It's our first full group in months, and so we're back to the main adventure. Does anyone remember where we were? Thinking about how to infiltrate a lodge in 1920's Boston, it seems. 'The very last thing we said, I think, was 'let's work out a plan'.'
Okay, good. So you've had three months to think about it. What's the plan?
'We go in the front door.'
Genius. That's been time well spent. Even better, within minutes we realise that's not the best plan we can think of, and so we come up with a new plan of going up the fire escape at the back, and breaking in at 3 am.
Thankfully, without having to ponder it for another three months, we 'sneak' up the rattling, metal fire escape and enter without anyone coming to investigate the noise. Unfortunately, we find our way up to a floor where there are rooms with elaborate and faintly disturbing murals on the walls.
The murals shouldn't be disturbing, as they seem pretty normal, but something seems off. A couple of us are gently disquieted by the images, and so when we enter the third room, where there is obviously a mural behind another drawn curtain, I avert my gaze. Or try to. I sneak a peak anyway.
The mural is of space, full of stars, with an ominous black planet at its centre. The image instils within us a sense of our own insignificance and a dreadful desolation. 'I am Russian', I protest. 'This is normal.' But not normal enough.
My mind is sent in to a state of shock, and I enter a catatonic state. Madame Za Za suffers some amnesia, hopefully as temporary as my catatonia. And Cole is somehow triggered in to experiencing teratophilia. Private dick, Richard, is the only one unaffected by the mural, but maybe not for long, what with having a gammy leg. He'd better keep an eye on Cole.