[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=008080]William Harper[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/ff4a3222-dad0-4485-bd08-b9967c1344e6.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=teal]Location:[/color][/b] Prometheus (Cargo -> Galley)
[b][color=008080]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	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 [i]sort of[/i] 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 [i]was[/i] 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. [color=008080]"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."[/color] 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, [color=008080]"Quarters are through here. You can leave your things on the landing, there."[/color] Stepping through the door, he motioned to an open area, [color=008080]"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?"[/color] 

	


[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=ff4500]Bridgette Vinters[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/1f974da2-83e2-480f-afee-5efba3840999.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=orangered]Location:[/color][/b] Prometheus (Cargo -> Galley)
[b][color=orangered]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	[color=ff4500]"If I would please what?"[/color] asked Bridgette, clearly showing some concern but speaking in a tone that was damn near sweet. [color=ff4500]"Oh hell no, Harper-William-Pilot,"[/color] 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, [color=ff4500]"You and me are in this for the [i]long haul[/i], [i]yesfuckingsir[/i]! When someone says they're taking a Lady to the Galley, they're sure as dick gonna take a Lady to the Galley. [i]Or[/i] that Lady's gonna staple his lungs to his forehead and make him look [i]like a cartoon fucking rabbit[/i]. Are we clear, Man-Meat?"[/color] 

	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, [color=teal]"I was suggesting that you and your brother to go [i]first[/i], Miss Vinters."[/color] remaining as neutral of tone as possible. [color=teal]"The meeting is taking place right up those stairs."[/color] 

	Bridgette gazed at Harper as if she hadn't considered the possibility that he was attempting to be polite. [color=ff4500]"Oh. Well shit. Sorry there, new friend."[/color] She picked up the takeaway container that had fallen on its side from the top of her trunk, offering, [color=ff4500]"Pudding?"[/color] 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. [color=teal]"No, but thank you."[/color] 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. 




[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=f9ad81]Foy Coiffeur[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/c0ffe90c-32f3-4f44-9049-692cc33b2b94.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=f9ad81]Location:[/color][/b] Prometheus (Lower Level Bunks)
[b][color=f9ad81]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]

	The sneer of derision was almost physically palpable, emanating from underneath Foy's very fine moustache. [color=f9ad81]"What a question, Miss Croix. 'Maid', indeed. Chores to a domestic flavor are better suited for person of likewise more [i]domestic[/i] affinity."[/color] 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. [color=f9ad81]"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."[/color] 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. [color=f9ad81]"Do be a lamb and confirm the electronics in the sitting room are functional, if you would please, Miss Croix."[/color] 

	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. [color=f9ad81]"...hmm... a soupçon of Himinbjorg aboard our dear vessel. They have such charming formal wear. Bunad, you see, if traditional..."[/color] 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. [color=f9ad81]"I've heard of these people..."[/color] he half whispered, continuing, [color=f9ad81]"Jacqueline, dearest, if you would please indulge me, I suggest we make haste with the second room. Our reinforcements have arrived."[/color]