บท 15: Editing
As usual, we huddled around our janky projector to review the day's work. The restaurant scene flickered to life, and I found myself leaning forward, scrutinizing every frame.
It was good - damn good, if I do say so myself - but not perfect. A few shots needed touching up, but nothing we couldn't handle with a quick reshoot.
"Alright," I announced, clapping my hands to get everyone's attention. "We've got a couple of pickups to do, then we're out of here. Let's make it snappy - I hear there's a sale on ketchup down at the Hellmart, and we're running low."
The crew chuckled, already moving to reset the scene. It never ceased to amaze me how quickly they could transform from a bunch of misfits into a well-oiled machine.
We knocked out the reshoots in record time, and before I knew it, we were wrapping up for the day.
As the crew filed out, chattering about plans for the evening, I found myself alone in the studio once again.
The silence was almost deafening after the constant buzz of filming. I sighed, looking around at the empty space that had become both my workplace and my home. Talk about living the dream, huh?
But there was no time for self-pity. I had work to do.
I settled in at my makeshift editing station, surrounded by reels of film and the constant whir of our ancient film splicer. This had become my nightly ritual over the past week - splicing film strips, syncing up the Banshee Sisters' haunting soundtrack, trying to piece together our cinematic puzzle.
The Banshees' music drifted through the studio as I synced it to the visuals. Their otherworldly melodies sent shivers down my spine, even after hearing them a hundred times. It was perfect - hauntingly beautiful and just the right amount of unsettling. Just like our movie.
Hours ticked by, marked only by the rhythmic snip of the splicer and the occasional curse when I messed up a cut. My eyes burned, my back ached, but I couldn't stop. This wasn't just busy work - this was creation in its purest form.
As the first rays of dawn began to peek through the grimy studio windows, I sat back, rubbing my bleary eyes. The editing table was a mess of film strips and discarded cuts, but the reel in front of me... that was magic.
I threaded it through the projector with trembling hands, holding my breath as the image flickered to life on the wall. There it was - rough and unpolished, but undeniably alive. Our movie. Our Demonfather.
As I watched Michael's transformation play out, backed by the haunting strains of the Banshee Sisters, I felt a lump form in my throat. We were doing it. Actually doing it.
I slumped back in my chair, exhaustion and exhilaration warring for dominance.
There was still so much to do, so many scenes to shoot and edit. But in that moment, watching our creation come to life in the pale light of dawn, I knew it was all worth it.
***
Days blurred together in a haze of film reels and ketchup blood.
I'd decided to postpone shooting Michael's exile scenes, focusing instead on the parts where I could stay behind the camera. Today's big scene? Sonny's dramatic demise at the toll booth.
We'd set up shop at Horns Field, a patch of land in Great Neck that happened to have a conveniently placed toll booth. As I surveyed our makeshift set, I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of Charles Flirt living up to his name.
Our Sonny was currently engaged in what I can only describe as a tragically unsuccessful attempt to woo one of our crew members. The poor demoness looked like she was trying to decide between laughter and a restraining order.
"Charles!" I called out, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice. "We're about to film!"
The scale demon turned, his face a picture of embarrassed chagrin. "Oh, okay!" he called back, giving the demoness one last wink before sauntering over.
I shook my head, grinning. "You know, Charles, you're supposed to save the charm for on-camera."
He shrugged, scales glinting in the sunlight. "Can't help it, boss. It's in my blood."
"Yeah, well, try to keep it in your pants for the next few hours, alright? We've got a death scene to film."
As the crew bustled around, setting up cameras and rigging our makeshift special effects, I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. We'd come a long way from our janky warehouse beginnings.
Take our car, for instance. On paper, it was a piece of junk from the failing demon company called "Fire of Hell". But with a little demonic ingenuity (and a lot of elbow grease), George and I had transformed it into something that could almost pass for elegant. At least from a distance. And with squinted eyes.
"Alright, people!" I called out, clapping my hands to get everyone's attention. "Places, everyone. Charles, you ready to meet your maker?"
Charles grinned, sliding into the driver's seat of our refurbished chariot. "Born ready, boss. Just make sure the ketchup's warm this time, yeah? That cold stuff gives me the creeps."
I laughed, shaking my head as I made my way behind the camera. "No promises, superstar. Alright, let's make a best scene. And... action!"
The scene unfolded like a well-orchestrated dance of chaos. Charles, fully in Sonny mode, pulled up to the toll booth, his face a perfect mask of casual annoyance.
Our extra, playing the toll booth operator, went through the motions of collecting the fare.
I held my breath, willing everything to go smoothly. We couldn't afford a do-over on this one - both literally and figuratively. The special effects for this scene had cost us an arm and a leg (thankfully not literally).
Suddenly, Charles's expression shifted, a flicker of realization crossing his face. Right on cue, the toll booth operator ducked out of sight, and our suit-clad demon emerged, brandishing a tommy gun that looked surprisingly realistic thanks to some clever runic enhancements.
Charles's eyes widened in genuine surprise - whether it was good acting or actual shock at how real everything looked, I couldn't tell. But it worked.
As he scrambled to get out of the car, all hell broke loose. The fake windows (because there was no way we were destroying the actual car - it was probably worth more than our entire production at this point) shattered in a shower of safety glass and magic sparks.
I silently cheered Charles on as he stumbled out of the vehicle. This was it - the moment of truth. Our ambushers emerged from their hiding spots, unleashing a barrage of magical "bullets."
Charles put on a performance that would make any stunt coordinator proud. He jerked and twisted with each imaginary impact, his face a mask of shock and pain. As he finally crumpled to the ground, continuing to twitch and jerk as the "bullets" kept coming, I had to remind myself to breathe. It was just acting, after all.
Our attackers, seemingly satisfied that Sonny was well and truly "deader than dead," made their hasty exit. Right on cue, another car pulled up, and our Corleone family man stepped out, his face a perfect picture of stunned disbelief as he took in the scene.
I gestured frantically to our cameraman, making sure he captured both Charles's prone form and the distant figure of the family man. This was the shot that would tie it all together, the moment that would break the audience's hearts.
As the last beats of the scene played out, I finally allowed myself to relax. We'd done it. Against all odds, we'd pulled off one of the most complex and crucial scenes in the entire film.
"Cut!" I called out, my voice a mix of relief and exhilaration.
The set erupted into cheers and applause. Charles, still lying on the ground, raised a triumphant fist in the air before groaning dramatically.
"Someone want to help me up?" he called out. "I think I'm actually dead this time."
As the crew rushed to assist our fallen star and begin the cleanup process, I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. We'd taken a shoestring budget, a bunch of misfits, and a whole lot of determination, and turned it into something... well, something pretty damn impressive.
"Not bad, kid," Rocky rumbled, appearing at my side. "For a minute there, I almost believed we were watching a real hit go down."
I grinned, still riding the high of a successful shoot. "Thanks, Rocky. Let's just hope the audience feels the same way."
We began to pack up, ready to film the next scenes.
บท 16: Ashen Plain
With Sonny's dramatic demise in the can, it was finally time to tackle Michael's exile scenes. This meant capturing the whole shebang - the escape, the Apollonia romance, and her tragic end. No pressure, right?
Our ragtag crew packed up and embarked on a journey that felt more like an odyssey than a location shoot. Seven hours, four buses, and one questionably roadworthy taxi later, we found ourselves in the Ashen Plains.
As we stumbled off the last bus, stretching cramped limbs and rubbing bleary eyes, I couldn't help but grin. The place was perfect - a dead ringer for the Sicily of my imagination, even though Sicily didn't exist in this world.
The Ashen Plains sprawled before us, a patchwork of wide farms and rustic charm that screamed "underdeveloped rural paradise."
As the crew began unloading our equipment, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of nerves. We weren't just in unfamiliar territory - we were in Asmodeus family turf.
This place was governed by none other than Agustin Asmodeus, son of the big bad Asmodeus himself back in Ferland City.
Rocky sidled up to me, his voice low enough that the rest of the crew couldn't hear. "Uh, your highness? You did get permission to film here, right? I'd rather not offend a demon lord."
I plastered on my most confident smile, the one I used to use at royal functions when I had no clue what was going on. "Of course, Rocky! What do you take me for, some kind of reckless, exiled prince with no regard for proper procedures?"
The look he gave me could have curdled milk. "That's exactly what I take you for."
I laughed, hoping it didn't sound as nervous as I felt. My palms were sweating, and I'm pretty sure my horns were drooping a bit. "Relax. I sent a, uh, very polite request to the Asmodeus family. I'm sure it's fine."
Rocky didn't look convinced, but the rest of the crew seemed to take my word for it.
Or maybe they were just too tired from the journey to argue. Either way, we started making our way towards the home we'd be renting for the next few days.
As we trudged along, our equipment clanking and rattling, I couldn't help but marvel at the landscape. The Ashen Plains lived up to their name - the ground was a soft gray, like the ashes of a long-dead fire. But despite the eerie name, there was a strange beauty to the place. Fields of dark, twisted crops stretched as far as the eye could see, punctuated by the occasional gnarled tree that looked older than time itself.
As we were settling into our temporary digs, I overheard our Apollonia, Vivienne, complaining about the heat. "It's really hot in here..." she muttered, fanning herself dramatically.
Vivienne was a curious case - half-human, half-demon, but you'd never know it to look at her.
The only giveaway was her snake-like eyes, which were currently narrowed in discomfort. Well, that and the distinctly human air of superiority she seemed to wear like a second skin.
Figuring it was time to address the elephant - or should I say, the scantily-clad scene - in the room, I approached her. "You sure you're ready for that one scene?" I asked, trying to sound casual and director-ly. "It will get, you know..."
I trailed off, feeling an unexpected wave of shyness wash over me. How exactly does one tactfully bring up a scene involving toplessness and kissing? Especially when you're an exiled demon prince turned novice filmmaker?
But Vivienne, it seemed, had no such qualms. She fixed me with a look that could have melted steel and snorted. "Hmph. What do you take me for? A teenager? I can do that scene no problem."
"Is that so?" I managed, a bit taken aback by her bravado.
"Right!" she snapped. "Don't act like an inexperienced kid."
I felt my face heat up, and not just from the Ashen Plains' oppressive temperature. The sound of poorly suppressed laughter from Rocky, George, and the rest of the crew didn't help. Great. Nothing like losing face in front of your entire team.
Trying to salvage some dignity, I puffed up my chest and shot back, "Hmph. Don't cry later if you feel humiliated."
As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Real professional, Arthur. Real smooth.
Vivienne just rolled her eyes and sauntered off, leaving me standing there feeling like I'd just lost a battle I didn't even know I was fighting.
George ambled over, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Smooth, boss. Real smooth."
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Not my finest moment, huh?"
He chuckled, clapping me on the shoulder. "Look at it this way - if you can direct half as well as you can put your foot in your mouth, we might just have a hit on our hands."
***
After our little meet-and-greet with the local heat and Vivienne's confidence, we finally settled into our temporary home. The house was spacious... or at least, it would have been if we weren't packed in like sardines in a demonic tin can.
"Hope you're all comfortable with close quarters. We're bunking together to save on the budget." I said, surveying our cramped quarters.
George looked around, his eyes wide. "Boss, are you sure this is legal? Pretty sure there are laws against this many demons in one space."
I shrugged. "Probably. But hey, think of it as method acting. We're all exiles in this place, remember?"
The groans that followed were probably audible back in Ferland City.
We managed to squeeze in about four hours of sleep before the unholy screeching of a Cursed Chicken jolted us awake. If you've never heard a Cursed Chicken at dawn, count yourself lucky. Imagine a banshee with laryngitis gargling razor blades, and you're halfway there.
"What in the nine hells is that?" Rocky grumbled, his hair sticking up in all directions.
"Our wake-up call," I replied, trying to sound chipper and probably failing miserably. "Rise and shine, everyone! Time to make a movie!"
The bleary-eyed glares I received in response could have curdled milk.
We stumbled our way to the nearby market, a colorful array of demon vendors hawking everything from eyeball soup to cursed amulets. I steered us towards the cheapest restaurant I could find - a dingy little place that promised "Food that won't kill you (probably)" in flickering neon.
As we huddled around a table that had definitely seen better centuries, slurping down something that might have been coffee in a past life, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. This wasn't exactly the glamorous filmmaking experience I'm sure everyone had signed up for.
"Look, I know this isn't ideal," I said, addressing my tired and slightly nauseous-looking crew. "But we're making history here. The first demon mob movie shot on location in Ashen Plains!"
Vivienne raised an eyebrow. "You mean the first demon mob movie shot in a place we're pretending is Sicily because we couldn't afford to go to the real thing?"
I pointed my fork at her. "Exactly! That's the spirit!"
We finished our questionable breakfast and headed out to start our first day of filming.
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