Foy Coiffeur
Location: Prometheus (Lower Level Bunks)
Skills: N/A
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.
William Harper
Location: Prometheus (Galley)
Skills: N/A
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?"
Bridgette Vinters
Location: Prometheus (Galley)
Skills: N/A
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.
