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Lord of Entertainment C7 Elves
🕑 Added 2024-08-18 00:55:45 +0000 UTCI stepped out of the taxi after paying the driver, the bustling sounds of Saint Angeles immediately enveloping me. As I stood on the sidewalk, luggage in hand, I couldn't help but take stock of my financial situation.
Opening my wallet, I counted the remaining bills. 598 dollars. It seemed like so little now, considering I'd started with 2,000 when I left the palace.
The expenses had added up quickly:
500 dollars to Anus for the false documents
900 dollars for the plane ticket from Ferland City to Saint Angeles
And now, 2 dollars for the taxi ride
I did some quick mental calculations, comparing the currency to what I remembered from my previous life. In those terms, I had the equivalent of about 5,980 dollars. It sounded like a decent amount, but I knew better. In a city like Saint Angeles, known for its high cost of living, this wouldn't last long.
A pang of guilt hit me as I thought of Apollonia. My younger sister had generously given me an extra 1,500 dollars for what she thought would be a vacation. She probably never imagined I'd use it to come all the way to Saint Angeles.
Looking up at the modest hotel before me, I took a deep breath. My new home, at least for now. It wasn't much to look at - a five-story building with a faded art deco facade - but it was a start.
As I walked towards the entrance, my mind raced with plans and concerns. I needed to find a way to generate income, and fast.
My innovations - the electric guitar, the advanced piano - were my best bet. But introducing them to this world would take time.
The lobby was small but clean, with a tired-looking clerk behind the desk. I approached to check in.
"Welcome to the Stardust Hotel," the clerk said, barely looking up from his crossword puzzle. "How may I help you?"
I straightened my posture, putting on my best "confident human" act. "Checking in," I said, sliding over my false ID. "I have a reservation under the name Arthur."
As the clerk processed my check-in, I gazed around the lobby, taking in the faded glamour of what must have once been a trendy spot. Posters of old movies and musicians adorned the walls, their edges curling with age.
I walked into my room, key in hand, and couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. For ten dollars a night, I had expected something... well, more. The room was tiny, with barely enough space for a small bed and a rickety desk. If this had been a hotel in Ferland City, I'd be lounging in a spacious suite with a large bed and all the amenities. But this was Saint Angeles, and I was no longer a prince.
Settling onto the bed, which creaked ominously under my weight, I noticed a newspaper on the nightstand. Curious to see the differences between demon and human news, I picked it up.
The front page was dominated by coverage of the upcoming national election and its candidates. Politics, it seemed, was as central to human life as it was to demons. Flipping to the next page, I found articles about new developments in the nation and happenings in other countries. One piece caught my eye - a report on elves protesting in major Novaterran cities against the destruction of forests and raising environmental concerns about factories.
But as I continued through the pages, my blood ran cold. There, in black and white, was blatant propaganda about demons. The articles justified the enslavement of my kind, painting us as dangerous creatures that needed to be controlled. My hands shook as I read about an upcoming "charity auction" for selling demons, set to take place next month. It was being organized by the richest family in Saint Angeles, and would likely attract other wealthy and influential figures.
With a sigh, I turned back to the newspaper, flipping to the last pages. My eyes caught on a small article about a car accident. A young man from one of the city's rich families had died while speeding.
The name jumped out at me: {Arthur M. Whitlock}, just 16 years old.
I shook my head at the tragedy, but then froze. The name was familiar. Too familiar. With quick hands, I pulled out my wallet and looked at my false ID.
{Arthur M. Whitlock}
My mind reeled. Anus, that crafty demon, hadn't just created a false identity for me. He'd given me the identity of a real person - a recently deceased rich kid.
Looking back at the false ID, I felt a bit relieved. The image of Arthur M. Whitlock, in black and white, bore a similarities to my current appearance. Because of the poor quality of the photo, most people probably wouldn't notice any differences at all.
With a few minor adjustments to my appearance using my disguise skill, it would be even harder for others to spot any discrepancies.
At the same time, it made me wonder just how Anus had managed to obtain such detailed information about Arthur M. Whitlock. The demon's network of informants must be more extensive than I'd realized.
Glancing out the window, I noticed the evening was already fading into night. The city lights of Saint Angeles were coming alive.
I decided that the best course of action, for now, was to sleep.
***
I woke up to the harsh reality of my new life in Saint Angeles. The hotel service, it turned out, was as lackluster as the room itself. The breakfast they provided barely qualified as food, with flavors so bland they seemed to actively avoid taste. It was a far cry from even the ordinary of meals I was accustomed to in the demon realm.
Deciding to make the most of the day, I reached into my {Inventory} and pulled out my prized electric guitar and speaker. Today was the day I would introduce Saint Angeles to a sound it had never heard before.
Rather than splurging on a taxi, I opted to walk to Saint Angeles Square. It wasn't too far, and the walk would give me a chance to observe the city up close. As I strolled through the bustling streets, guitar case in hand, I couldn't help but marvel at the energy of the place. It was so different from the demon realm – louder, faster, more colorful.
As I approached the square, a commotion caught my attention. A group of about ten elves were gathered, holding signs and chanting. It was the protest I'd read about in the newspaper yesterday, brought to life before my eyes.
My gaze was immediately drawn to the elf at the front of the group. She was, without exaggeration, the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Her features were delicate yet strong, with eyes that seemed to hold centuries of wisdom. Her long, silvery hair flowed like a river of moonlight, and her pointed ears peeked through, adorned with intricate jewelry.
Her voice rang out clear and passionate as she led the chant:
"Green not greed! Save our trees!"
"Nature's rights are elven rights!"
"Stop the saws, respect our laws!"
The protesters' signs echoed these sentiments, with slogans like "Forests are lungs, not lumber" and "Biodiversity, not adversity" painted in vibrant colors.
This was a side of Novaterra I hadn't expected to encounter so soon – the political activism, the interplay between different races, the passion for causes that transcended individual concerns.
