"I will demand a Happy Meal by way of compensation. But at a later date, when we are less pursued by assassins."

"And me?" he wonders in a drawl. He assumes he must also be blond.

"You are apparently my father. Please contain your horror."

Sure, he can contain it. Look at him, containing all of the horror.

"Let's keep going."

Back to the streets. Jauhung can feel the difference, the absence of lingering looks.

"Auntie Ariel, you know that it will be suspicious for American tourists to go to Heoi?"

"If they get suspicious when we're at the pier, that's better than being suspicious at the next MTR station. Speaking of which:"

They descend into the bowels of the subway. (Physical illusions, as opposed to mana illusions, have the notable quality that they will fool cameras. Like the ones at MTR stations.)

"...you would make good runners."

"She would," Jauhung agrees. He doesn't particularly have any runner qualities, he feels, especially now that they're going to use the subway. Not that he feels particularly uncomfortable or out of place in it, he's just a lot more used to walking places.

"You always have liked to pretend not to be what you are. I sympathize, but that is going to stop being useful to you very shortly."

"...I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You act as though you are some kind of nonentity, an empty shell of someone who used to exist, with no qualities of your own. It is a transparent façade. One who does not exist would not flinch so, whenever people act like he does. And the man that you are is powerful, and talented, and, admittedly, an enormous dick, but that is no great sin for a runner. If you cling to nonexistence, if you cling to this self-image of a corpse – well, there are no shortage of men who will oblige you by making it truth. If, instead, you pretend to be alive – well, it is the only way we might remain so."

What the fuck is he on. 

"So long as they fuck me up properly before they kill me."

Eyeroll.

"Yeah, not gonna work. He kinda no-sells genuine. Anyway, this is our stop."

Takatakatakataka will they in fact manage to get to the mahjong parlour before someone picks up on the fact that three bright and happy Americans should not be here?

They certainly can! People seem to be assuming they're mercenaries and thus giving them a wide berth. Whether this is a positive long-term depends on your perspective.

Swift Winds is exactly as bewilderingly Orientalist on the outside as the glimpse inside would imply. Among other things, the bouncer is a sedan-sized troll with an actual tetsubo.

Is the bouncer going to try to stop them or something. He can, like, probably deal with that, if he gotta, but he'd rather not gotta.

The tetsubo goes down across the doorway. "Names?"

Ehonté rolls his eyes. "Is this really necessary? We are expected."

Jauhung eyes the tetsubo. "Say, do you know how to have fun with that or is it just for business?"

The bouncer squints. "...you know, I was given the names of one party that's supposed to come through. One of the names rang a bell. And I think that name might be the only guy in the city who could say that like he meant it, even in whiteface."

"You don't know the half of it," Ariel says cheerily.

"Well, don't make trouble or I won't leave enough of you to enjoy it." The tetsubo lifts.

He keeps eyeing the tetsubo. "I'll hold you to that."

They pass through the door -

- and the illusion melts away.

Ariel freezes. "Enemy action, or nah?" she whispers.

Gentle Wong clears her throat, from across the room, over the clicking of mahjongg tiles. "While you are under my hospitality, no one would dream of taking advantage of this momentary vulnerability. And it would be uncouth to speak while masked."