December
13, 1920
Just
returned from another strange adventure. What had started as a little expedition to map more of the Plateau turned into a
frightful encounter with a haunted castle and – haunted garments.
The Plateau
is certainly a place where the unexpected is a daily occurrence.
It all
started when Malone, Marguerite and I encountered a lovely brunette, who wore an elegant, but torn red dress and ran screaming
through the jungle. She actually reminded me a bit of Marguerite, same colouring, but of course she was no real match for
my fiery lady’s beauty and spirit. Did I really write ‘my’? I think Miss Krux would take offence at the
use of this pronoun.
The woman
unfortunately died after a short while and while she was briefly resurrected to utter an obscure warning, we couldn’t
really see a point in dragging her body with us. We were way too busy running through a sudden storm and being chased by ghostly
apparitions. After a breathless run through the jungle we suddenly came to a bizarre looking castle. I decided that we should
seek refuge there, despite Marguerite’s warnings. I have to admit that we should have listened to her warnings, but
I’m afraid I was a bit distracted by how her wet blouse clung to her shapely body. She looked even more delightful than
usual and my mental faculties were a bit impaired.
My biggest
mistake that day, however, was to put on a coat that was definitely way too old-fashioned for a man of the 20th
century. And the fabric was quite scratchy, too!
The discomfort
I was suffering because of my wet clothes should have never let me forget my fashion standards. I even wore a white wig, which
did nothing for my complexion. I looked like a lawyer getting ready to defend a case in His Majesty’s court.
But I
wasn’t the only one who fell victim to those haunted clothes, Malone and Marguerite and later Veronica all draped themselves
in those strange garments. Although I have to admit that the others looked a lot better in their cursed clothes. Malone looks
surprisingly manly in black. Marguerite of course is stunning whatever she wears. Veronica in red was quite a revelation.
I talked with her a little earlier tonight about adding more variety to her wardrobe and experiment with a broader colour
palette (her mother has left lots of clothes that would fit her nicely), but she only laughed and asked whether I hadn’t
learned anything from our adventure today. Stay true to your style, she said. And Malone of course jumped in and told her
that she looks perfect in her self-styled jungle look. Puppy love, if you ask me. He would tell her she looks good if she
wore sack-cloth.
But I
digress.
Challenger
saved us from death or eternal damnation – we weren’t quite sure which, anything is possible on the Plateau –
when he realized that the haunted clothes had clouded our judgment and led us to believe we were someone else. After we tore
them off we went back to our real selves. Well, except for Marguerite at first. But Challenger also put the last piece of
the puzzle together, when he realized that Marguerite’s or rather Comtesse Ariane’s locket was the key to final
victory.
When
Marguerite went back to her own self, she slapped me violently. The perceptiveness of this woman is incredible. In the midst
of all this adventure she had noticed that my gaze was lingering a bit too long
on her scantily clad figure.
Little
did she know that in a few moments I would see her in all her naked glory. I averted my eyes rather quickly though, one slap
per day is enough. Marguerite has surprising strength, when she slaps a man for ungentlemanly behaviour. I’m afraid
I will be dreaming about her charming little mole quite frequently. It’s on such a delightful part of her body…
