They were on the floor. [Of that shitty motel he was staying in in between jobs, and he didn't check to see if his clothes had followed him here. Now it's probably not possible to get back into his room - he's going to have to find one of the crew to help unlock his door. Or he could be an arse about it and portal in, but sometimes he doesn't end up where he wants to go, and blowing his magic load while nursing a hangover is not what he wants to be doing when he finds himself on a cruiseship with potentially free drinks and a lot of pretty neighbours to... admire from a respectable distance at, of course. What does he look like, some kind of cheap slut?]

John. Pleasure's all mine, probably. [He knows he has a reputation, so that's fine with him. He might change his mind once he figures how batshit crazy she is, but for now, she's been nothing but helpful and kind.]

Maybe-- is there a towel in one of the trolleys, somewhere? [He could strut around with a towel like one of those obsessed with the beach wankers.]