บท 4: Demon Pictures
The next day found me in my room, surrounded by crumpled papers and half-empty coffee mugs. It wasn't quite the disaster zone that was George's apartment, but it was getting there. The life of an aspiring demon filmmaker, I suppose.
I hunched over my desk, scribbling furiously as I tried to hammer out the storyline for "The Demonfather." The Ferland city's warring demon clans were providing plenty of inspiration. We had the Nevermore clan, always cawing about their ancient bloodlines. The Asmodeus bunch, with their fancy suits and even fancier ways of torturing souls. Then there were the Belphegor clan, so lazy they couldn't be bothered to finish their own evil schemes, and the Mammon family, who'd sell their own horns for a quick buck.
And at the top of the heap? The Morningstar family. My family. Royal pain in the ass, more like.
I grinned to myself. Oh yeah, the Morningstars were perfect for the Corleone role. I could already see myself as Michael, the reluctant heir drawn back into the family business. But who would play the old Don Vito?
Then it hit me – the old guy who owned the Grand Theatre. With that craggy face and world-weary demeanor, he'd be perfect. Plus, I already owed him one for that free ticket. Time to call in that favor.
As I scribbled down notes and sketched out scenes, my mind raced with possibilities. If this worked – if "The Demonfather" became a hit – we could be looking at a trilogy. Hell, maybe even a whole franchise. "The Demonfather Part II: Hell's Kitchen." "The Demonfather Part III: Apocalypse Now." Okay, maybe I was getting ahead of myself.
But then reality reared its ugly head. My measly 10,000 dollars suddenly seemed like chump change. Making a film, even a low-budget one, wasn't going to be cheap. I needed a crew, equipment, locations...
I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. "Think, Arthur," I muttered to myself. "You're a prince, for Satan's sake. Use that to your advantage."
Sure, I might be the black sheep of the family, the prince who couldn't even summon a decent fireball. But I was still a Morningstar. And in this city, that name still meant something.
There were a few studios in Ferland City. Nothing fancy, mostly churning out propaganda pieces for the various clans. But they had equipment, they had crews. And more importantly, they had connections.
I smiled to myself, feeling a plan start to form. I might be a trash prince in my family's eyes, but to everyone else? I was still royalty. And it was time to use that to my advantage.
Grabbing my jacket, I headed for the door. Time to charm some studio execs, call in some favors, and maybe casually mention how disappointed my royal father would be if they didn't help his son with his little pet project.
As I left my room, nearly tripping over a stack of demon screenwriting books, I couldn't help but laugh. Who would've thought that being the family disappointment would finally pay off?
***
With a spring in my step and delusions of grandeur in my head, I set off for Demon Pictures, the crown jewel of Ferland City's film industry. These guys were the real deal, even giving those human hotshots in Hollywood a run for their money.
The commute took about thirty minutes, most of which I spent rehearsing my "I'm a very important demon prince, you know" speech in my head. By the time I arrived at the towering obsidian building that housed Demon Pictures, I was feeling pretty confident.
That confidence lasted about ten seconds after I walked through the door.
"Hold it right there," a burly guard growled, stepping in front of me. His partner, equally muscled and even less friendly-looking, flanked him.
"Who are you? It's the first time we've seen you here," the first guard demanded.
For a moment, I was tempted to puff up my chest and declare, "Don't you see? I'm a demon prince!" But looking at their unimpressed faces, I realized my infamous reputation might not have reached this far.
So instead, I opted for politeness. Novel concept for a demon, I know. "I am from the Morningstar family," I said, trying to sound both important and non-threatening. Tricky balance, that.
"Morningstar!?" The second guard's eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought I'd hit the jackpot.
Then they both burst out laughing.
"Hahaha! If you're from the Morningstar family, then I'm the King of Hell!" the first guard guffawed.
His partner wiped a tear from his eye. "You think you could fool us like that? Shoo! Go away!"
I stood there, mouth agape, as these two goons laughed in my face. Me, Prince Arthur of the Morningstar clan, being shooed away like some common imp!
Part of me wanted to summon a fireball and show them exactly who they were dealing with. But knowing my luck, I'd probably just singe my own eyebrows off.
As their laughter echoed through the lobby, I felt my cheeks burning with embarrassment. This was not how this was supposed to go. I was royalty, damn it! Okay, maybe I was the family disappointment, but still!
But as I stood there, being laughed at by two meatheads who probably couldn't spell 'Morningstar' if their lives depended on it, something inside me snapped. Not in an "I'm going to rain hellfire upon you" way (I wish), but in a "screw it, I've got nothing to lose" way.
I straightened my back, looked them dead in the eye, and said, "Listen here, you overgrown imps. I am Prince Arthur of the Morningstar clan, and I've got a film to make. Now, you can either let me in to speak with whoever's in charge, or you can explain to your boss why you turned away royalty. Your choice."
The guards stopped laughing, looking at each other uncertainly. I held my breath, trying to look as princely and intimidating as possible. Which, given my track record, probably wasn't very.
As the guards stared at me, clearly trying to decide if they should throw me out or just laugh some more, I felt a mix of embarrassment and frustration bubble up inside me. Time to pull out the big guns.
"Well, how about a quick look at my I.D., esteemed guards?" I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I fished the card out of my pocket.
The guards exchanged a look, probably thinking I was about to show them a badly forged McDonald's loyalty card or something. But they took the ID, their smirks still firmly in place.
And then, oh boy, did those smirks vanish.
They looked at the card, then at me, then back at the card. I could practically see the gears grinding in their tiny brains as they realized they'd just been laughing at honest-to-Satan royalty.
"Cough. What does the business of Your Highness require here?" the first guard said, his voice suddenly as polite as a butler at a fancy dinner party.
The other one chimed in, "Do you need a coffee, sir?"
I couldn't help but chuckle. Amazing how quickly tunes can change when faced with the prospect of royal wrath. "You know," I said, tapping my chin thoughtfully, "I seem to recall hearing someone say that if I was a Morningstar, they were the king. Hmm?"
The guard who'd made that particular joke looked like he was about to faint. His face went from red to white faster than a traffic light.
I couldn't resist twisting the knife a little. "Maybe I'll tell my father we have a new king around here. I'm sure he'd be fascinated to hear about it."
That did it. They practically fell over themselves apologizing.
"I-I am terribly sorry, Your Highness!"
"Please forgive us!"
"We'll do anything, Your Highness!"
I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. This was better than any prank I'd ever pulled. "Well," I said, trying to sound magnanimous, "if you're really sorry, you can let me in. And tell the receptionist that I have some business with the CEO of this company."
The guards hesitated, exchanging nervous glances. "Your Highness... We... We couldn't do it!"
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You couldn't? Then I suppose I'll just have a short chat with my father—"
"We'll do it!" they practically shouted before I could even finish.
I grinned, feeling more princely than I had in years. "That's what I'm talking about!"
As they scrambled to open the doors and alert the receptionist, I couldn't help but feel a little giddy. For once, being a Morningstar was actually working in my favor.
Sure, I might be about to bluff my way through a meeting with one of the most powerful demons in the entertainment industry with nothing but a half-baked idea and a homemade camera. But hey, that's show business, baby.
บท 5: That's bank for you
Before I knew it, I found myself face to face with the big cheese himself, Ashen Gray. The demon's presence filled the room, making me feel like a mouse in a lion's den. But I was a royal mouse, damn it, and I had a pitch to make.
"So... Why does Your Highness want to meet me?" Ashen's voice rumbled like distant thunder.
I cleared my throat, trying not to sound like a pubescent imp. "I'm here to ask for a little favor from your studio."
One of Ashen's eyebrows twitched slightly. "Favor?"
"I'm planning to make my first movie," I explained, my confidence growing with each word. "I thought your studio, with its impressive production capabilities, could help me fulfill my longtime dream of filmmaking."
Ashen stared at me, his expression as unchanging as a gargoyle's. "Sorry, Your Highness. But I'm afraid I can't help."
My heart sank faster than a lead balloon in the River Styx.
"You see," he continued, still deadpan, "our studio has its hands full with several projects. We have no time to help you."
I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. It was painfully obvious - Demon Pictures wasn't going to help me, and my "royal favor" carried about as much weight as a feather in a hurricane.
Swallowing my pride, I stood up. "Well, if you're not available, maybe other studios in this city would be willing to help me."
Oh, how wrong I was.
Hours later, I trudged back to the palace, empty-handed and thoroughly deflated. The other two major studios had given me the same polite brush-off, and the smaller studios... well, let's just say they were less polite about it.
Back in my room, I massaged my throbbing temples and started organizing the papers strewn about. I shoved them into a bag, ready to meet George and show him the script. At least someone was still excited about this project.
As I walked down the street, feeling sorry for myself, a poster caught my eye. It was advertising a bank willing to lend money at low interest rates for new businesses.
Suddenly, it hit me like a bolt of hellfire. Why beg for help when I could do it myself? Sure, I only had 10,000 dollars now, but what if I started my own film production company? With my royal identity (useless as it seemed today), I could probably secure a loan of around 200,000 dollars.
My steps quickened as the idea took shape. That kind of money would be more than enough to get started. I could buy equipment, hire a small crew, maybe even rent out a dingy warehouse to use as a studio.
I grinned to myself, probably looking like a madman to the demons passing by. But I didn't care. This wasn't just a plan B - this was the plan I should have had all along.
Who needs Demon Pictures when you can have... Morningstar Productions? Okay, maybe we'd work on the name.
As I hurried to meet George, my mind was racing with possibilities. We'd build our own studio, make our own rules. No more begging for favors or dealing with stuck-up executives.
***
Later that day, I found myself in George's place, which looked like a tornado had a personal vendetta against organization. As I explained my grand plan, George's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
"What? Arthur, you're... you're borrowing 200,000 dollars from the bank? To make a movie? Are you crazy!?" His voice hit a pitch I didn't think dwarves could reach.
"Shut your mouth, little guy," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "I'm not crazy. I'll tell ya, this film of ours will be big."
George scratched the back of his head, looking like he was trying to solve a particularly tricky equation. "We may have our colored camera, still in development - but even if our film does have colors, it couldn't guarantee its success! It could be a failure and you'll be bankrupt!"
I felt a bit speechless at that comment. Leave it to George to point out the glaringly obvious flaw in my plan. But I wasn't about to let a little thing like potential financial ruin dampen my spirits.
"Don't you see? I'm a royal prince no matter how useless that's been so far, goddamnit," I said, puffing up my chest. "Let's go to the bank now and don't complain too much."
As we made our way through the cluttered streets of Ferland City, George kept shooting me worried glances. "Arthur, are you sure about this? I mean, 200,000 dollars is a lot of money. What if-"
"What if nothing," I cut him off. "Look, George, we've got a chance here to do something big. Something no one's ever done before in the demon realm. Are we really going to let a little thing like potential financial ruin stop us?"
George muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Yes, that's exactly what should stop us," but I chose to ignore it.
One eternity (and a lot of George's nervous muttering) later, we found ourselves at the bank, face to face with the same oily manager I'd met yesterday when withdrawing my life savings.
"You wanted to borrow money for your business, Your Highness?" The manager was practically salivating, his sly eyes gleaming with poorly concealed greed.
I couldn't really blame him. In his mind, he was probably thinking that while I might be a useless demon prince, I was still a prince. And that alone was worth something.
It was clear the bank wouldn't care if I succeeded or failed. They'd be willing to lend me money because even if I crashed and burned, they could always squeeze my royal family for repayment, or use my failure as leverage for future favors. Not to mention the PR value of having a prince as a client.
I began to explain my business plan, keeping it vague enough to sound impressive without revealing how half-baked it actually was.
I didn't need to go into much detail - we both knew this loan was as good as approved the moment I walked in.
Sure enough, after my spiel, the manager smiled broadly. "Well, Your Highness, your business seems to have potential. I'll approve your proposal."
I smiled and thanked him outwardly, while inwardly I was scoffing. Yeah, right. You see potential? The only potential you see is a failing prince making a stupid business decision that you can take advantage of.
As we left the bank, loan approval in hand, I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and dread. On one hand, I now had the funds to make my dream a reality. On the other hand, I was now 200,000 dollars in debt with nothing but a half-finished camera and a script that may or may not be any good.
I looked at George, who seemed to be in a state of shocked disbelief. "Well, my vertically challenged friend," I said, slapping him on the back, "looks like we're in the movie business now."
George just shook his head. "I hope you know what you're doing, Arthur."
I grinned, feeling a manic energy coursing through me. "Of course I do. Now, let's go make movie magic before my family finds out and has me committed to the Asylum for Wayward Princes."
As we walked away from the bank, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just lit the fuse on a very large, very expensive firework. Whether it would soar into the sky or blow up in my face remained to be seen.
But hey, that's showbiz, right?
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