Well, nothing says "fallen from grace" quite like buying a third-hand bed for twenty bucks and shoving it into the corner of a rented warehouse. But hey, when life gives you lemons, make a lemonade stand in Hell, right?
As I maneuvered the bed into what was quickly becoming my new home/office/film studio, I could feel the confused stares of George and our newly hired crew boring into my back.
"Why are you putting a bed in that corner?" George finally asked, voicing what everyone was clearly thinking.
I cleared my throat, trying to hide my embarrassment behind a facade of nonchalance. "Um... I kind of think that this warehouse has plenty of space. Then I thought, why not use this place for, you know? A home too? I think I can sleep in this place."
The silence that followed was so thick you could cut it with a demon's claw. The phrase "silence was deafening" had never felt so apt.
George scratched the back of his head, looking at me like I'd grown a second pair of horns. "You're acting weird today." He paused, then added, "Well, you're always acting weird."
"Let's get to work, guys. Forget about the bed," I said, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to my own ears. Desperate to change the subject, I turned to the writers. "You guys, let's work on this script that I've been writing for days. Help me revise it."
As the writers nodded, I addressed the rest of the crew. "As for you guys, we'll be planning our first film together."
And so began my new life as an exiled prince turned wannabe film mogul.
Two days blurred together in a haze of script revisions, film planning, and tinkering with our makeshift camera.
George and I became experts at dumpster diving in the electronics district, piecing together our equipment from the castoffs of demons and dwarves alike.
One morning, as George and I were on our daily garbage collection run (because nothing says "living the dream" like picking through trash), I couldn't shake the feeling that more eyes than usual were on me.
Sure, I was used to being scrutinized as the family failure, but this felt different. More intense.
Suddenly, George called out, "Hey, Arthur. Look at this." He was holding up a newspaper, his expression a mix of concern and disappointment.
The front page headline hit me like a punch to the gut: "Youngest Demon Prince Exiled by King Luke Morningstar".
I felt my blood run cold. So much for keeping a low profile.
George shook his head, sighing. "So you've been exiled. You didn't even tell your old friend."
I tried to keep my voice steady, aiming for casual indifference and probably missing by a mile. "What use would it be telling you that? It's not that important anyway."
George looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and understanding. "Not important? Arthur, you're living in our warehouse. Your whole life has been turned upside down. That seems pretty important to me."
I felt a lump forming in my throat. Here was George, my friend who'd stuck with me through failed invention after failed invention, looking at me with genuine concern. And I'd been too proud, too afraid, to confide in him.
"I... I didn't want you to think less of me," I admitted, the words feeling strange on my tongue. Honesty wasn't exactly a prized trait in demon society.
George snorted. "Think less of you? Arthur, I've seen you set your own butt on fire trying to invent a self-warming toilet seat. Trust me, there's not much lower you can go in my estimation."
Despite everything, I felt a laugh bubble up in my chest. Leave it to George to find the humor in my royal fall from grace.
"So," he said, tossing the newspaper aside, "what's the plan now, oh great exiled one?"
I looked at him, then at the piles of electronic scraps surrounding us, and felt a grin spread across my face. "The plan, my vertically challenged friend, is to make a movie so good it'll make my dear old dad choke on his morning cup of virgin blood."
George grinned back. "Now that's the crazy Arthur I know and tolerate. Let's get to it then. These circuits won't salvage themselves."
As we resumed our dumpster diving, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. Sure, I was exiled, broke, and living in a warehouse. But I had a friend who believed in me, a crew ready to follow my crazy vision, and a dream that not even the King of Hell could crush.
George and I trudged back to our makeshift studio, our arms laden with bags of electronic scraps. The weight of our haul was nothing compared to the heaviness in my chest after the newspaper revelation.
As we dumped our treasure trove of junk onto the floor, George surveyed our loot with a gleam in his eye. "These scraps should be enough to help us build lights, mics, and probably another colored camera," he said, rubbing his hands together like a mad scientist about to bring his creation to life.
I nodded, trying to match his enthusiasm. "Well, that's for sure. But these scraps alone won't do it. We still need to buy important parts from the electronics store, but this stuff saves us a lot of money."
We dove into our work, sorting through the pile of technological refuse. It was overwhelming at first glance, a jumble of wires, circuits, and things I couldn't even name. But between my knack for jerry-rigging and George's uncanny ability to make something out of nothing, we were in our element.
Though George and I might have a talent for accidentally blowing things up when we try to invent stuff from scraps, but recreating existing tech? That's a whole different ballgame. As experienced mechanics (well, experienced in making things go boom, at least), cobbling together film equipment from our electronic garbage heap wasn't as daunting as you'd think. Sure, we'd need to buy some key components from actual stores, but hey, that's what our meager budget was for, right?
As we were elbow-deep in wires and circuit boards, I noticed a group of our newly hired employees approaching. They were clutching papers in their hands and wearing expressions that made my stomach drop.
"Oh, guys, what do you need?" I asked, trying to sound chipper despite the growing sense of dread.
Their response hit me like a ton of bricks. "Um... We're actually here to resign."
"Yes." The others nodded in unison, like a herd of demonic bobbleheads.
"Me too," echoed voices from across the warehouse.
I felt a wave of solemnity wash over me as I realized almost half of my newly hired recruits were jumping ship. Thirty of them, to be exact. When I pressed for explanations, all I got were mumbled excuses and averted gazes. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on novel·fire.net