William Harper
Location: Prometheus (Galley -> Bridge)
Skills: Pilot, Astrogation, Engineer, Computers
Maybe Anisa
did see this coming. Harper had to face it, after the display at Lady Luck the previous evening, the interpersonal dynamic among the crew had definitely taken a turn toward the extremely temporary. He supposed it was how you lived out this way. There were always little, unwritten guidelines about things like this, no matter if you were prospecting for titanium out on the Rim or maneuvering within society in the Core. This was just how it was handled here. New rules to learn; when to follow them and when to bend them. The one young lady bent them too many times and too close together.
Harper was not surprised when Anisa began to issue orders, making otherwise sentimental moments like the parting of company and interment of a fallen comrade brief, businesslike affairs. His own were fairly expected; set course and be ready to take off in five. The course... was slightly disturbing, but people in this business took risks all the time. There were still settlements in that part of the Verse. Prosperous ones that might die off without clandestine help. Reaver incursions (a thing which made him inwardly shudder) made things difficult for everyone involved. That was not his worry at that moment. Getting the ship ready to hit the Black in five minutes was his worry. Everything else would sort itself out one way or another.
What was
most definitely a surprise, however, was when Anisa nonchalantly named Bridgette as her Second. Harper stopped cold, looking to the Captain with an instant of absolute confusion. She may as well have said that the crew had picked up a sentient chainsaw and had given it a position of authority aboard
Prometheus, and not be too far off from the truth. The very next thing which occurred was also surprising. Bridgette seemed just as shocked about the decision as Harper did.
"Wait, what?" "Wait, what?" The two of them spoke simultaneously, then glanced at each other. Bridgette began to say other, more provocative words to Anisa, but Harper's mind was mulling over what had just happened. Two weeks prior, the Captain had brought Dorothy aside and offered her the position. She had said something to the effect that if the Doctor didn't accept or, well,
died horribly in the interim, the job would go to him. As he had just learned, Dorothy was no longer part of the crew, and while nothing had been promised he had assumed that the position would follow.
Thinking about it objectively though, it made sense. He was still very new. The night that he and Anisa shared aside, she didn't really know him all that well. On the other hand, she had previous dealings with Bridgette, and indeed sought her out when things looked difficult. The Viking lady must be more than just a cracker of skulls. Not to mention that the Second would be in a position of greater visibility. Harper was trying to avoid that for a while. After enough time had passed and he was a freer man, perhaps something could be arranged. But for now? It was the right call. She knew she could trust Bridgette, over everybody else on board, including himself.
"Sorry. Aye, Captain." Some habits were hard to break, especially his old Fleet training while piloting a ship. Even as Anisa strode toward the Bridge, Harper was off at a jog. He didn't need to secure anything, and preliminary diagnostics had already been performed. With the confident pose of a man who had performed his duties a thousand times over, Harper slid into the Pilot's chair and fired up the engines. The Cargo door he left open, so as to not trap those inside who were ordered off the vessel. It could be raised at the last possible moment if need be.
The second the onboard computers signaled their readiness, Harper pulled up Astrogation and began inputting information. The standard updated warnings made themselves known, easily (and by necessity) ignored. He already knew there were increased numbers of attacks in the area. Piracy, Reavers, overzealous locals; but their course was plotted. All he had to do was break atmo and point the ship in the right direction. More or less.
"Captain, course plotted. We're in favorable position with Blue Sun. Estimated travel time is about four days to reach the system at hard burn; almost one more to reach Babylon after that. If the Captain wishes to move quieter, I have another, less direct route available at your command. We have clear skies and can depart as soon as we're a little lighter." He was of course referring to the departing Dorothy and Daphne Pender, as well as the excitable young Engineer.
The engines hummed a little louder, seemingly eager to break the bonds of planetary gravity. Harper could feel them, working their magic across what would otherwise be a very expensive, very grounded clubhouse. This was where he was supposed to be. More than anyplace else, all of the joys and horrors of his life had brought him to this place with the training he now possessed; capable, determined, and surrounded by people as broken as himself, in their own ways. The thought made him laugh quietly to himself. At least, he thought it was quietly.
In fact, it was a little unsettling.
Bridgette Vinters
Location: Prometheus (Galley -> Bridge)
Skills: N/A
Such an occasion marked by the drawing of firearms and then holstering said firearms, cold and unspent, did give Bridgette the slightest amount of desire to pout. It was perhaps best not to; she didn't know these people and it was probably best to kick things off with a good impression. Scratch that - It was best not to give them both barrels, literally and figuratively, of Bridgette Anne Vinters this soon in the "getting to know you" process. One thing she learned over the years was that the best way to scare off a new working crew or potentially long-term relationship was to be herself. Some of that she couldn't help, owing to her history, but some of it she could.
Moving to take place near Anisa, be it for support or solidarity even she could not say, Bridgette was caught slightly unaware when her new Captain plopped expressed a lack of familiarity with the concept of a fluffernutter, answering with the quiet suggestion of,
"Ask me over a drink later. You're buying." They had quite a bit to catch up on, anyway. And she had more Captaining to do right then anyway.
After everything she had seen, Bridgette could still be surprised by the actions and decisions that people made. Take for example the very next piece of Captaining that Anisa did, mamaginf her people and preparing for takeoff, which somehow ended with the words "Bridgette, you're my Second". It invoked a simultaneous and identical response from both herself and Harper.
"Wait, what?" "Wait, what?" She damn near dropped her shield. Harper went all quiet and introspective, seeming to find peace with what she assumed from his reaction was being passed over, but to the contrary of her more reserved colleague, Bridgette had concerns to voice.
"Woah, what the fucking gorram fuck do you mean 'You're my Second', Anisa? You know me, bitch, and you know what could fucking happen if I'm in charge, right?" She appeared to be speaking to a Captain who could care less about any misgivings she might have about the appointment, as she was very soon talking to Anisa's back. It seemed that a good chunk of the people in the Galley were headed for the Bridge just then, including her baby brother. Bridgette guessed that she was Anisa's Second whether she wanted the job or not, and so having nothing to lose in the matter, continued voicing her opinion.
"You realize that when I start fucking some of your crew, it's going to look like favoritism, right? Right? ...gorfuckingramit... Alright, fine. Fucking fine, Crowe! But I'm getting an Officer's share of the take, and I am dead shit certain taking better quarters than a bottom level passenger's fucking cabin! Private washroom, bitch! I'm rinsing out my cunt sundries in peace and fucking quiet!" Yeah, she didn't seem to care right at that second, in Bridgette's opinion. Or she was biding her time to get her plastered and shove her out of an airlock. She has heard Anisa make that threat before. Slinging her shield across her back, Bridgette figured she might as well act like a Second, so long as it couldn't be avoided. Turning to address anyone still in the Galley, she spoke with authority but a little less volume,
"The Captain gave orders! Move those tits ladies, we're Black in five!" Bridgette turned and paced quickly to follow up behind the group headed to the Bridge. She noted with a tiny smile that Cyril was sitting in the chair traditionally reserved for the Second, technically
her chair now, and moved behind it. Placing both hands on the chair back to brace for the inevitable liftoff, she leaned in to whisper to her brother,
"Buckle up, Cyril. The sky comes at you real fast. But don't worry - that Pilot knows what he's doing." From the center chair, Harper caught that last bit of conversation and glanced over at the two very Nordic siblings. Bridgette gave him a smile; an actual, honest smile, and nodded in his direction. As if reaching some sort of understanding with one another, Harper responded with a reserved,
"Ma'am." and returned to his console.
So, Bridgette was having a moment. Warm and fuzzy feelings. Emotions that had nothing to do with the pursuit of sex nor violence. She wasn't sure what to make of it, but she did feel the need to say something.
"Anisa? Sorry about earlier. I'm okay now." The normally aggressive woman looked from Cyril to Anisa, Harper, and glanced back down the hallway to whatever the rest of the crew was up to.
"Oh and... thanks girl. I'll try not to let you down." Patting Cyril's shoulder, Bridgette waited for takeoff with almost as much excitement as her baby brother. Reaver territory. Clandestine, probably illegal mission. The chance to cross swords with a hated adversary. And the promise of a paying gig with an old friend. Hell yes, she was excited. This was the shit she lived for.
Foy Coiffeur
Location: Prometheus (Galley -> Cargo)
Skills: Perception, Athletics (Coordination), Administration
Well then, Foy was certainly the hot commodity, if he did say so himself. And as it turned out, he chose that moment to express the sentiment exactly.
"Now ladies, ladies, please. I've quite enough of myself to spare, however (and I'm speaking primarily to you, Miss Qiáo), I've actions that need to be taken prior to any conversation that promises to be as elaborate as your insistence implies. So for the meantime..." He was cut off by the suddenness of Anisa's orders. While they were not to him specifically, the mention of persons leaving the boat in three minutes gave Foy his first burst of inspiration. True, lasting inspiration based upon mutually beneficial opportunity. The iron was hot, and begged to be struck.
Begged. Beyond everything else, all the tracking, fighting, shooting; the parties and dances, single-malt whisky and fine headwear, Foy was a Man of Business. When he finally lost a step, reached the point in time when retirement from his more vigorous physical pursuits (if he indeed lived that long), he would do so by planting both feet firmly in the business of his family. It was one that he had most assuredly expanded, and that was when he was but a mere part-timer. But this, as it sat presently? This parting of the ways held within it a way that everyone could come out profitably.
While in the stark middle of his machinations, he heard the word "Babylon" waft through the series of orders that his dear Captain was in process of distributing among the assembled crew. Babylon. One of Deadwood's moons. Outer Rim. Foy could sense eyes staring at him, and looked up to see his dear and childhood friend Jahosafat looking up at him. The ribald, cocky attitude of the Gentleman Barber drained away in an instant, replaced by the Mercenary that he was now and the Agent he used to be. This assignment just got serious, and in a big, big way. Foy's eyes seemed to drill a message into his friend, imparting
"I understand." with greater clarity than voicing it aloud. The had to stick together now more than ever.
This same serious look transferred to Mei, and he spoke with uncommon directness,
"You have your orders, Miss Qiáo, as do I. If you wish to speak afterward, I welcome the discussion." His head tilted slightly in the direction of Jacqueline, though his eyes remained riveted on Mei. His words were meant for the curious blonde lady, however.
"And Miss Croix, if you so desire, I shall be forthcoming with the role I am to play aboard this vessel. We are a crew, going into a situation most uncertain. It would behoove us to know of each other's capabilities before an emergency rather than after. But for now, time presses me to alternate action." Foy tipped his cap.
"Please forgive my abruptness." The rhythmic tapping of bespoke oxfords upon the deck floor heralded the departure of Foy Coiffeur from the Galley.
His quarters; immaculately kept yet he had to leave while in the middle of servicing his collection of firearms. It was the only thing that he needed to secure before liftoff. He had not the time to stow his guns in the exact, meticulous order he wished to, having now less than three minutes before the Pender sisters and that nervous, bookish chap that took a liking to Daphne were off of the vessel. Iron was hot. Must be struck. In a flash, he had lain his Callahan into a trunk featuring other bits of ammunition and firearm accessories, and slipped his new Mosin 91/30 sniper system under a strap across the top of said trunk. There would be time for proper storage later on. Right now, he had to
move.
He paused a second, regarding his revolvers. Going where Anisa said they were going, he did not want to be without direct and visible means of severing a man's soul from his body. His custom Colt pistols he buckled on and secured around his legs.
Maybe a minute left. Ninety seconds, tops. Foy snatched up a pen from among the odds and ends of his desk, grabbed one of his very fine, monogrammed silk ascots (it was a birthday gift, a lovely burgundy item of which he had a couple) and bolted, running for the Cargo doors.
From his quarters in a flash, past the door leading to the escape pods, around the bend, and to the first set of stairs leading down to Cargo. As he moved, he called out,
"Dr. Pender? Dr. Pender?" a series of times, hoping intersect with the exit of their group from
Prometheus. Foy spun around to face the staircase, hopping with one foot and one arm on either handrail and sliding down in a way prescribed by shipbound Alliance officers when they were
really in a hurry. He landed firmly at the foot of the stairs, almost losing his footing but managing to turn the stumble into a forward moving shoulder roll, one hand maintaining his exquisite bowler hat atop his noble, perfectly coiffed head. He sprung from his feat of minor acrobatics and brushed off imaginary dust as he strode forward, standing inside the span of the main Cargo door, waiting for Dorothy, Daphne, and Fitz to approach.
As they finally did, Foy walked to meet them and did not block their egress, though he did give one hell of a rapid-fire business proposal.
"Dr. Pender, Miss Pender, and ah... Fitzy, old boy! I shall be succinct. I come from money, Dorothy. A family among the business aristocracy of Farraday. This is what I propose to you:" Foy whipped out a business card; an old fashioned cardstock item which, like many of the things he possessed, struck people as being highly old-fashioned. He turned it over and began writing on it with hasty but fully legible, flowing script.
"You have a respectable amount of liquid funds at your disposal at present. Take that money and charter a cruise, or series of cruises (First Class and through the Core, the three of you); make your way to Farraday in comfort. A vacation of sorts. When you get there, present this card and this -" he handed his card over to Dorothy, along with the large burgundy square of silk,
"- to my family. Or Board of Directors. Have them contact me, if necessary." "I intend that you secure a loan from my company for starting expenses, and a restoration of one of our smaller merchant vessels, if a model catches your attention. I intend to invest in you, madame, with the understanding that this is, above all else, a business venture. I mean for us to see financial returns from this, you and I, until that debt is paid off in full and with interest. Send me a wave to work out the particulars, but there it is. You will have allies in the Black." "Be your own Captain, Dorothy. And do as Captains must: Find a crew, find a job, and keep flying." 
