Victor has a headache. The air-conditioning keeps the sleek, stylishly bare office at a steady sixty-eight degrees, but the floor-to-ceiling windows in this meeting room aren’t tinted. The midday sun bakes their side of the Downtown office block. It’s early April, and LA suffers from the earliest heat wave Victor can ever remember. Patricia, the casting director, has ordered her assistant to shut the blinds, but the taupe-colored vertical strips are ornamental at best.

They’ve been in here since eight a.m. without a break, and Victor is convinced he’ll leave the room half-blind.

Of course, if Patricia had listened to him and auditioned Damien Thomas first, before wasting half a day on unemployed—and, frankly, untalented—actors, they could’ve spared themselves the whole circus. Hell, if this was Victor’s show, Patricia would find herself unemployed. Victor has known for months who he wants for the part of Reymund. If only he had the money to float this whole film enterprise himself, he wouldn’t have to contend with Patricia and her ilk at all. That day gets closer with every blockbuster he releases to the unwashed masses, but for the moment he still needs to keep his financial backer happy. And Harlan insisted they go through this casting call crap for every role except Viv’s, despite Victor’s most sincere assurances that they’re a waste of money and time.

“Your favorite is gonna be on the list every time,” Harlan said when they had discussed the financing agreement’s small print. “But let Patricia make up the numbers. She’ll bring in some real talent, she knows everyone in the biz.” After sitting through that morning’s auditions, Victor doubts that.

But he puts up with her, for the sake of his big dream. Once Dark Core becomes a box office hit, V-Ink Inc. will take off, and after another hit or two he’ll have the money to finance his ventures by himself. Right now, his production business is nothing more than a P.O. Box on La Cienega—hence the need to hold the casting in this rented meeting room Downtown—but soon his name will be spoken in the same breath as Harlan Chow and George Lucas.

And the fact that Harlan still holds the purse strings won’t stop Victor getting who he wants for the role of Reymund.

A knock on the door interrupts Victor’s maudlin thoughts. In strides Damien Thomas, the knight in shining armor himself. He doesn’t look all that knightly today, in faded jeans and a worn T-shirt, but Victor’s creative vision lets him look past all that. Thomas’s broad shoulders help him imagine his star in the body armor and military-style uniform for Dark Core.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” he says and gets up to greet the new arrival, a first today. “I’m Victor Cahn, the director.” He extends his hand.

Thomas smiles. “Hi Victor, nice to meet you. I’m Damien.” His hand in Victor’s is warm and dry; the short, broad fingers hold his firmly. “Thanks for considering me for the role.”

Victor nods in a fatherly manner, which is ridiculous since they’re almost the same age. He read on Thomas’s IMDb profile that the actor’s thirty-sixth birthday is just past. He can’t believe it. As the fearless, charismatic warrior Bard on Gaukur, Thomas displays a gravitas well beyond his years. That—in contrast to his handsome boyish face, those piercing gray eyes, and the raven-black curls—is what has made Victor so desperate to get Thomas onto his project.

He gives the man a wide smile, then nods at Patricia, indicating that she can take the lead from here. Patricia glares at him, but Victor doesn’t care. This is his movie, and that makes him the pinnacle of the pecking order.

Victor sits back down as Patricia leans across the table to offer her hand to Thomas as well. “Patricia McNott, casting director,” she says, and adds after a brief pause, “Nice to meet you.” It doesn’t sound sincere. She points toward the far corner. “And this is Gus, our tech guru. He’ll record your performance today.”

Thomas shakes her hand, then goes over to Gus and shakes his hand, too. Victor raises an eyebrow at the unnecessary gesture. If Thomas thinks they’ll be impressed with him for acknowledging the geek, then he’s mistaken. Gus looks taken aback, his pimply face in awe to be noticed by an actual celebrity.

Ah, well. Victor’s used to his talents’ peculiarities. These actor types seem to think they’re gods’ gift to the human race, just for having a pretty face and an acceptable screen presence. But Thomas is the biggest name interested in the role, and Victor will grin and bear a lot if he gets him on board. Naturally, Thomas doesn’t know that, and for the sake of the pay negotiations Victor will keep his eagerness to himself.

“Have a seat, Damien.” Patricia indicates the chair opposite her side of the table. “And the script is right there. Page five.”

Thomas picks up the paper and squints at it. Then he glances up, and Victor notices his eyes are teary. Victor raises and enquiring eyebrow, and Thomas grimaces. “When I left the set in Winnipeg yesterday it was snowing. Bright today, huh?”

Victor silently agrees. His headache has just wandered from the left over into the right temple. But out loud he says, “Pretty realistic, though. Gets us in the mood for the desert location.”

Thomas bites his lip and wipes his eyes, which are now an angry red. “True enough.”

A pair of sunglasses is tucked into the neck of Thomas’s gray shirt. Victor almost suggests the actor should put them on. But there won’t be sunglasses to go with the Dark Core costumes, so if bright light is an issue for Thomas they should address it before they start shooting in the desert. “I’ll get used to it,” Thomas says firmly, and Victor decides to drop it for the moment.

“Start with line seven, please,” Patricia says to Thomas. “I’ll read the Empress.”

As the two of them read the dialogue written for today’s casting exercise, Victor ignores the words, which he knows by heart. Instead, he watches Thomas’s body language. The actor’s legs are open, and he leans back in the chair. He’s not exactly sprawling, but it’s clear he’s comfortable. And he seems to have forgotten about the glare bothering him. This is his show now. He knows what he can do. The earlier candidates, much less seasoned, were nervous. Thomas, on the other hand, is focused but at ease.

Victor wants this man as Reymund, the Emperor’s most important knight, but as he watches Thomas perform, his gut instinct balks at something nevertheless. He doesn’t like the guy much. Thomas shows too much confidence in his own skill, and it’s already getting Victor’s hackles up.

That’s easy enough to explain One of the big turning points in Dark Core is Reymund’s affair with the Empress. And since Viv is playing the Empress, Victor’s visceral dislike of the man she’ll cheat with makes sense, even though he wrote that into the script himself.

As Thomas and Patricia move through the lines, however, Victor forgets his jealousy and his wife. Thomas is a natural. He isn’t just good. He reads the lines as if the role of Reymund had been written specifically for him, exactly as Victor pictured it. While writing the character, Victor watched the first two seasons of Gaukur, the TV show that’s been Thomas’s breakthrough, on repeat.

Victor hates Reymund. He wrote him that way on purpose. The guy is too strong, too perfect, too righteous. But he has an Achilles’ heel. He falls in love with the beautiful Empress, seduces her, and then plans to lead the rebellion with her by his side. And that’s the moment Victor likes best in the screenplay: The rebels are betrayed, and the Emperor himself kills Reymund. Impaled on the anachronistic longsword the regent likes to carry, it’s a fitting death for a traitor. The Reymund sub-plot could carry a whole movie, in Victor’s not-so-modest opinion of his own writing.

And Thomas, with his suave, irritating confidence, will deliver, there’s no doubt about that. Not once does he stumble over the stilted, faux-medieval dialogue. He sounds like a knight, with his dark, smooth voice. And he looks the role, to boot. His wavy hair will fall perfectly over the collar of the sumptuous, archaic costume, and his broad chest and narrow waist will make him look great in both chain mail and waistcoat. Even the fact that, at five foot seven, Thomas is on the short side no longer worries Victor. The guy has presence. And women love him, too. With his high cheekbones he looks like royalty, and even Victor, who is as straight as they come, can appreciate the objective physical appeal.

“Milady,” Thomas says in a carrying timbre as he reaches the end of the short script. “So long as I live, I shall forever be your servant.” He dips his head at Patricia in the imitation of a bow, giving the end of the scene its proper due. Then he turns and smiles at Victor. “Can I just say,” he adds in his usual voice, “regardless of whether I get the role, this is one hell of a script!”

Victor smiles and gets up. “Why, thank you,” he says, pleased by the praise. He extends his hand again. “Thank you for stopping by. We’ll be in touch soon.”

He should’ve let Patricia dismiss Thomas, but he likes messing with her. Without looking around, he knows she’s shooting daggers at him.

Thomas gets up and takes Victor’s hand, then nods at Patricia and Gus. “Thanks very much for having me.” He sounds sincere but not cowed. No further pleasantries are offered or any words of flattery. Thomas knows he can let his talent speak for itself. He gives a wave in Victor’s direction and leaves the room, unhurried. Victor frowns, but then shrugs. So what if Thomas is confident? He’s got the talent to match. Victor tries his best to be generous in spirit.

As the door closes behind Thomas, Patricia turns to Victor. “Well,” she says sourly, the lines around her mouth very pronounced as she presses her lips into a thin line before conceding, “you got your wish, as I’m sure you know. That’s our Reymund, right there.”