Appletree Lodge

The rickshaw ride to Appletree Lodge is a rough one, to say the least. Santa, in a death-hilarious stupor, ends up vomiting and crapping himself continually, but he hangs in there. “Think of the kids!” you tell him. A couple of face-slaps, an adrenaline injection, and a whiskey shot later, he’s all good.

You: “We’re almost there, straighten up.”

Santa: “Bwrwaaah, I’m good. What is happening right now?”

You: “We’re going to Appletree Lodge, ya freakin’ idiot. Get straight.”

Santa: “Rwha. Right on. Let’s do this.”

Santa poops a little more, sits up straight, and looks ready to take on Armageddon.

The Lodge looms in the fading light, chimney spewing.

You: “It looks pretty quiet, lets see if any of the doors are unlocked.”

Santa: “Screw that. Let’s take the chimney in.”

You: “I don’t think that’s going to work. It looks like there’s a fire going.”

Santa: “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve been sneaking into houses through chimneys for hundreds of years. Let’s do it your way.”

You just got owned by Santa. All you can do is follow the guy up to the roof.

As everyone is probably wondering how Santa actually gets into a house if there is still a smoldering fire, well, that can’t be revealed here, otherwise the mysticism of Santa would be debunked. Anyways, you and Santa come out on the other end of the chimney, unscathed.

You: “Wow, that was amazing how you-”

Santa: “SHUT IT. You will never repeat what just happened.”

As Santa is zipping up his pants, you hear a table crash over in the next room, followed by a presumably drunk person stumbling around.

Santa: “I’ve dealt with this a million times. Let me handle it.”

The drunkard makes his way into the room you are in, and, seeing Santa, gets a look of child-like wonder in his eyes.

Drunkard: “Santa, you’re early! Or late, depending on how you look at it.”

Santa: “Oh, little one, you’re sleepwalking! Shush, let’s get you back to bed.”

Santa walks up to the drunkard, appears to attempt to hug him, then snaps his neck in one swift motion.

You: “Really?! That’s what you do?”

Santa: “He’s not going to tell anyone anything, is he?”

You: “I suppose not. But you do realize that you just killed the mayor’s son.”

Santa: “Details my friend, details. The next few minutes are critical. You want to snoop around some, or get rid of this body? I know of a place.”

Do you:

Take the body to wherever Santa wants to go, and get out of there.

Snoop around the house for a bit, looking for clues of the hot, adulterous wife’s occupation.

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