Who: Ashley, open. When: 10PM-ish. Where: Cult of Dionysus.
Ashley emerged from his cabin, having memorized the exact expression of every Greek mask on its walls, to discover that he hadn't the faintest idea what was going on on this vessel. Sure, the storm had shook his room the same as anyone else's, but he'd chalked that up to life on the high seas. He'd never been on an ocean voyage before and, in an effort to keep from developing a nervous ulcer, he'd convinced himself that these things happened. Clocks stopped working. Ships meandered on and off course. It was all part of the authentic maritime experience. And, so long as he didn't think too hard about it, that explanation kept him happy.
Speaking of keeping himself from thinking too hard...
He sat down at the bar of the Cult, a dirty gin martini in one hand and a cigarette in the other. With its classic interior and live music, Ashley had decided that this would be his on-board haunt almost immediately. There was nothing like sticking to a routine to keep the mind content, after all. Sipping at his drink, his pale face growing paler by the second, he wondered how the rest of the passengers did it. The ship's movement didn't even seem to phase them. Perhaps it was all in his head. Perhaps when they reached the dock in Bermuda, he'd still be wobbling around. A life spent seasick on solid ground. Oh, God.