Cursed Necropolis: Rio Grande Valley

Sesión Veintinueve - Where Angels Fear to Tread (Donde Angeles Temen Para Pisar)


Ryan’s Notes:

We decide to commit and find the dude who Not!Elon Musk wants us to find. Apparently the last guy who fingered for the blame in a half-assed kinda way got shot in the head. Oops. I send Kazemde in to spy on them to find any evidence of wrongdoings.

Kazemde goes in and marks people with ink to see if they happen to be strange or not. He notices a guest list on it for a behind the scenes shindig and writes our names on it.

I conjure up some contractor badges for all of us using my In My Pocket power.

Citlali tries in vain to convince Anum to act as santa clause for her sexy santa disguise so she can go in and take pictures of people. No luck, she eventually just does it herself. She gets most of the staff, until one of the head people comes down (middle age man) and yells at us to stop doing this and do it after the wrap-up party.

I take the photos and send them to my underworld organization to see if they have criminal connections. Most of it petty drug crimes, nothing major. We decide to go to the after party to continue the photo op, and hopefully get some info on the higher ups on the place.

Meanwhile, Kazemde notices that a several people been wearing the same clothes that he marked, but the clothing is strangely no longer marked. This gives us a list of people who might be involved.

The people getting the ink off of them are mostly people who are acting on stage, and the ink is just straight up disappearing. One of the producers has apparently been there most of the time. Kazemde goes to mark people, once more people get in to fights “over making them look unprofessional”. The producer guy seems to just be watching, and the marks don’t actually disappear while they’re in his view. By the time rehearsal starts again, two people no longer have ink on them.

Kezemde splashes paint on the lead man in the show, his outfit is drenched in paint. He goes nuts and runs back stage, I watch him with my clairvoyance. He meets up with a guy to help change clothes the clothes guy causes the lead guy to go limp, and metallic needles start coming out of my shoulder.

We exit, call !Elon and tell him about the hairdresser. I ask him about the shoulder things, he said they’re like a birth mark and not to worry about it (I worry about it, plus they’re visible to mortals when weird stuff is going down). We go to him and ask for our new passports and IDs. We get to watch the hairdresser get shot, which produces a bright flash, and then !Not Elon gives us our stuff. He gives us a number to contact him if we need to, and we head out.

We devise and complete a plan. Along the way, I am asked to disguise myself as Santa Clause as a distraction for the plan.

I simply cannot understand this. The computer says Saint Nicholas was a Greek man. I am not Greek. I have never been Greek. I certainly never paid the dowry for poor farmer’s daughters. I have never quelled storms, nor multiplied grain shipments. The idea is ridiculous.

More, I dislike furs and layer clothing. I am most comfortable in thin fabrics and warm climates. This ‘Santa suit’ is constructed of embarrassingly poor quality, artificial furs. I simply will not wear it unless faced with dire consequences. Citlali and Bahiti seem intent on embarrassing me with this outfit but I will not have it.

Worst of all, I am expected to smile and laugh and ‘be jolly’, which, I am assured is easy. I do not find this easy. I find it shallow and nearly incomprehensible. What purpose is served by taking commemorative pictures with a stranger dressed as a myth?

Despite my refusing the ‘very important’ request, the plan succeeds.

The manager of the car dealership gives us contact information. I warn it should be disposed of immediately.

It occurs to me: would dressing as Santa Claus have helped me understand Santa Clause?


Teleute Teleute

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