[hr][hr][center][h3][color=#97e300]Miguel de la Cruz[/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/7jufPG7.png[/img]
[color=#97e300]ǝʇɹǝnW ɐl ǝp lǝnƃᴉW[/color][/h3][hr][color=#97e300]Location:[/color] Château de La Lune: Dining Room
[color=#97e300]Skills:[/color] Practical Effects[/center][hr][hr]Unlike on the boat coming here, everyone seemed [i]way[/i] more alive now - a stunning drag queen even executing a [i]perfect[/i] death drop to make her entrance. Miguel was shocked, but in the very best way. [color=#97e300]”Dude, that was sick,”[/color] he commented in appreciation - but he wasn’t quite sure if she’d even heard him, her attention was called elsewhere. 

Jacques aka Lawrence was being a complete piece of shit, when it came time for seating arrangements - not that Miguel was surprised. The only regret he’d had so far since coming here - aside from regretting coming here [i]at all[/i] - was that he hadn’t already beaten the shit out of him. But the others seemed to be quite thoroughly shutting Lawrence down, so Miguel didn’t get involved, instead finding a way to his seat at the near end of one of the tables, not by the head (or the foot, he could never remember which was which) but adjacent to it. 

There was a speech, because of course there was - what rich people didn’t love the sound of their own voice? He usually was pretty good at tuning out things that didn’t interest him, staring off into space and entertaining himself with his own thoughts, but he [i]needed[/i] to pay attention now. Everyone here was a suspect - and after his interactions with Larry, Elenore was looking pretty suspicious. So rather than zone out, he listened - rolling his eyes as she mentioned the good fortune that had befallen previous winners, when his research had indicated that the prize was more of a curse than a blessing - and a chill shot down his spine at the [i]real you[/i] remark. 

If there was any doubt in his mind as to who was responsible for the blackmail, it was gone now. It [i]had[/i] to be Elenore. She was using that phrasing [i]on purpose[/i] to get to him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, tempted to run screaming from this place - but also feeling trapped, not by location but by fear. What sort of game was Elenore playing? 

If she knew… 

Miguel swallowed slightly. 

He knew what he’d have to do. 

There was little to distract him from these dark thoughts, as the first course was served - a salad. The neighbor to his left seemed absorbed in conversation with someone else, and Miguel was quickly reminded of how much he [i]hated[/i] being seated at the end of tables. It was always so hard to talk to someone, so easy to just fade into the background. The next nearest person was awkwardly far away - there was space for an entirely extra seat between them. 

So instead, the only thing Miguel had to distract him from the nerves was his stomach. 

He was fucking [i]starving[/i]. 

He wasn’t a huge fan of salads, but he lived in Los Angeles. He was used to having to deal with them at meals, and he had constructed a foolproof system for consuming them. Usually, he could just eat the interesting parts, and by the time the next course had come, he could conveniently send it all away with an excuse that he was saving room - so naturally, he started with the candied walnuts, popping them into his mouth like popcorn. [color=#97e300]”Not the worst nuts I’ve ever had in my mouth,”[/color] he mused, talking to no one in particular. He picked off the figs, considering them for a moment, before awkwardly putting them into the bowl the walnuts had come from. He didn’t like figs. He’d never tried them. 

Then he stared at the rest of the salad itself… It was weird, a bunch of little wedge shaped chunks. Wasn’t salad supposed to be more leafy? Did the French have a different food they meant when they talked about salad - like how biscuits were [i]very[/i] different things for the British? It looked like finger food to him, so he picked up a wedge, and gave it a delicate sniff. The sauce on it was [i]terrible[/i]. He tried not to visibly gag, as that would be rude - and then his eyes fell on the napkin that had been so helpfully provided to him. He didn’t want to use any of the silverware, as then he’d taste the dressing later. 

And with all of the confidence of a child and none of the shame of a grown man, Miguel used the cloth napkin to clean off the dressing - and once done, he set the napkin off to the side, dressing covered side down, directly onto the tablecloth. If he knew what crimes he was committing, he didn’t let on - as he then proceeded to eat the plain salad wedge like it was a piece of watermelon. 

Miguel [i]immediately[/i] pulled a face. 

The French were [i]terrible[/i] at salad. 

Luckily (or perhaps unluckily), there was no sign of this course being taken away - however, his salvation came in another form. Fucking Jacques. He still didn’t know the man’s actual name. He didn’t know his enemy was Lawrence La Lune - if he’d known, he probably would have mocked him for it, pointing out that when he was born, all his parents could think about was what a massive L he was! 

[i]"Great, drag queens and f**s what has this awards come to?!”[/i]

The salad wedge clattered down onto the plate. 

Miguel didn’t think. He stood up, his chair scraping as he pushed it back. [color=#97e300]”Mm, excuse me, sorry,”[/color] he apologized to his neighbor, as he stepped behind Ricky (that was what the name card had said, right?) and Sam (the rumors he’d heard about him online, [i]oof[/i]) and then finally behind the object of his hatred. 

Without a word, Miguel grabbed the back of Lawrence’s chair and pulled, stepping off to the side as the older man fell like timber. Once Lawrence was on the floor, Miguel then leaned over, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, and he pulled him up towards him, staring for a moment at the despicable slug of a man, before he punched him as hard as he fucking could, his nose cracking against Miguel’s fist. 

[color=#97e300]“Soy [i]Bi[/i] no Fresa, come mierda,"[/color] Miguel hissed. He doubted anyone here would understand him. 

He then dropped Lawrence, paused briefly, before going back and taking his seat. With the unsoiled side of the napkin, he wiped off the bit of blood that had collected on his knuckles. [color=#97e300]”This salad is amazing, my compliments to the chef.”[/color]

[hider=Translation]I'm [i]bi[/i], not gay, you shit-eater.[/hider]