Foy Coiffeur
Location: Retribution, Bridge
began Foy in response to Jahosafat's metaphor about breaking eggs. Nonetheless, he took it and ran with it. Reavers be damned, his joviality was not to be threatened by something as trite as mortality.
"Indubitably, my dear Sir. After all of this unpleasantness, we should most assuredly take brunch. Break out the champagne, some hickoried fish, and a lovely, light omelette, just as you suggested. Perhaps we may be able to scare up some nice molasses bacon and a citrus beverage, eh old boy?" He clicked his tongue twice, playfully jabbing his elbow in the direction of Jahosafat's ribs.
But brunch, indeed! Foy had not had a proper brunch in almost two weeks. It seemed a pity. While years training with some of the most ruthless organizations in the 'Verse had certainly given him the proper roughening necessary to do without things that many folk considered basics for survival, Mr. Coiffeur would, with absolute certainty, much prefer to have as many tiny luxuries as he could acquire, given any setting in which he found himself. Of course, no proper Farradayan Brunch would be complete without a slice of cantaloupe or two, but the chances of finding fresh melons on an Alliance Black Ship seemed about as likely as the good Captain Quinn spontaneously farting the Londinium Planetary Anthem, complete with cowbell solo.
These were the things that Foy Coiffeur thought about, whilst standing in a ship involved in an atmospheric chase with Reavers and Outlaws. Nothing he could do about the situation, nothing at all. Rather than wring his hands and stutter about their possible impending doom, he would much rather promise himself creature comforts of dignity and refinement, and let the Pilot and Gunner see to their part in the madness.
William Harper
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Location: Retribution, Bridge
thought Lieutenant Harper, changing the elevation of the Retribution gradually. He didn't want to seem like he was initiating a maneuver on the Reaver vessel, but he did want to get their attention (ok, he
really didn't, but there was a bigger issue at play). Putting a piece of flourish to the added height, William fluttered one of the engines every couple of seconds. It was not enough to alter their arc or vector, but enough to draw the attention of the skybourne predators, as a fish with an injured fin might alert a shark in the area. And if their attention was focused on the Firefly vessel, all the better for him, in his estimation.
Though he had to give credit to the Firefly's pilot, whomever they might be. That kind of maneuvering on an older vessel, apparently in a state of disrepair, in atmo no less, was worth noting. Provided they could meet in a less hostile setting, he would love to trade notes.
When he figured that he was high enough, he scanned visuals for that "tower" that Moreau was discussing. He pulled up the individual overrides for the escape pods, punched in the corresponding alphanumerical combination, and hovered one hand above the Execute command. All the while, his other hand roamed the console, punching up the next string of preset commands for optimal engine output in preparation for the moment he needed to "Gun It". Everything was set to go with two simple hand movements. Two fingertips making connection with a pilot's console, and they would find out if Moreau's plan held value. Then of course, he would have to immediately switch it back to manual and try like hell to either stop or pull them out of a suicide dive.
Oddly, and in a very terrified way, it made Harper a little homesick.
"Go on your mark." 
