It's been yet another strange day. Arthur had closed his eyes to sleep and found himself on an airplane in Los Angeles. The loaded die had been rolled, assuring him (again) of his own wakefulness. After settling in–this time not in a hotel but in an old, beloved bed and breakfast–he's once again woken up (or dreamed?) of the strange hotel.

Just as in LA, he's in a new suit, this one charcoal gray with a crisp, ivory shirt and a darker gray waistcoat lined with silk the color of old gold. Concealed in a shoulder holster is a lightweight pistol, one that's easy to disguise with rigid posture and well-tailored clothing.

With a drink in hand, he could be any number of businessmen passing through a normal hotel as he surveys the others.

Arthur just hopes he won't have to kick himself out of the dream with any inelegant methods.