Chapter 14: Ketchup victims

Chapter 14: Ketchup victims A week into filming, and we'd become a regular circus act in Ferland City. The Crimson Quarter locals eyed us like we were some new species of demon they couldn't quite figure out. But hey, at least our relative obscurity worked in our favor. We managed to shoot the scene where Don Vito buys oranges and narrowly escapes an assassination attempt without causing a full-blown panic. Our prop gun, lovingly crafted by yours truly and George, was a masterpiece of demon engineering. It fired with a bang that could wake the dead and spat ketchup with enough force to make any vampire drool. Sure, we had a permit, but I still half-expected the demon cops to show up and arrest us all for disturbing the peace. Or worse, crimes against produce. *** Two days later. We bounced from location to location like a demonic road show. One minute we're filming Michael and Kay's shopping trip turned newspaper nightmare, the next we're setting up in a rented restaurant in Gloomstone for the big Sollozzo-McCluskey scene. I was giving a pep talk to our Sollozzo, an Imp Demon who, thankfully, wasn't actually imp-sized, and McCluskey, a portly Fiend Demon who looked like he ate donuts by the dozen. Perfect casting, if I do say so myself. But even as I tried to focus on the scene, I couldn't help but overhear the not-so-subtle whispers from the restaurant's actual patrons. "Is that the exiled young prince?" "Yeah... Looks like they're filming..." "Heh. Heard he got disowned 'cause of this picture company nonsense." "Shh... He might hear you..." "Who cares? He's not a prince anymore." I gritted my teeth, trying to ignore the judgmental muttering. Instead, I approached the restaurant owner, plastering on my best 'I'm-not-bothered' smile. "We're about to start filming. When can we expect your customers to clear out so we can get to work?" The owner barely glanced at me. "Just wait a few minutes. Don't be so impatient." I retreated to my crew, feeling the sting of his indifference. We'd paid good money to rent this place, but clearly, my fallen status meant we were now second-class citizens in the demon world. I let the tension build in my body, my face a carefully crafted mask of nervous determination. The weight of the gun in my pocket felt like it was pulling me down, urging me towards the point of no return. Sollozzo turned to me, spouting some line about guarantees. I mumbled a response, barely hearing my own words. The world had narrowed down to this moment, this decision. Then, with a surge of resolve that surprised even me, my hand closed around the gun. In one fluid motion, I yanked it out and aimed at Sollozzo's forehead. "Bang!" The ketchup explosion was almost comical, but the look of shock on Sollozzo's face was Oscar-worthy. Before McCluskey could even process what was happening, I swung the gun towards him. "Bang!" Another ketchup casualty. Our Fiend Demon really sold it, his eyes going wide before he slumped forward, a streak of red across his expansive forehead. The extras erupted into chaos, screaming and scrambling for the exits. In the midst of it all, I stood there, gun still raised, trying to look both terrified and determined. I glanced down at my handiwork, then around the room, before making my hurried exit. As I burst out of the restaurant, I was greeted by a small crowd of curious demons who'd gathered to watch our little production. For a moment, the line between Arthur and Michael blurred. Were they looking at the exiled prince or the newly minted killer? "Cut!" I shouted, my voice a mix of exhilaration and relief. Just like that, the spell was broken. The tension drained from my body, replaced by a giddy sense of accomplishment. I couldn't help but grin. Nailed it. "That was... intense," Rocky rumbled, appearing at my side. "For a second there, I almost believed you'd actually offed those two." I laughed, running a hand through my hair. "What can I say? I've got some pent-up aggression to work out." As the crew bustled around, resetting the scene and wiping down our "victims," I caught sight of our impromptu audience. They were muttering among themselves, looking at us with curiosity. "Looks like we might be winning some folks over," George said, following my gaze. I nodded, feeling a spark of hope. "Maybe. Or maybe they're just wondering why we're wasting perfectly good ketchup."