial to the present. If she could ever get an audience with the lady, they could get the Shepherd taken care of and move on to business.

A wave of morality, or something like it, washed over Bridgette. That was a coldly casual thing to think about the man. He had his faults, but he was a loyal guy. And a pretty good guy, too. The Scandinavian pesudo-anachronism, while a vulgar and more than moderately violent person, was not a monster. In the traditional sense. Atticus deserved more respect than she was inwardly showing. And it wasn't like they never had the occasional personal moment, either. She was taking over certain of his duties to Anisa, and handling his final affairs (though she had no clue why). Again, respect was due.

Bridgette paused her thought as she caught Harper looking over at her. She had taken some pains to put the man on the defensive from the start today, and here he was getting inquisitive. No problem, a quick look to show that she was quite put out by being gawked at, followed by a transition back to the archway leading toward the fore of the ship. That's where Anisa would be coming from, if she was indeed going to be meeting her at all today. Yeah, busy lady, but the were friends. Some kind of greeting might have been appropriate. Bridgette was just about to roll her eyes and sigh when she just barely caught Anisa's voice from up the ship a way, calling for Harper.

And then the pilot lost his shit.

The only thing she could do, thinking on it, was sit where she was at and make certain environmental observations, seeing how far the skinny guy needed to run to make it to her, ease of weapon procurement, etc. The last thing she needed was some guy's cheese slipping completely off of his cracker and trying to reenact the battles of North Umbria. Luckily, that Harper guy reasserted something that resembled normality and answered Anisa using the PA. Great. Just great.

Her immediate attention attention was diverted yet again by the look of a heavily maintained gentleman emerging from the staircase to the aft, his moustache the very vision of unnecessary upper-class shenanigans. Come to think of it, he looked exactly like the picture of some fop or another on the label of a jar of hair gunk he'd seen someplace. Nah, couldn't be... Okay, let's ask! Putting her best, diplomatic foot forward, Bridgette inquired, "What the sideways fuck are you supposed to be?" Followed by an abrupt, "Huh?" There. That ought to do it.

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Jackie waved away the man's colorful language. "The "barbs" as you call them are a way I show affection. Or disdain. Or hatred. Come to think of it, I tend to do that to everyone. Huh." Jackie shrugged, helping Foy put the finishing touches and following him out of the room to meet the others joining them. "It's my way of trying to establish some connection to those I will be working with. It's why I give you all those clever nicknames."

As they passed the Dapper Doctor and some rather large man whom she could only describe as a viking on steroids, she entered to see a woman. Before Jackie could even breathe out, the woman took one look at Foy and said, almost word for word, what she had said when she first met the man. "That's what I said! Oh I like you already. Name's Jackie, sup?" She said with a head nod towards the woman.

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Mei walked up to the man's room and checked if it was unlocked. To her surprise (and her dissapointment) it was. She entered, but not before checing to ensure no one was coming. She didn't care so much if the nameless crew saw her, but Foy would probably have some words. She entered and noticed the meticulous nature of how things were set up, especially the bed. Mei could tell someone of Military background slept here. Was the barber former, or current, military? She hadn't expected it.

She also didn't expect the number of weapons that littered the room. Mei knew there was more to the man than his dapper, gentlemanly appearance and this proved it. She wondered if the Captain knew he had so much firepower in his room. She made a note of it and checked his wardrobe, but didn't expect much. She found it filled with clothing much like what she saw him wear, along with some admittedly nice looking hats and shoes. The man clearly cared about his appearance, but was that because of his background? Or was he trying to hide something?

The room proved useful, but she wanted to check his other room. The "Foy"er she believed they called it. She found it also unlocked. The barber chair looked old fashioned, but she saw that it was intentional in design. The trunks showcased his barber skills and she smiled to see wrapped candies. Old time barbers usually had lollipops right? After another intiial scan, she was sure she saw it all. It was a decent amount of info to take into account, but she knew there had to be more.

The next step would be to talk to the man himself.