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"Like a damn tent revival in a carnival side show," Atticus said as he watched the captain, his eyes focused on Gene and saying a little prayer that the woman would keep her mouth silent. Though perhaps he should have said a little prayer that Foy would as well. The man was going on about a hair cut right then. He couldn't quite tell if the man was being serious but from the look in his eyes he could only assume he was. That made him question if the man was sane, or if he had inhaled too much aftershave.

It seemed that Atticus was not the only one that was left gobsmacked. Gene had looked as if she was about to spout off again but the look on her face showed utter confusion. As did the Captains as she slowly turned her head and glanced over her shoulder back towards him. It was a rare thing to see the Captain confused but it seemed to keep anyone from being shown the firing end of her side arm.

Anisa blinked a few times before noticing Dorothy standing there. "Take her to her quarters, she will remain there until we land," Anisa said flatly towards Dorothy before giving Gene a warning look as if to dare her to try anything else. Holstering her side arm she turned on her heels walking away from the rec room and over towards the Foyer where Atticus was standing half finished.

"Get that shit cleaned up before we land," she said motioning towards his head as she passed them and kept walking, heading to towards the next deck. Atticus coughed slightly as he watched her walk off and then looked over towards Foy.

"The Lord works in fucking mysterious ways and you my good sir are a goddamn mystery," Atticus said confused before giving Foy a well earned pat on the shoulder. "And one I am fucking thankful for."

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She left with Harper and eventually found herself on the bridge of the Alliance vessel. It was a lot bigger than she was used to that was for sure. Daphne sat down in the Pilot chair, and just looked down at the console in front of her. It definitely wasn't a Firefly vessel that was for sure. She didn't really care much for Harper himself, but she let him explain things, since he clearly knew the ship far better than she did. The Alliance ship was different, and she was having problems figuring out some of the controls. However, she was a somewhat fast learner and soon she understood how the ship flew.

Daphne couldn't stop herself from admiring the ship. She hated the Alliance, but as usual Dorothy had been truly right about their technology. It was truly amazing, since she had never been at the helm of an Alliance vessel before. She did appreciate Harper allowing her to look around during his explanations, but she could still hear him, so she knew what he was talking about. When he finally reached the end of his little lesson on the Alliance vessel, and asked about questions, she tried to think about anything that might help her out to ask. She shook her head slightly, "Nope, can't think of anything," she told him and went back to looking at the controls.

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Dorothy nodded, doing her best not to let out a sigh of relief as the Captain decided to spare Gene's life. "Will do, Cap," she replied, before turning her attention to Genevieve. Her hand on her sidearm, she jerked her head slightly at the woman, indicating for her to get moving. She didn't want to have to stick a gun on the woman to get her to cooperate, but she wouldn't hesitate to do so if needed. Captain says jump, you jump. It's how things worked in Dorothy's mind.

"Shiny," Dorothy commented, before escorting the woman up to the upper level, where the crew's quarters were kept. It wasn't too far of a walk, and the entire time, Dorothy kept her eyes on the woman. With Genevieve's track record lately, she wouldn't have been too surprised if the woman tried something stupid. But at the same time, maybe it wasn't so bad that Genevieve would be leaving the ship. The woman would be safer away from a stolen Alliance vessel manned by Browncoats, to say the very least.

"Stay in here," Dorothy would instruct, once she had reached Genevieve's quarters. "Best be if you don't give the Captain reason to shoot next time, Gene. So stay put and everything'll be shiny."

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Harper blinked at the more junior pilot. No questions at all? No worries about unfamiliar protocol or shift changes? The Big Red Button scenario (any buttons I shouldn't press?) or the Death Blossom scenario (weapons systems or last resort contingencies)? These Independence pilots sure loved to wing it. The uncertain Lieutenant gave Daphne a once-over, trying to tell himself optimistically that maybe, just maybe, she had at least some experience with vessels like this. I mean, this type of vessel was in use on both sides during Unification. It was possible this girl at least had a tutorial before now.

He couldn't help but notice the young woman's age. For her to be an Independent Pilot during the Unification War, she would have to have been a kid, practically. Now, that Browncoat Captain wanted her own pilot to be brought up to speed and deal with the sleepier off-shift, meaning that she'd be behind the stick for this time. Now, that wasn't a huge problem - long range ships often had two or more pilots on standby for just this reason - but Harper had a definite problem with an unresponsive and inexperienced pilot in control of a vessel he was standing inside of when there was a gaggle of Reavers on (or near) the planet behind whose moon they were hiding. No matter who was in the Pilot's chair, Harper was keeping tabs on the status of the ship. Period.

"Okay, great to hear." he said with more confidence in his voice than his heart. "I'm keeping this pager clipped to my uniform. If sensors pick anything up, I will know the moment you do. If any questions come to mind or you just want to talk, you may speak to speak to me through the pager. Controls are..." he pointed at a small cluster of buttons alongside the PA, "...here, ma'am. Anything at all, talk to me. In the meantime, you will find an overview manual on the vessel in the file marked "Operations" in the console's terminal. You shouldn't need clearance to view it."

The Lieutenant vacated the fore section of the Bridge, aiming for the exit to the main corridor. He hadn't gotten more than two steps when he felt the need to speak again. "We are in geosynchronous orbit on the far side of the this moon from Whitefall. Please do not make or plot any course adjustments unless there is immediate need, ma'am." Harper turned and left the Bridge, intent upon locating Anisa Crowe. Despite the huge amount of noise coming from her office earlier, he felt the need to speak to the fiery Browncoat. At least to establish a few key items of ship security in their dire circumstance, and by extension, self-preservation.

And so, he took to walking the corridor. Up and back, find a ladder to the next deck, up and back again. Hopefully he would find the Independence Captain in reasonably good spirits. Hopefully.

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As people began to clear from the hallway around the Recreation room, Foy began to quietly whistle a jaunty tune. He paused for just a moment as Genevieve was led through the doors and away from them; just long enough to lock eyes with her with an expression that seemed to scream, "You owe me." and spun about, his whistle returning like a wind-up toy whose clockwork slowly began to turn again. He returned to his parlor, motioning for Atticus to follow. "Heavens no. I am positively an open book. It is the mere hubris of others that poses my gentle personage in a stance that fits their own interpretation of what I should be. Mystery indeed, sir."

Foy lightly slapped the back cushion of his barber's chair, calling out in uplifted notes, "Come along then, Corinthians," he continued with his barb from earlier, addressing him as a book from the Bible, "We've much to finish up here before I believe your dear Captain will be satisfied with your cut and style; I daresay I shan't be either, until your locks exhibit style and acrimony, both. Then you may send word back to your people that you have been cut by Foy, Gentleman of Farraday, and I might see to the status of my dear friend Josie, whose best presence has been lacking of late hours."

He snapped a pair of scissors open and closed a couple of times, motioning to the chair. "Come, come! Let us finish up. I shall help you pick a proper aftershave, and mayhap as we continue we can discuss the finer points of gentlemanly combat. Tell me, do you lean toward fisticuffs or firearms, given your druthers?"

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It seemed the little exchange with the barrel end of Anisa's pistol was enough to render Gene silent, walking with Dorothy to her quarters. The woman didn't say anything, just looking over at Dorothy before shutting the door with Dorothy on the hallway side and her on the inside. What she did in there was anyone's guess but whatever it was she made sure not to be heard. That was if she was doing anything.

The Captain had been focused on making her way back to her quarters, well what she was calling her quarters for now. Then she changed her mind. Wandering over to the galley and looking around. The place seemed to be empty but that didn't surprise her. The ship had had a skeleton crew when she took over and it was what was considered the night shift now. At least she thought it had been empty, that was until she heard the tell tale sound of am empty bottle landing on the ground and threatening to but not yet breaking. Cocking a brow she drew her side arm, this was getting to a pattern. Slowly she stepped towards the sound and peered over the counter into the kitchen area. There sitting sprawled out on the ground was what appeared to be a very drunken Jahosafat. Letting her finger off the trigger she sighed.

"I do declare, aren't you the vision of an angel," he said, his speech slurring horrifically. Rolling her eyes Anisa holstered her side arm.

Up at the Foyer, Atticus gave a cockeyed glance towards Foy and shrugged. The man might claim to not be a mystery but he sure as hell didn't understand the man: granted he might just need to brush up on his vocabulary. Might want to get one of those one a day word calendars. Then he thought maybe Foy wasn't such a mystery after all. Many a people thought the Preacher was a mystery and he wasn't, he was rather an open book as well but people had a hard time wrapping their head around a Preacher who sinned. Granted most Preachers sinned in one way or another but they hid it. Atticus was rather open with his vices.

Sitting back down in the hair he got comfortable. He didn't want to upset Foy and end up walking around the ship with half cut hair. Then he be forced to shave it all off and let it grow back evenly. The hell he was going through that... Again! "Well I for one prefer to not have to raise my hands but even God has to smite the occasional sinner. When push comes to shove I prefer neither the fist or the bullet. I prefer the boom, big booms, with all the colors of hell burning," he said and grinned. The man had a love for explosives.

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Dorothy couldn't help but be thankful that Genevieve remained in relative silence. Of course, the look that her friend gave her before closing the door did give Dorothy slight feelings of guilt. Genevieve couldn't be expected to act like a soldier--she'd only ever been trained as a companion, and a naive one at that. The vessel was no place for her, that Dorothy couldn't deny. Only certain companions would have done well in this environment.

"Holler if you need anythin'," Dorothy instructed, waiting a moment to see if Genevieve would reply. But she heard nothing, and figuring that the companion was too ashamed to speak, Dorothy left her to it. The medical bay was in fine condition at the moment, and truthfully, she didn't need to be hanging around the patients. Her sister was off learning to better her craft and any interruption on her end likely wouldn't be welcome.

But perhaps Anisa would be in need of a friend at the moment, or at the very least, have some new task for Dorothy to accomplish. Yet from her mood, Anisa likely would be best left alone. She then headed back the way she had came, going down to the lower level of the ship, and walking to the medical bay, only to spot Anisa peering over the counter. Dorothy couldn't see Jahosafat from her vantage point.

"Captain, everythin' alright?" she asked.

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"Will do," she said as she watched Harper exit the Bridge. Daphne still didn't care much for the Alliance pilot, but she figured that since they were in similar situations she couldn't really judge. Harper did get on her nerves, since he was older and probably had more experience than she did, but he made her feel like a little kid in comparison. He may have more experience, but in her opinion that didn't make him a better pilot, so he could just leave her alone about it. It did make her laugh when he seemed to be surprised that she hadn't asked any questions, so at least she was able to surprise him that way.

Daphne was bored, and being told not to do anything except keep an eye on the sensors wasn't really helping. This made her prefer sitting in the Med Bay while her sister tried to explain what she was doing, and she hated that. She looked at the console again, thinking about whether to ignore what Harper said or to listen and not do anything. In the end she decided that she would rather be bored than risk the Captain's anger. She did start kind of willing the sensors to pick up something so that she would have a reason to mess with the console, even though she knew that would probably be a really bad situation to be in.

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The scissors clipped on and on, occasionally pausing for a quick switch to layering snips and back again to the more methodical removal cuts. It was done quickly and proficiently, as only a generational barber could. One day, Foy would raise his own little gentleman. They would learn the wonder and niftiness of being dapper, of looking down upon the working classes, and of growing a fine moustache. But most importantly (and perhaps a little ironically), the various Foy Juinors would learn the trade of Barbercraft, hopefully to surpass even the likes of the astounding Mr. Foy Coiffeur. Such is the destiny of a generational professional.

That being barred, the hypothetical "Lil Foy" would make an excellent Haberdasher.

"Explosives, my good sir? Hmm... Seems unsporting. Though I should say, and from no small matter of experience, my good man, if you desire the impersonal disposal of several hundred plebeians at a common time and location, a bit of the Boomage does it none the better." The dapper fellow took a horsehair brush to the Shepherd's shoulders, giving a bit of turnaround to see if he had even lines. "Alright, cut is made... Now for the styling. Shan't be but a moment or two; this part is easy. Of course, it's all easy when you're of certain lineage."

He got out the various small bottles of salves and pomades, treatments and mousses and sprays. A comb in hand, he began the final stage in Atticus's follicle-based transformation. "It occurs, sir, that one may derive a certain amount of personal satisfaction and profit, were, once said explosives had been placed, one may station one's self in a point of vantage and perform a touch of ballistic crowd control. You know, just until the exothermic reaction du jour laid waste to the location in mind. Yes makes perfect sense... Oh! Perhaps also, one could take a differing vantage and pluck off those sent to assist any hypothetical survivors. Wouldn't you say, Shepherd? Scorch the earth, and whatnot? Strictly spoken in the academic, mind you. We need not ruffians of that sort mucking about in our already imperfect 'Verse, now do we?"

A couple more strokes of the comb, one more spritz of moisture, and he was done. "Well then, Psalms, how about you take a gander in the wall mirror just behind you. We are professionally concluded."

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A shrewd man, while searching for a hostile Captain, finds a very good reason to be on the lookout, preferably with official looking documents of some kind. Harper could be accused of being shrewd. Intelligent, definitely. He was a very sharp man, if the slightest bit mentally traumatized by the past few years. But he was painfully bereft of official paperwork. Not that he honestly thought it would matter with this woman, but he couldn't show up with nothing. Plus, it would likely be highly insulting to hop on the PA and request her presence in his quarters. Such an action would likely be met with her indeed relocating to his room, only to paint it with Harper's own mix of brain matter grey and arterial red.

But going to his quarters first wasn't a bad idea. He couldn't dig up anything official, but he might scare up a peace offering. Point of fact, he was headed in that direction anyway. It was just a quick moment in his bunk, long enough to grab two jars from the big crate of goodies he brought along from that confectioner's in Persephone. He returned to the corridor, walking the length of the vessel back to Upper Engineering, down the stairs, and halfway back up the ship, poking his head into every public room he came across.

Harper was intrigued to find that there was an impromptu gathering in the Galley, of all places. One might have heard his footsteps coming down the hallway, especially in the operating night hours of the skeleton crewed vessel. And just in they didn't, Harper took it upon himself to clear his throat as he stepped in the doorway to the Galley opposite of Dorothy. He got a pretty good eyeful of Anisa standing present, and apparently the Medic arrived shortly before himself. Harper maintained his persona of the dutiful Alliance officer, for the most part.

"Ma'am," he began, regarding Anisa, "and ma'am," to Dorothy. It had been one hell of a day. Harper would have loved to have gotten into a bottle of something relaxing and flammable, but he was a little nervous about the person on the stick that shift. That, and he didn't remember packing any alcohol in his belongings. He did have a couple of personal luxuries, though, a little of which he brought with him.

The Lieutenant set one of the jars on the nearby table and slid it across. "I hadn't expected more than one, but... Preserved peaches, whole and pitted." The second one followed with a supplementing, "Preserved strawberries, whole." Looking towards the nearest galley cart, he offered, "I'll find us some spoons. Help yourselves, please. I'd prefer it if we spoke, unless the two of you were about to discuss something privately."

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Atticus chuckled a bit. This was a very interesting and amusing conversation to him, granted most were. "Oh but all things are up close and personal when dealing with the wrath of God. I am simply his messenger and I seek out his vengeance. In the end, they get their last rights and there is nothing more personal than that. If they do not see the blade of God coming, in the form of a bullet or a bang, then they are blinded by the world and there is nothing I can do but lay them to rest," he said as he sat there still as a board while Foy worked.

"And my profits are to continue the work of God, well 10%," he added with a smirk before rising from the chair once Foy was done to take a closer look in the mirror. "Well that is the finest cut and shave I have had in a while. God gave you a true talent," he said before grabbing his coat and slipping it back on. "Shall we seek out your friend now and see if we can turn some water into wine: and perhaps a hand or two of cards. Even God rested."

"We seems to have a drunk," Anisa said with a sigh as she pointed over the edge of the counter and down to where Jahosafat was sitting just grinning stupidly from ear to ear before taking another swig from the nearly empty bottle of bourbon.

"I dare say you picture of perfection! I am not so think as you drunk I am," he said with a hiccup in between every third or forth word. Anisa took a deep breath and looked over towards Dorothy.

"Some doctor..."

"I'll have you know my dear woman I am a fine physician ~hiccup~ I am just drinking a toast or two to a fallen friend ~hiccup~."

"Quinn is no one to mourn." Shaking her head she looked over towards Harper as he came in and cocked a brow. "Just dealing with yer doctor Harper. Seems he has been hitting the bottle rather hard."

Stumbling to his feet the bottle went rolling across the counter and to the floor shattering as he tried to stand. "I am not bereaving over the former Captain ~hiccup~ but over the lily amongst the thorns, my dear sweet Camilla."

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Hearing they had a drunk, Dorothy titled her head slightly. She hadn't been able to see the doctor from her vantage point, but sure enough, as she stood on her tiptoes and leaned slightly over the counter, she saw the mess that was Jahosafat. Sighing a bit, Dorothy shook her head. The Alliance members on the ship were already enough of a problem sober, but while drunk? As a doctor, Dorothy knew very well the effects of alcohol--especially its impacts on impulse control.

"...More like a future patient, Captain," Dorothy joked, smiling ever so slightly. Had there not been so many deaths already that day, doubtlessly of the man's friends, Dorothy might have found the situation pathetic. But as it was, she couldn't stand drunkards. They only served to remind her of her father and the life she had left behind on Boros. As the man protested that it was a toast, Dorothy rolled her eyes. "Some toast, then...An entire bottle?"

She could see mourning Quinn, but not the person he was when he died--the person that he used to be. Of course, she kept silent on that opinion. She could think about Camilla and Quinn privately on her own time. Her best friend was in too much pain for her to do otherwise. Turning her head ever so slightly as Harper, the pilot entered, Dorothy nodded at him slightly. She felt a brief moment of panic seeing that Daphne wasn't there with him, but she figured her sister must have been at the helm of the ship.

"You ain't grieving, doc," Dorothy sighed, a bit of irritation in her voice. Had it been anyone else, she likely would have helped them to stand, and ensured that they kept away from the smashed glass on the ground. "You're just getting pissed, and you won't remember a thing come morning. You'll drink again and the cycle'll continue," Dorothy finished, deferring to Anisa as to whether or not they'd be conversing with Harper.

That was the Captain's decision to make, after all.

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"Motivation of the Divine being a sole purpose for grand, life-consuming explosions seem a trifle, were I given serious query on the topic, my good man." Foy took a brush to his chair, getting the bits of severed Preacher hair floating lazily down to the floor. It was never his favorite part of the job, cleanup. Though it was necessary to keep a tidy shop, point of pride even, the whole process seemed to hit a little too close to manual labor for his likes. But there was no alternative here. Back on Farraday he might have a Sweeping Lad to handle this for him, as apprentices or interns were sometimes referred to in the noble profession of Barbering, but this was a relatively cramped room aboard a ship. Barely a middle class walk-in closet, by his reckoning. And even if they weren't operating with a skeleton crew, Foy lacked the specific authority to order some yeoman to do it for him.

Tiny sacrifices for one's noble profession, he supposed. That depressing thought in mind, Foy snatched up a broom and began corralling the mess upon the floor to a vacuum pan for disposal. "Though I can appreciate the taking of 10% for one's endeavors, my dear sir. You dear and shiny Church demands 10% for its expenses incurred pursuant to the acquisition of grandiose hats and ...oh, I imagine they feed the poor on occasion, but I am oft mesmerized by the fetching quality of that headwear." He tought for a half-second, "Tithing, I believe is the nomenclature. Yes... Well, were I not in the profession I am now, I should fancy myself a passable and fashionable Bishop."

Foy made short work of his cleanup and stashed his tools in a sanitation case, then continued his thoughts with the holyish man before him. "But I digress, of course. My point being that as you demand 10% for your efforts of blowing people to wet and splotchy smithereens, just as your Church maintains its hat fund (amongst other things, naturally) with a similar request of moneys. There is a sense of specific poetry to it, I suspect, one of inverted propriety that is just familiar enough for potential clients to give cognizant attentions. A marketing strategy, or surreptitious gimmick to drawn in that clientele, yes?"

The dapper gentleman was finally done straightening up his workspace. It was quick work, and afterwards Foy sprayed the air down with something vaguely smelling of sandalwood and vanilla. "There we are, then. If you would extend a basic courtesy before we locate my esteemed and lofty colleague, I promised him a warming dram of Londinium Brandy before the evening comes to cessation. I suppose you may join us, spirit of cooperation across the lines and whatnot, but I must abscond to my quarters in the interim twixt now and our search for Dr. Moreau to acquire said nectar. Shall we?"

Foy retrieved his gunbelt, hat, and coat, then stepped out of his parlor, proceeding down the corridor to the pitiable accommodations that passed for his quarters.

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Anisa pointed out the additional crewmember, laying sloppy drunk behind a counter. There were noises resembling speech coming from the man, but distance and interposing furnishings mostly muffled the exchange. Though he did pick out a name from among the senseless blathering of the practically incapacitated man: Camilla. Harper had to guess that she was one of the Browncoat crew that caught a bullet, though why he would grieve over her caught the Lieutenant as a mystery. Obviously they had some history, and obviously the crew of this ship had some connection with that of the downed Firefly's. But Harper had his own problems at the moment.

"Oh. Evening, Doctor." he gave as casual salutation. Dorothy's mention of "toasting" did serve to give him an idea, though. He walked over to a galley cart and shuffled around noisily until he located a handful of smallish metal spoons, then immediately set out to locate some manner of bread he could slice and put a golden brown on. While he prodded about, he kept sharing the particulars of why he sought out the Captain.

"So... I've got the Bridge pager on my person, ma'am, just in case Proximity picks anything up. I like to keep informed. It'll also let me know if we have any notification short of a General Alarm that a pilot should be made aware of." Freeze dried dinner rolls? No. Wouldn't do. "Now, the reason I have the extra eye on the stick, ma'am, is that I have my concerns about the primary eyes on it. Not to insult your hiring practices, nor your crew, but I have some reservations with the level of dedication your Pilot has for the task at had."

His search didn't reveal gold, but perhaps a passable bronze. "Ha! Water crackers work for you guys?" he asked triumphantly, waving a box in front of himself. "My experience with pilots is ...mostly... limited to military personnel, so I'm hoping it's that laid back Browncoat mentality that causes people like me to underestimate. All I'm saying is, I'm keeping this pager with me and checking in until I'm satisfied we're forgotten about."

"So hey, crackers and fruit preserves aside, when did you want to continue talking business?" an oddly amused expression colored his voice with humor, "My schedule is a little freer for the foreseeable future."

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The Bridge was relatively quiet, and Daphne did not like it. Her thoughts were running wild while she sat there, hoping for something to happen. She wasn't very good at being patient, and while she was sitting there, stuck on the bridge, who knew what could be happening elsewhere on the ship. She thought about paging Harper, so that she at least had someone to talk to, but decided not to bother him. It wasn't too long ago that he left, and it would probably annoy him. She didn't really like him, but his company would be better than nothing.

She glanced at the console in front of her, her fingers itching to fly the ship. Daphne has never flown an Alliance vessel, and she really wanted to fly the ship, more than just sitting there and keeping an eye on things. She was bored, and it was really bugging her. Daphne was just sitting there, waiting. Hopefully someone told her to do something, or hopefully something happened that would require her to do something with the ship controls. Everything was quiet, and it annoyed her because she never liked the quiet, not really anyway.

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Atticus was not sure what to think about what Foy was saying. It wasn't that he didn't understand it but it gave him something to ponder. Adjusting his coat he simply nodded. "Well, let's be on our way then. Lead the way good man, you know the ship better than I do," he said and motioned towards the door. He would follow Foy whichever direction he went, it was simpler that way than to just wander about. Granted he had been on ships like this before and the Alliance was a lot of things, inefficient wasn't one of them. So most ships were of similar design and there for similar layout. He knew he could figure it out without much issue but why bother when you had a guide at your side?

Anisa rolled her eyes, this was not what she needed right then. A drunken doctor. Though she figured it couldn't be helped. People were in mourning and they were on silence to keep the Reavers from knowing their position. All they could do was hold tight right then, and the longer the wait the worse it made things.

"Hardly, ~hiccup~ my good woman. ~hiccup~ Certain things you cannot lose to the black out of the mind. ~hiccup~ One of those is the pain in the heart. ~hiccup~" Jahoafat's speech was slurred but he wasn't completely gone. At least not yet.

Looking over towards Harper, Anisa coked a brow. "She is good, just naive and young. Patience isn't one of her virtues." Rubbing her hands through her hair, she pushed it back out of her face. Daphne was a cracker jack pilot but she was like a moody teen. She got bored easy, didn't take to authority well, thought she knew better than anyone else. It just came with being young, something the Captain hoped she would grow out of. She had done well on the Vengeance but the fact that Harper was already in the galley with them and done instructing her did make Anisa worry if Daphne was pulling one of her I got this moments when in fact she didn't.

"Okay, lets just get a little food into everyone's stomach and everyone not on shift I want in their bunk in twenty getting sleep. Harper, once we make our next port, then we can talk. Right now, we are just going to get this day over with." Anisa's voice was frank but it was obvious she was getting irked again, especially considering the fact her fingers were drumming over the holster of her side arm.

"Dorothy, do me a favor. Once you eat, take something to Gene and then your sister. Make sure she's, well you know," Anisa said giving Dorothy a tell all look. "Make sure she doesn't pull some stupid stunt," was more what the look and the intonation of her words meant than what she had actually said.

"Crackers? Oh my..." Jahosafat said, feeling that tell all bubbling in the pit of his stomach. "Do excuse me Ladies... Gentleman," he said before taking a stumbling bolt for the door as he covered his mouth.

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Dorothy may have abandoned her sister years ago, leaving her behind on Boros with their drunkard of a father, but that didn't mean she didn't care fiercely for Daphne. As Harper questioned Daphne's skills and level of dedication, it took all of her strength not to reply curtly you're correct, Harper. You do underestimate her. But pride in her sister wasn't appropriate in this moment. Her military training had taught her that. But thankfully, the Captain came to her sister's defense as well, and Dorothy smiled as she nodded in agreement.

"Daphne's full of surprises," Dorothy agreed, not adding much else more. They didn't need to have yet another tense situation on their hands. And it was true--her sister could be a bit impulsive and moody at times, but she was so young, Dorothy felt it would've been more concerning if Daphne wasn't the way she was. She'd grow out of it eventually, but even if she didn't, Dorothy would love the kid nonetheless.

Nodding at the Captain's orders, Dorothy hoped that Harper would recognize Anisa's growing irritation. They didn't need a repeat of what happened with Gene on their hands. "I'll check in on her," Dorothy nodded, rolling her eyes as Jahosafat bolted for the door, covering his mouth. She couldn't even bring herself to pity the man, and knew that there was a good chance she'd be treating him for alcohol poisoning later that day.

Taking a few crackers and some of the preserves, Dorothy made herself a small little thing to eat, a bit curious as to what Harper wanted to talk to Anisa so desperately about. The man was definitely...different than the rest of the Alliance members, though all of the ones on this ship seemed to be eccentrics, to say the very least. Once she had her fill, she fixed up some for Gene and Daphne.

"I'll be with my mei-mei if you need me, Cap," Dorothy said, nodding farewell at Harper and Anisa, as she left the Galley the way she came. She retraced her steps and knocked twice on Genevieve's door. "Gene, food's here," Dorothy announced. She set down the food that she'd fixed up for Gene, so that way she could grab it whenever she was ready, before finally making her way to the bridge.

"Mei-mei, you hungry?" Dorothy asked, as a way of announcing her presence.

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The Alliance pilot presently known as Harper was almost fully able to suppress a wry expression at the scene unfolding before him. An offer of fruit preserves from Persephone and a request for conversation was met by a fully inebriated Dandy who ran out of the Galley, presumably to find a more suitable place to vomit, a perpetually cross Captain who (by the looks of things) was subtly threatening his life, and a particularly presumptuous Doctor who took his offer of something sweet as an invitation to feed half of the crew. Truth be told, just about every Browncoat on board had disappointed him in one way or another. The Alliance personnel weren't any better, in their own ways, but it was at least expected of them. It could be that his overall mood was coloring the events playing out before him, but he honestly expected his egress from the military to be a hair more idealistic than what was happening.

"We're in a Galley, packed to redundancy with decent food." he noted aloud, irritation notable. "Not nutrient rations, not compressed soy and yeast. Actual food. Yet my private stores get the attention." Harper shook his head and began putting the lids back onto what remained of his precious, sugary fruits. "The Captain is correct. This is a good time to call it a day. If you require my services specifically, I'll be in my quarters." Harper had dropped the pretense of military protocol verbally, yet retained his starched posture. He strode to a cabinet and procured for himself a Standardized Meal Pack, reminiscent of the old MREs of Earth-That-Was, and made for the door. He might have gone for something a bit more luxurious for his supper, but this required the least amount of preparation while still seeing to his nutritional needs. And still beat the hell out of prison food.

About halfway to the exit Harper stopped, returned to the scene of the appropriation of his foodstuffs, and snatched up the remainder of the water crackers. "Ma'am." he said flatly, "Your people have not left a great impression so far. But tomorrow's another day, right?" before returning to his path of egress. Yeah, tomorrow was another day. But tonight, Harper took some solace in the fact that he would be sleeping with a loaded firearm, if he could sleep at all.

Considering everything, maybe these people just took some getting used to. Or maybe he would take up Anisa's offer to be dropped at the next port along with whomever else didn't pass muster. He might even be able to return to the Alliance with a mostly true story of getting hijacked by Browncoats, and continue his overall plan that way. But there was a Plan C forming in the back of Harper's brain. Yes, there was always another option, if one dared to take it. The tiniest smile curled up one corner of his mouth as he walked the corridor back to his room.

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Daphne was still sitting around, doing nothing, when her sister walked up. She jumped a little in her chair at the sudden sound of Dorothy's voice, and turned to look at her sister. Her mind had still been wandering, far away from what was going on around her, and she didn't expect someone to walk up. She smiled when she saw what Dorothy had, and wondered why Dorothy would even ask if she was hungry. "Yes I am, thanks Dory," she said and reached out to take the food that was in her hands. She was happy for the company, and was getting tired of just sitting around waiting for something to happen.

Daphne had been sitting there for a while, and was glad that someone walked in. She was just sitting around, while everyone else wandered the ship and could talk with everyone. The rest of the crew were off doing something else, while she was stuck in one place. The Bridge was still relatively quiet except for her and her sister, and Daphne was a little curious about what was happening everywhere else on the ship. Luckily, Dorothy was just the person to give her that information.

"So, what's everyone else up to? Any problems with the Alliance crew yet?" she asked Dorothy as she turned around to look back at the console in front of her.

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Anisa sighed as she sat down after Dorothy left the room and nodded towards Harper. She could see where the confusion came in, he had offered it but then again he had offered it to them, not to the whole crew. "I'll replace it when we stop. It was just a miscommunication," the captain said as she looked over towards Harper.

"Well the Alliance hasn't exactly made a good impression either. A Captain that came after us after slaughtering an entire platoon against orders. A doctor that is probably throwing his guts up. And a pilot," she said as her words trailed off, a smirk coming to her features. "Well you know," she added, letting the words hang in the air. Sure her crew hadn't given the best first impression they could have but neither had the Alliance. In fact the fact she hadn't just shot all the Alliance crew to start things off put the Browncoats one up in her book over the Alliance. Quinn would have drawn and quartered the lot of them just for being who they were.

"But you are all my crew now, that is until you step off this boat. So whatever they do, it ties to you now. I suggest you try to get along," she said as she stood up and started to rummage through the kitchen to find something else to eat. She wasn't about to touch his precious preserved fruits if he was going to get snippy over a simple miscommunication. "You know, considering the information I now have, you would think that you would want to let a few pieces of fruit go. Make a good impression. Give me a reason to have your back, a bit of trust. A peace offering. I guess you aren't as smart as you thought you were Harper. Luckily for you, I protect my crew no matter how they act towards each other. Even if they put a few pieces of fruit above the peace on a ship. Long as they get the job done."

Pulling out some protein rations she shut the door to the cabinet she had opened. "Right now that is getting us alive to the next moon once we can get passed the Reavers. Fruit won't matter a Gorham if we all die." The rations were always on the Alliance ship just in case but they were rarely ever touched, there was actual food there. Yet Anisa ripped open the pale unappetizing block from its brown plain paper and took a bite. "But like you said, tomorrow is another day."

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Dorothy sighed slightly, pinching the bridge of her nose. She was an impulsive person by nature, and combined with the stress of the day, she had made a small mistake. But at the same time, she couldn't help but feel immensely irritated with Harper. Sure, she may have made a gorrham mistake--but he was the one insulting her little sister's skills and talents. Her more tactful nature could slip away--as it certainly did then--when it comes to Daphne.

Of course, she wasn't sure whether or not to tell her sister about her opinions of Harper. On one hand, he was (as far as Dorothy was concerned) just another cog in the Alliance machine, and likely to be thrown off at the next port with the rest of the Alliance crew. But then again, since Daphne had to work with him, her being belligerent and biased towards him likely wasn't the best. Overall, Dorothy was irritated with the man--if the Browncoats were such rubbish, then why did the Alliance even bother? She had served with the Alliance before and she never found an excuse to underestimate the rebels. It was a foolish attitude in her book.

"Nothing we can't handle," Dorothy finally answered. "The pilot strikes me as a bit of a huen dahn, if I'm to be honest..."

She glanced at the controls and such on the bridge, before recalling that Anisa had asked her to do something else. She knew that her sister could be moody and pretend to be more capable than she really was. "How's the ship, by the way? She handle okay and everythin'?" Dorothy asked, hoping that Daphne really was confident in using the ship, and wasn't just pulling a stunt. She didn't want to give the pilot any real reason to look down on her mei-mei.

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Harper gave Anisa's words some consideration. Especially the part where she not-so-subtly threatened his freedom with information he had just divulged to her, ironically for the purpose of displaying openness and the beginnings of trust. The rest of her words had some merit to them, granted, but in the three "conversations" he'd had with the woman, he had been threatened by her three or four times. Looking into his own recent history, one did not survive for three years in the frigid hell that was a penal mining colony floating in the middle of the Halo belt by cowing to the threats of a single tyrannical authority figure.

Were he still imprisoned, this would have set off a chain of events that would have ended very badly. Probably for both of them. Seeing as he no longer had the need to club people out with a big tā mā de wrench over protein nibs and non-irradiated water, he probably didn't need to enact dire plans of revenge to save face. Saving face for the sake of survival was one of many things he found himself doing that he never would have dreamed about in his earlier life. But to remind him of his status as an undiscovered fugitive because he complained about the removal of his personal belongings? Hell no. There was no way he was going back there alive, if he could at all help it. This was a line cross. At the very least, this was a reason for aggressive negotiation.

Naturally, his surly disposition followed up the stairs and down the corridor to his room. Along the way, he passed a person he would consider a highly unlikely ally. He was accompanied by one of those people in Browncoat employ. Yes, it looked like Foy and Atticus were cruising the hallway. Of course, it meant he couldn't speak plainly right then. "Mr. Coiffeur?" he started.

"Hmmmmmm?" acknowledged Foy with a tight-lipped smile.

Harper's voice was level and even, but his eyes still held a sliver of intensity from earlier. "I'd appreciate it if you would key me in for a shave tomorrow morning, before first shift begins. You know how the little ritual clears my head."

Foy's polite smile turned into a wry look. "Indubitably, my good man. I've no appointments on the morrow, merely present yourself and we'll get started, yes?" He didn't wait for him to respond, "Excellent! Tomorrow morning then, sir. Brave my chair and join me for a cup of caffeinated delight."

Harper returned to his room and kept the lights dim. He indeed ensured that his service pistol was in easy yet concealed reach, then engaged the electrical and manual lock on his door, both. Stripping off his Alliance uniform, Harper grabbed the blanket from his bed and spread it out on the floor nearby. Carefully, he lay down upon it an stared up at the ceiling, trying to process this day. Yeah. Maybe he'd even get a little sleep. Maybe.

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"Now, considering as we have all made the logical leap from acquaintanceship to drinking associates..." It was a polite nothing extended to Atticus. Any fool could see that there was tension among the ranks, though admittedly it was less between the Shepherd and the Barber. "And you are joining us for a drink, yes? Well, perhaps we can put all this ugliness concerning multiple shootings and the like behind us, yes? I would find that a rather satisfactory outcome of our time well spent."

He continued down the corridor, meeting the most oddly expressed Lieutenant William Harper coming back in the opposite direction, mumbling something unintelligible about a shave? It took him a few seconds to realize that he was asking for an appointment, of all things; not that he'd expect the man to request his services. He seemed the type to stare into a mirror and scrape his face passably clean with a mass-produced, disposable device. Nasty things, those. So maybe he had an ulterior purpose. Yet, he still needed to respond. "Indubitably, my good man..." he began.

That awkward little conversation out of the way, Foy resumed his brisk walk down to his quarters. He kept his space immaculate, as if one merely stored bedding and a rollaway wardrobe chest inside, minor personal effects placed with deliberate action; staged almost. The kind of setting that belonged in an issue of "Better Bunks & Gardens". The level of organization present made finding his stash of Londinium Brandy very short work, followed by a moment to observe the liquid with its proper reverence.

"Ah, flawless... Now, to locate my equally well-attired associate and a set of neutral drinking vessels that shan't bruise the flavor of this most excellent distillate. Galley, I suspect." Well, either the Galley, Jahosafat's quarters, or some other locale. Foy had two such glasses, but not three. At least, not three that matched. Anything else would be slightly uncivilized.

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Daphne laughed at her sister's opinion of Harper. She didn't really care for him very much either, but it was funny to her the way she straight out said it. Daphne was glad that she shared the same opinion of him as she herself did, otherwise this would be a weird conversation. She was glad to hear that nothing really was happening everywhere else on the ship, meant that several people were probably almost as bored as she was. It wasn't really her idea to sit up on the Bridge all day, but she had to do her job, and she was fine with that.

She smile at her sister, and said "I don't really care much for him either, but we have to deal with him for now. Anyway, glad to hear that the Alliance crew members aren't causing too many problems. The ship is fine, and I've been sitting here just keeping an eye on things, however it has gotten more than a little boring sitting here waiting for something to happen. I'm pretty confident that I can fly her, it isn't Vengeance that's for sure".

Daphne leaned back her chair, and looked at her sister. In her opinion, Dorothy looked a little out of place on the Bridge, but that might just be because she was used to seeing her in the Med Bay. She smiled and turned back to the console, making sure to keep an eye out for anything strange.