Morthisal tossed his jacket to the ground, but he also wore a sweater over a T-shirt, and it was hot in this room. He slid out of the second layer to reveal his new black T-shirt, which proclaimed Dark Lord Energy (DLE). Marty chuckled, and Betty arched an eyebrow.

Morthisal fought the urge to trickle a little power into the "staff" and see if he could ignite the end or perhaps make it crackle with energy. Instead, he added some to his voice and general aura. He didn't glow, not that he could see, but his words would carry extra resonance.

He pictured himself standing before a human castle with his legions laid out before him. This battle would go his way, and they knew it, yet they hid behind their thin walls. He summoned his old voice and delivered his words at a measured speed.

"Witness the vision of unending destruction, for I am Morthisal, the bringer of ruin! You tremble before my power, yet you know not the true depths of despair I bring. Your pitiful armies shall fall. Your walls shall burn. Your lands will know endless misery. I am the harbinger of despair, the master of the abyss, wielding forces that mortals cannot comprehend.

"You stand before me now but soon you shall grovel, insignificant and doomed. The cities of Mythralon have already tasted my wrath; my conquests are etched in the annals of terror. Submit to my rule, or face a fate far worse than death itself. In my domain, mercy is but a forgotten tale whispered by the foolish. For once you have fallen, your corpses shall rise to join my unending army.

"Now, bow to the architect of oblivion!"

He finished his speech by shouting the last part. Spittle flew from his mouth and splattered the floor. The "staff" in his hand shook as he poured all of his considerable rage into it.

"Um. It's Malakar. Not Morthisal," Marty said after his mouth snapped shut.

"Morthisal is better."

Marty turned to Betty. She looked just as shocked as the director.

"Um…" was all she could come up with.

"I hope you recorded that on video so your 'actor' can learn how it is done," Morthisal said. He picked up his sweater and jacket and leaned the branch against the wall.

"Hey, bud. Um, what's your name?" Marty asked him.

"Morth… I mean Vincent Logan."

"Great name," Betty murmured.

"Vincent. Can you do me a favor and wait out in the hallway for a moment?"

"I assume it's to calculate my tip? I can help. No reason to wait."

Marty blinked.

"No. Uh. Sorry. We need to talk about what we just saw. Here," the man said, lifted his phone, and tapped a few times.

Morthisal's phone buzzed; he lifted it and found the director had just given him a fifteen-dollar tip. He gave a curt nod. "Fine. I shall wait in the hall."

He stepped into the corridor and pulled out his phone to check the delivery app. A few orders popped up, but it had already been a long day, and he was tired. Vince’s puny arms ached from balancing items while scooting about the city. Morthisal ran a few rough calculations and determined that he would net less than one hundred dollars from this venture after deducting the cost of the scooter and the Uber ride he would need to take back to his apartment. The money was decent enough, so it would be sufficient to add some groceries to his kitchen. He needed to find a better way to generate income in this realm until his current employer paid him.

The hallway's fluorescent lights buzzed annoyingly overhead as he paced. After waiting five minutes, he decided his time was better spent elsewhere. He already had a good tip from these two. He would do one more job and then head for his apartment. He had learned a peculiar term here called 'binging,' and he intended to binge Love is Blind.

Morthisal sighed in frustration when they did not appear to beckon him back inside. What in the worlds were they even discussing? He turned, walked to the elevator, and pressed the down button. While waiting, he pulled his sweater back on and adjusted the sleeves.

"Vincent! Wait!" Marty's voice echoed down the hall. The director's head poked out of the doorway. "Can we talk to you?"

Morthisal rolled his eyes as he slipped his jacket on over the sweater.

"Please, Vincent. We'd really appreciate a minute of your time," Marty called out.

"I have many things to attend to this evening. What do you wish of me?"

"We wish to discuss a job with you."

Mothisal's ears perked up at that. Perhaps they required a consultant to prepare their horrible dark lord in training.

"Very well," Morthisal said and walked back to the room.

Inside, Marty rubbed his hands together. "Betty and I were talking. That performance was incredible. Have you done any acting before?"

Morthisal considered the question. Every interaction in this world required him to play a role. "I have extensive experience in the dramatic arts."

"Are you SAG?" Betty asked.

"What is SAG?"

"Screen Actors Guild," Betty explained. "Do you work for scale, or will you entertain other offers?"

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Morthisal's brow furrowed. These terms meant nothing to him. "Let us cut to the heart of the matter. What does this position pay? I have actual employment I cannot neglect for mere play-acting."

"Oh my god, I love this guy. He's sooo method," Betty whispered.

"We can probably work you in for a weekend job. Maybe one day during the week here and there. It won't be a problem, Vince."

Morthisal's interest piqued. "Continue, but understand I require compensation."

"Hey, Vincent, before we discuss compensation further, would you be willing to indulge us in one more performance as you did before? Can you do something original?"

"That was original," Morthisal said with a dark grin. "Very well. This persona is part of me."

"He's good," Betty said.

Morthisal tossed his jacket aside and yanked his sweater over his head again. Betty grinned and pointed at his shirt with the Dark Lord Energy logo.

Morthisal stepped back into the center of the room and backed up a few steps. Marty adjusted the camera and motioned for Morthisal to take one step forward, then nodded and held up his hand to indicate stop.

Morthisal required no warm-up period. Such performances had been his livelihood across centuries. He immersed himself in his former identity for a brief span of moments. He spoke incantations meant to raise corpses from their graves. He summoned his orcish warriors for another fortress assault. His speech flowed with precision and authority. When he finished, he leaned the staff against the wall. Silence greeted him.

"You are welcome," Morthisal said around a grim half smile.

Betty slowly rose to her feet, lifted her hands, and clapped. Slowly at first and then faster. Marty took off his glasses and gently shook his head. He looked up and said simply, "Bravo."

"We were discussing compensation."

"Yeah. About that. Actors, particularly new actors, don't get rich overnight. You gotta pay your dues, Vincent. We can offer you five percent of the backend, and that's a pretty good offer," Marty said.

"That means nothing to me. I need currency now. I work a full-time position but require additional funds to purchase sustenance."

"I respect the hustle," Betty said. "Would a few hundred dollars plus the backend percentage interest you?"

Morthisal pondered this offer, stroking his chin. They needed him. That much was clear. It would go a long way if he could make a few hundred dollars extra.

"How much of my time would you require?"

"You know, most actors would kill for a chance like this," Marty said. "You're good, bud. But we have the other guy on deck. He has star power."

"Some," Betty said quietly.

"You have not answered my question. How much time will be required?"

"Like I said, we can wrap your role in a few weekends. Maybe one or two weekday shots." Marty leaned forward. "You should be able to take vacation days at your day job. Or hey, just call in sick. Isn't it worth it to become a movie star? Your name's going to be up on the screen, pal. Who knows where this role could lead?"

Morthisal stroked his chin. The money would help, but his current employment provided stability. He was now in a leadership role and wanted to advance even further.

"I will do it assuming the schedule is acceptable to me."

Morthisal gathered his jacket and sweater, tucked them under his arm, and walked to the door.

"Hey, Vincent," Marty called out. "We kinda need your contact details. Can you write them down? Betty will handle the details from here on out. Oh, do you have representation?"

Representation? Morthisal added the term to his mental list of things to research later. "What is that?"

"An agent. Who represents you."

"I represent myself for now."

"Great. That's Great." Marty pulled out a piece of paper. Morthisal jotted down his name, address, and phone number and, as an afterthought, wrote (DLE) after Logan. Betty quickly tapped the info into her phone.

"One other thing," Morthisal said.

"What?" Marty was beginning to look exasperated.

"I will help with the lines. Those spoken by the man before me were atrocious. No self-respecting dark lords would utter such nonsense."

"Hey, pal, I've written dozens of scripts. There's nothing wrong with the lines."

"Does that mean you have written them well?"

Marty's mouth dropped open. Beside him, Betty snickered.

"I look forward to working with you both," Morthisal said as he paused at the door. On second thought, he returned to the table, and picked up the pages he had been reading. "I will help you with this."

His fingers tingled with the urge to send a jolt of power through them both. A little reminder not to try and screw him over, as the people in his TV shows would say. But no, he needed to conserve his strength.

"So method," Betty whispered as Morthisal closed the door.

Morthisal stepped onto the sidewalk and glanced at the sky. Gray clouds gathered above, threatening rain. He checked the bus schedule on his phone but scowled at the long wait time and the fact that no matter how hard he studied it, he could not make elven heads nor chimera tails out of the damn thing.

"Useless contraptions," he muttered.

With a sigh, he opened the Uber app. The fare would cut deep into the day's meager earnings from food deliveries. His thumb hovered over the confirm button as he found the cheapest car available, and prepared to wait for fifteen minutes for its arrival. He could have taken a faster car, but it would have cost him considerably more.

"All this toil, only to spend it on passage home."

Later, a car pulled up to the curb. The driver, a young man with earbuds dangling from his ears, nodded.

"Vincent?" the driver asked.

Morthisal slid into the back seat. "Yes."

The car merged into traffic, the city lights streaking past the windows. Morthisal pulled out his phone and began searching. The term "representation" yielded many results about agents and contracts.

As he read it, he learned that agents were gatekeepers in this realm's entertainment industry. He considered obtaining one, but would wait to finish out this acting job. If it was even something he wanted to pursue further.

He typed in "method acting" and skimmed through articles about immersing oneself in a role.

"They think I was performing. How quaint."

The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. "Did you say something?"

Morthisal shook his head and looked back at his phone screen.

The car slowed as it approached his neighborhood. Morthisal looked out the window at the familiar storefronts. The ride came to a stop near his apartment building.

"Here we are," the driver said.

Morthisal increased the tip slightly. Following a day of gig work, he had gained a newfound respect for what Betty called "the hustle."

"Thanks, man. Appreciate the tip."

"Your service was most satisfactory."

He exited the car. The glow of a nearby convenience store caught his eye. Remembering the scant state of his pantry, he headed inside to buy a few things, mostly items that could be quickly warmed in the microwave.

As he walked toward his apartment, he passed by Mystic Wonders. The shop's sign hung slightly askew, and the windows were dark. He paused and peered inside, wondering if Penny was there.

The interior seemed still, but something stirred deeper within. A flicker of movement? He squinted, but the shadows revealed nothing more.

He stood for a moment longer, then turned and continued home.