CORRECTIONS OFFICER: ...disturbing the peace, fleeing an officer, falsifying a unibrow...
Y/N: C'est quoi, illégal?
CORRECTIONS OFFICER: Very illegal. You need to clean up your act, mon ami.
Y/N: Mon ami? (verklempt) Oh, how charming, hearing you say that, because... (misty) I've had one hell of a Jour des Morts, and I could use a damn good ami right now.
Y/n leans in towards the officer with a sly grin.
Y/N: And you know what, mon ami? Real amis help each other out. You get me across that bridge tonight, and I'll make it worth your while.
Y/n notices a poster of a famous musician at the officer's workstation.
Y/N: Oh, vous aimez ce musicien? He and I go way back! I can get you front row seats to his Sunrise Spectacular Show!
Miguel perks up at the mention of the musician.
Y/N: I'll even get you backstage, you can meet him! (beat) Just let me cross that bridge.
The corrections officer pulls away.
CORRECTIONS OFFICER: I should lock you up for the rest of the holiday... (beat) But my shift's almost up, and I wanna visit my living family... so I'm letting you off with a warning.
Y/N: Can I at least get my costume back?
CORRECTIONS OFFICER: Uh, no.
Y/n exits the room with a smirk.
Y/N: Quel dommage... some ami you turned out to be.
INT. HALLWAY
MIGUEL: Hey. Hey! You really know de la Cruz?
Y/N: Who the hell wants to know?
(noticing Miguel) Ah, mais oui! You're alive, mon ami! Keep it down.
INT. PHONEBOOTH
Miguel pulls Y/n into a phone booth to avoid suspicion.
MIGUEL: Yeah, I'm alive. And if I wanna get back to the Land of the Living, I need de la Cruz's blessing.
Y/N: That's a rather specific request, isn't it?
MIGUEL: He's my great-great-grandfather.
Y/N: He's your what now?
Y/n's eyes widen in shock. He pops them back up with a punch to his jaw, causing Miguel to look disgusted.
Y/N: Attendez un putain de instant. You're saying you're related to that filthy, thieving bastard?
MIGUEL: D'ya know what, maybe this isn't such a g--
Y/N snaps his fingers rapidly, a wicked grin on his face.
Y/N: Non, non, non. You're my ticket out of this shithole. I can help you, you can help me. But mostly, you're going to help me.
Miguel suddenly sees his family approaching. Mamá Imelda spots Miguel.
MAMÁ IMELDA: Miguel!
MIGUEL: Ah, merde!
Y/N extends his hand with a smirk.
Y/N: I'm Y/n.
MIGUEL: That's nice!
Miguel grabs Y/n by the wrist and drags him to the exit, away from his family.
his thumb to smudge black and white shoe polish on the boy's face.
Y/N: Stay still, putain de merde.
(beat)
