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Lord of Entertainment C324 Arthur's pitch
🕑 Added 2025-05-05 13:07:21 +0000 UTC(3rd Person POV)
It had only been a few hours since news broke about Arthur's plan for the Grand Whale—and already, word had spread like wildfire across Franklindale. In response, many locals rushed to Liberty Port, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ship in the distance.
Normally bustling with dockworkers, merchants, and curious passersby, the port was now more crowded than ever. Reporters, cameras, and a crowd of Grand Whale loyalists packed the walkways. The atmosphere was tense.
The reason? Disappointment.
Everyone had expected the Grand Whale to become a restored tourist attraction—a national treasure reborn. Instead, it would be used… for a movie.
That decision struck a nerve.
Noon arrived. Arthur stood inside the ship, overseeing the finishing touches. Rooms had been prepared—beds made, desks in place. Most wouldn't be used on camera, but Arthur insisted on having them. He preferred that his crew and actors stay aboard during production; it added immersion.
He guided Firfel through the newly restored halls, showing her the set prepared for a key moment—the luxurious stateroom meant for Rose and Cal.
With a mischievous spark in his eyes, Arthur pointed to the elegant sofa near the window. “That’s where Rose will take off her robe and ask Jack to draw her... just wearing the Heart of the Ocean.”
Firfel glanced at the sofa. Her cheeks flushed ever so slightly. She lowered herself into the seat, trying to mask her reaction.
Arthur caught it immediately. “You’ve never done a nude scene in any of your films, have you?”
Firfel hesitated.
Arthur smirked. “If you're uncomfortable, we could hire a body double. I’ll just sketch her instead—”
“No!” Firfel cut in sharply, sitting upright. “I’ll do it.”
“Oh?” Arthur raised a brow, clearly amused. “Didn’t expect you to be so... enthusiastic.”
“I’m not enthusiastic!” she snapped, face burning. “I’m an actress. I don’t need someone else standing in for me—especially not for you to draw.”
Arthur tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. ‘So that’s it. She doesn’t want me drawing someone else...’
He chuckled, “Well, I’m looking forward to that scene now. It'll be the first time I finally see your—”
“I knew it!” Firfel stood, red climbing up her neck. She jabbed her finger at him. “You only kept that scene so you’d get to see my... my... you know!”
Arthur laughed, low and unbothered. “Hey, it’s not my fault. It’s part of the story. Rose bares herself not just for Jack, but for art—for freedom. It’s... poetic.”
Firfel stared at him. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Arthur said with a soft grin, “you’re still here.”
Firfel crossed her arms, then glanced around the room. “I have a request for when we film that scene…”
“Go ahead,” Arthur said, waving his hand casually.
“I want only the ghost cameramen—and you—to be present when we shoot it,” Firfel said firmly. “And I don’t want everything shown to the world. I may be an actress and open-minded, but that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with baring it all for everyone to see…”
Arthur nodded. “That was actually the plan from the start. Don’t worry—I won’t let anyone else see what’s meant for my eyes only.”
Firfel looked relieved and gave a small nod. Then came a knock at the door.
Arthur opened it to find Lilith standing there.
“Oh, Lilith. What’s up? Aren’t you done arranging everything?” Arthur asked.
Lilith stepped in with a polite bow. “I’ve taken care of all preparations, boss. However… there’s a crowd of reporters and protesters gathered outside the Grand Whale. They’re requesting your presence.”
Arthur sighed and rubbed his temple. “These people again…” He shook his head. “What do they want now?”
“Well…” Lilith hesitated, then said, “News about your plans for the Grand Whale got out. It’s all over the media now.”
Firfel’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What?! But we haven’t announced anything yet!”
Arthur let out a resigned breath. “Someone must’ve leaked it.” He shrugged. “Not that it matters—we were going to announce it sooner or later anyway.” He cracked his neck. “Fine. I’ll go deal with them.”
---
Outside the Grand Whale, a swarm of reporters crowded the dock, pressing in on the workers stationed at the entrance.
“What does Mr. Pendragon have to say about the breaking news!?” one shouted.
“Is it true he’s refusing to open the ship as a tourist spot and keeping it private for his film!?” another demanded.
Nearby, the protesters weren’t any quieter.
“We demand to know what Pendragon’s planning!” one yelled. “He’s stomping on a national symbol!”
The overwhelmed dockworker raised both hands. “I’m just a laborer here, folks,” he said, flustered. “I don’t know anything about what’s being planned!” He shut his eyes as the shouting grew louder, and his coworker flinched when a tomatoes splattered against their crisp white uniform.
Just as tensions seemed ready to boil over, the crowd quieted.
Arthur Pendragon stepped into view, calm and poised. At his side were Firfel and Lilith. The reporters turned, eyes lighting up with recognition.
The shouting paused for a beat—then surged again, a tidal wave of questions thrown his way.
Arthur raised his hand, commanding instant silence. “One question at a time,” he said firmly. He pointed to a meek-looking reporter near the front. “You. Go ahead.”
The young man, startled to be chosen, quickly composed himself. “Is it true what Sam Connelly from Liberty News reported? That you’re turning the Grand Whale into a film set for your next movie?”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd as everyone leaned in for the answer.
Arthur didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he said plainly. “I don’t know how Sam found out, but it’s true. The Grand Whale will serve as the set for my next movie.”
A ripple of outrage followed.
“You can’t do that!”
“We want to experience the ship too!”
“That’s our pride, not your playground!”
Arthur simply smiled and raised his voice just enough to carry.
“Actually,” he said, “I agree that the public deserves to experience the Grand Whale.” He paused, letting that settle. “That’s why I’m opening casting for extras—anyone can sign up to play a passenger or background role in the film.”
Silence.
Then a stunned voice rang out: “Wait—what? We can be in the movie?”
“He just said it!” another shouted.
“For real? I’ll stop protesting right now!” A man tossed his sign aside and stepped forward. “Where do I sign up?”
Like a line of dominoes falling, the crowd’s energy shifted.
“Count me in!”
“I want to be in a Hellfire film!”
“I don’t care if it’s propaganda—I want screen time!”
Some of the diehard protesters still looked bitter, but even they eventually caved.
“I guess... if I’m going to be mad, might as well be mad in the movie,” one muttered.
Reporters and workers alike were stunned by the sudden shift.
Arthur just chuckled to himself, watching the chaos turn into an eager queue.
He turned back to the reporters, eyes narrowing slightly as he addressed the nearest cameraman. “Is this live?”
The cameraman nodded quickly. “Franklindale TV is broadcasting live right now.”
Arthur nodded, then faced the lens directly. “Perfect,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Let me take this chance to make an official announcement—besides needing extras, we’ll also be holding open auditions soon. We’re looking for actors to fill major and minor roles in the film. And—” he added with a glint in his eye, “we’ll also be auditioning singers for the movie’s theme music.”
A wave of surprise swept through the reporters. One of the female journalists raised her mic, her tone now more respectful. “When will the auditions start, Mr. Pendragon?”
Arthur tapped his chin, thoughtful. “In a few days, give or take. We’re finalizing the schedule.”
Another reporter leaned forward. “And where will they be held? So our viewers know where to go.”
Arthur smirked slightly. “At the Hellfire office here in Franklindale. Anyone’s welcome to try—actors, singers, performers. If you’ve got talent, show it.”
The tone of the reporters had shifted completely. Just moments ago, they had been aggressive, ready to pounce. Now, they were scribbling notes and throwing him questions about the movie’s theme, genre, and production details, eager for soundbites rather than scandal.
As for the protesters? They’d quietly merged with the crowd of curious bystanders—some even whispering to each other about auditioning themselves.
Back across the city and beyond, viewers watching the live broadcast from homes, taverns, and inns—initially tuning in for drama or spectacle—found themselves leaning forward with interest.
In a cozy apartment in Apple City, a striking woman sat up on her couch, her eyes wide. As Arthur’s announcement echoed through the radio-like receiver on her wall, she grabbed her bag and began to pack.
“I can’t miss this,” she whispered. “To sing for a Hellfire movie... this might be my break.”
And across the continent, in other cities and small towns, the same thought bloomed in countless hearts.
Comments
Tyler Karp
Thank you for the chapter
