Richard hadn't slept particularly well. His sleep had been broken with strange dreams, dreams of destruction, where it was all somehow his fault. And Georgia. She'd been in those dreams, but it felt unorganised, like the pieces shifted every time he touched them, just enough so he couldn't put them together. But it didn't matter. She was Jameson's. They were the whole reason they were here. He didn't even know why he dwelt on it, on her.
He had thought that fresh air might just help clear his head. But now he stood staring at the waves, glad that it seemed relatively calm and that at least his suit wouldn't get ruined. Jameson was elsewhere on the ship, probably ensuring that that the wedding would run to schedule, would still be the greatest party the seas had ever seen. His dreams still haunted him somewhat. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was to blame. The fog of drunkenness, the realisation that he had messed up and it was too late to do anything about it. But he couldn't remember what he had done, what he had caused. He couldn't stop himself from doing it if he didn't know what it was. And that frightened him. He sighed and pushed away from the edge of the boat, deciding that the fresh air wasn't doing him any good and that some coffee might do him better. He made his way down though the lounge.
The ship truly was magnificent. It almost seemed like a waste to use it for something like this, for what was effectively just a huge party. But Jameson only wanted the best. And Richard couldn't blame him. Everyone would be talking about this for years, possibly decades to come. And it was the closest they felt they could come to immortality. And Richard had just laughed and went along with it. This was perhaps the most brazen of Jameson's schemes, and it seemed to be just as successful as the rest.
Richard ordered his coffee in the lounge, and spotted a familiar hand holding a familiar cigarette holder. Georgia. He approached her from behind. "Something on your mind?" He asked as he sat down across from her.
Elyse gasped as she sat up, feeling like she had just been plunged into ice water. It took her a few seconds to catch her breath. It was only then that she took in her surroundings. This... wasn't her bedroom. She had no clue where she was. And the room seemed to be... moving slightly? Tilting. Was she on a boat? She climbed out of bed and took in her nightdress. She sure as hell wasn't in her own room. This sure as hell weren't her pyjamas. It was... old fashioned. She caught a look at herself in the mirror and folded her arms. It wasn't... the most hideous thing she'd ever seen. But it sure as hell wasn't her style. She went to the wardrobe and threw it open.
"Oh goddammit," she said, staring at the clothes in front of her. They also were... definitely not her style. She pulled a dress out of the wardrobe and grimaced. Completely shapeless. Hideous shade of green. She shoved it back into the wardrobe and started rooting through them. What era even were these clothes? At least they were short, she told herself. She stopped at a black and blue dress. Not her usual style but... she could make it work. She dug out some underwear too, and manage to get herself into them and into the dress. As soon as she saw it on herself, she could put a name to the era. Flapper. And even if it wasn't her style, she could pull it off. She grinned, pinning her hair into something like a bun, and slipping her feet into heels. She always took an opportunity for dress up, and if the clothes were here, she was going to wear them.
But now, she said, she had to find out what the hell was happening. She stepped out of her room and looked up and down. Voices carried up and down the hall, and she swore that somewhere, she could hear... was that jazz? She started walking, heading towards voices, and just hoped that she'd come across... somebody who knew what was going on.