[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] Los Angeles, California [color=#97e300]Skills:[/color] N/A[/center][hr][hr] Miguel closed the apartment door behind him with his foot, bag of groceries from Lazy Acres in one hand, his venti hazelnut latte with three pumps of espresso in the other, his keys dangling from the carabiner looped around his left pinky, and his teeth holding onto a thick stack of mail. His eyes instinctively went down the hallway, looking for the familiar padding of paws rushing up to meet him, but there was only silence. It had been months since he'd moved out, and yet, the silence still got to him. He set down the coffee and keys on the little bookshelf near his entry, the bag of groceries down on the floor, and with his hands free, he took the mail out of his mouth. [color=#97e300]"Alexa, play... play Doechii everywhere."[/color] Driving, energizing music immediately filled the small apartment. The walls were scarcely decorated, and moving boxes still littered the living room and small kitchen, some of them doubling as furniture at this point, and others already having collected a fine layer of dust. He flopped down onto his thrifted couch, and kicked his shoes off, as he went through the mail. Some of it was forwarded from the old office - it still crushed him to see their names listed together - some of it was bills, some of it was just ads, and then, there was something unexpected. A thick, elegant envelope that didn't belong. He frowned, immediately assuming it was just some sort of new scam - some sort of scheme to trick people with a fancy appearance. [color=#97e300]"What the fuck..."[/color] Miguel murmured, as he tore open the envelope, and read the most bizarre letter he'd ever received. He was being nominated for an award? Because of his ghost hunting? A free trip to France, with a chance at an insane amount of money and a trip around the world? [i]There was no fucking way this was real.[/i] Miguel crumpled the letter up, and tossed it across the room, narrowly missing his trash can. He wasn't [i]that[/i] stupid. ... ... He sighed, getting up off the couch, and he grabbed the crumpled up letter, as well as his coffee. It was obviously a horrible scam, but it was at least an [i]interesting[/i] one. And his only plans for the rest of the day had been to watch [i]I Love Lucy[/i] and try to convince himself to cook dinner, rather than ordering takeout again. Maybe other people had gotten letters like this and posted about it online - at the very least, a quick bit of Google searching would satiate his curiosity. [color=#97e300]> Vorace La Lune Award of Achievement > Chateau de la Lune > Elenore la Lune > Vorace la Lune > La Lune scam > La Lune fraud[/color] By the time he closed the lid on his laptop, his coffee had long since gone cold, and moonlight filtered in through his windows. This was going to make the video of a lifetime. [hr][center][color=#97e300]Location:[/color] the Private Jet[/center][hr] The plane was... unsettling. He didn't like it. He hated flying in general, preferring to drive places whenever possible. Usually, though, if he had to fly, at least he was with people he knew - he rarely traveled alone, even after everything that had happened. They'd known how to help settle his nerves, how to keep this thoughts at bay. The edible had helped, but only for a little while. After a few hours, its effects had worn off. The movies he adored, they weren't really holding his interest, either - cinematic masterpieces that they were. [color=#97e300]"You're not taking me to some island to hunt me for sport, right?"[/color] Miguel joked nervously. He knew where he was going. No one was going to hunt him for sport - and if someone did, he was going to be absolutely pissed. Terrified as fuck, of course, but pissed. He was here to investigate a haunted French estate, and secretly film the entire thing. The drama and rumors surrounding the family was an added bonus. He didn't care about the award. The award wasn't going to get clicks. And after everything he'd learned about it, he did [i]not[/i] want to be a winner. His anxiety already made it feel like he was walking into a trap. He wanted to avoid that fucking curse however he could. [hr][center][color=#97e300]Location:[/color] Château de La Lune: Foyer -> Azalea[/center][hr] The rest of the trip wasn't nearly as quiet, but it was just as uncomfortable. The Château de La Lune required a boat in order to access it, and Miguel found himself people watching in a desperate attempt to not get seasick. He barely recognized anyone else present - well, a particular face or two stood out to him. Miguel raised an eyebrow as he caught a glance at someone he was used to seeing in a YouTube thumbnail, videos he never clicked on but the algorithm suspected he would like - a face that was attached to a name that would sometimes come up in the comment sections of his old videos, asking for a collaboration. He raised his water at the other ghost hunter in recognition, before Miguel went back to watching everyone else - hardly anyone seemed to be talking, instead looking like they were getting ready for a photoshoot, their hair flowing in the French breeze as the boat cut through the water. Miguel wanted to talk to them. He wanted to ask them all what they'd been nominated for, why they were here, and if there had been anything odd about their invitations, about anything - he wanted to start getting footage, maybe some testimony from his fellow passengers, before they made it to the estate... [i]But no one was talking.[/i] And Miguel [i]refused[/i] to be labeled as the weirdo who couldn't read a room, never again. So instead, he matched what everyone else was doing, looking out across the water and wondering what exactly awaited them. The strange vibes continued all the way to the estate itself, too, as Elenore gave a rather brief speech that answered little questions for him. It didn't explain why them - why this random assortment of people. He didn't trust it. The room they'd put him up in was rather pink, with a bathroom that seemingly connected to someone else's room - a design that he hated, but it was a free location, so he could hardly complain. A familiar package was waiting on the bed for him, and a quick look around the room verified that there were no cameras - that he was truly alone. The world's greatest ghost hunter then turned on the spirit box, and introduced himself. He didn't get anything that was clear - anything that wasn't nonsense beyond the word [i]wine[/i].