[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=008080]William Harper[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]http://www.equilibriumfans.com/EquilibriumStill0100-ClericJohnPreston(ChristianBale)MD.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=teal]Location:[/color][/b] Retribution, Bridge [hr][/center]

	The Lieutenant's eyes never left his instrumentation as he spoke, doing so with calm but solid syllables. [color=008080]"[i]Sergeant[/i], the Captain gave simple orders, simply put. Have a team ready to move on his command. If the tactic needs to be second guessed, I will do so quietly."[/color] Harper saw the looming form of the ridge disappear, replaced by differing landscape and their intended target. 

	[color=008080]"First, I require gunnery control transferred to the Helm."[/color] 

	The I.A.V. Retribution slowed to an idle hover, just inside of weapons range. A few locked commands on the console and a light angle to the stick set the roll of the vessel on a strafing pattern of various heights, holding the same distance around the Firefly class vessel below. Most parts of Lieutenant William Harper, such as he was, screamed inside of his braincase to find a way out of this situation. The more logical portion of the man, the part that was in control of his actions, reminded him that this was his life, for a least for a while longer. Harper's exterior remained as granite, his hands dancing along the controls like he was born to it. Do your job, keep your head down, and just survive.

	Maybe these people deserved it, maybe they did not. At that moment, he couldn't help them any more than they could help him. Their fate was tied to authority greater than his own, and though he felt for these people, Harper simply didn't see an opening that did not also result in his own detriment. He was an Alliance Officer again, and he was going to act like it. 


[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=f9ad81]Foy Coiffeur[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://snippetstudios.files.wordpress.com/2014/05/a-million-ways-to-die-in-the-west-640x350.png [/img][hr][b][color=f9ad81]Location:[/color][/b] Main Corridor -> Bridge [hr][/center]

	The Esteemed Mr. Coiffeur, quite the dashing looking gentleman in his charcoal waistcoated suit and cream cravat, strode with light and positive footfalls down the main corridor. His black duster concealed his personal sidearms quite effectively, but was decidedly ineffective at doing the same for the rebuilt Callahan slung across his back. 

	Some number of steps in front of him, Foy noticed the nigh prancing form of his former "running partner" moving steadily toward the Bridge. Apparently she had also gotten the news that the game was afoot, and moved with a giddy sense of anticipation that rivaled his own. For brief seconds, he pondered why it was that certain people ran toward conflict even as most everyone else would prefer to run away. Either people like himself and Carla were cut of different, better tailored cloth; else something was a tad off about the likes of them. The Gentleman smiled. Perhaps it was both. Yes, such an answer sounded reasonable in his shrewd, businesslike mind. Part self aggrandizement, part philosophical notation. 

	Upon setting foot on the Bridge, Foy twirled his very fine bowler hat in his hands. He noticed the budding drama coming from multiple sources, but seemed particularly interested in how each member of the crew dealt with that stress. Much like a card player sizing up the other gamblers at a table, Foy wanted to see the mettle of the men and women about his contracted vessel. It was quite enjoyable. An honorable man of business stayed to the terms of his contract. A wise man knew to observe the men that may make those terms difficult to meet. 

	As the Bridge seemed to be the buzzing hotbed of human activity, some of which promised the possibility of violence, the Gentleman Barber saw fit to insinuate himself into the situation. Very quietly, Foy motioned to Carla, querying, [color=f9ad81]"Have I missed anything noteworthy, Miss Lobo? It would be [i]ever[/i] so disappointing."[/color]