LEADING ROLES OPEN Fantasy Novel AUDIOBOOK; ongoing project part 3/19
EurasianRob for Tristan Ruffe
TRISTAN RUFFE: 27yo nobleman, the middle brother. When he was about 18, he was kicked out of the house. Since then, his life was nothing but problems. He's an alcohol adict, gambler and bankrupt. Lives in a poor house, has one very loyal servant. He lost his manners and most intelligence; later in the novel, however, he is able to quit drinking and gambling; becomes a well-behaved, responsible noleman.
This is one of the main characters. The actor should be able to speak in a sophisticated way as well as year hoarsely and play a drunk.
The man sat on a wooden bed. He felt sick and all his senses tried to convince him that the world is whirling at breakneck speed. Having rested his elbows on the bare laps, he hid his throbbing with pain head in his hands and started to breathe deeply to calm the palpitation. Dark brown greasy hair covered his face. Then, he separated his legs and threw up on the floor profusely.
The room was not big. The size and the ubiquitous dirt both made it look terribly miserable. Two stained forest-view windows were built in one of the walls, which was diagonal and made one of the room’s corners sharp and fading away in the darkness. It was not visible also due to the poor lighting. The opposite coroner was then too wide and consequently, looked nasty.
The centre of the room was almost empty. There was a bed on the left. Next to its head, stood a bedside cabinet, made somewhat unskilfully and near the overly narrow corner, a chest of drawers, as poor as the rest of the stuff. Nothing else apart from the furniture eaten by woodworms was there inside. Now, the pale-yellow vomits have joined them.
There were wallpapers once. They were not pretty nor neat, but at least they covered the gray walls. On the ceiling, there were big dark soot spots, caused by the moisture and cold.
There used to be a woven rug in the middle. Now rats ran on the empty floor, tapping their little paws the lauder the more the owner had drunken last night. The poverty was easily seen in the house, especially so full of leaks.
The man reached under his cushion: it had no pillowcase and was stained with something brown. He did not find the wooden clapper he was looking for and remembered that he had exchanged it for a bottle of wine last week.
Shivering, he opened his chapped, covered with puke remains lips with difficulty.
TRISTAN RUFFE: (rasped) “Jonah!”
The faulty door opened immediately, and the young boy came inside. The darned shirt hung off his shoulders, a thin, worn-out belt held his too short pants. The boy had no shoes. His skinny feet were filthy, red and cracked. He had bright hair, chopped apparently with unsharp scissors. His gentle, but grimy face looked concerned.
JONAH: “Yes, master Tristan?”
TRISTAN RUFFE (muttering) “It’s terribly cold here. Would you do something about it?”
JONAH: (embarrassed) “I’m just sweeping out the furnace, but sir… there is nothing to burn with.”
TRISTAN RUFFE (grumbling) “Then why are you sweeping?”
Tristan stood up. He staggered on the rough floor. He opened the chest of drawers and started to rake it. When he failed to search again, he grabbed one of the shirts and trousers and put them on. He threw the rest of the clothes at Jonah’s feet.
TRISTAN RUFFE: “There, sell it. Buy some wood and spend the change for the liquor. Is there anything to eat?”
JONAH: “Not much, sir.”
TRISTAN RUFFE: “Then buy some bread, too.”
JONAH: “What should I buy less for there’s enough money for the food?”
TRISTAN RUFFE: “The wood, you foolish boy! And hurry.”
Jonah bowed quickly and ran out of the house, holding his master’s curled up clothes. He, meanwhile, lumbered to the kitchen. They called it a room with a small stove, one stool, and a two-legged table. Its top was stuck in the cracked wall so that it could stand straight. There was a rickety box on it. Smell and few bread crumbs were everything that left inside. Tristan pulled them out with chilled fingers and put them straight in his mouth with impetuosity. Hungry and thirsty, he was drawing down the bread scraps and then sucking his own fingers. Before he realised what he was doing, someone had thumped the door.
TRISTAN RUFFE: (he wanted to call his servant, but he went away) “Jon…!”
As he remembered that his loyal servant had gone to the town, so he welcomed the guest himself. In front of the house stood a well-groomed and richly dressed man. His eyes were dark, his hair was thick and black, silvered only slightly. His collared full-length coat was bright, he put a top hat on his head. He tried to smile friendly and although he had a huge pot, he stood rather straight.
At the foot of the hill two-horse carriage shone in the early winter sunlight.
JOSEPH ROTTENSHIELD: “I am looking for Tristan Ruffe.”
TRISTAN RUFFE: “What is this regarding?”
JOSEPH ROTTENSHIELD: “Passage the message on to him that Joseph Rottenshield is looking for him.”
A smile brightened the man’s pale and swollen face. He bowed his head.
TRISTAN RUFFE: “It is nice to see you, Joseph. I did not recognize you at first.”
The nobleman looked outraged.
TRISTAN RUFFE: “Yes? What is the purpose of your visit to my home?”
The barefoot man drew hair off his face.
The guest was not sure if the man was making jokes out of him. Last time they had seen each other was more than two years ago and Rottenshield did not remember if Ruffe already had looked like hell.
He figured that he burgrave’s problems might have started back then. He was drinking more and more, as he ceased to be lucky in cards. Seeking for his fortune, he went north to play in a harbour town which favoured gambling. Before he moved to the Slavic island, he had borrowed a lot of money from the banker. Joseph Rottenshield did his debtor a favour anyway, visiting him a year later than it had been appointed. Yet, the time to clear off a debt had to come eventually.
JOSEPH ROTTENSHIELD: (whispering at first, in disbelief) “I do not believe that. I have travelled here a couple of days and I expected…”
TRISTAN RUFFE: (hissing) “Yes? What did you expect?”
JOSEPH ROTTENSHIELD: “Everything but this! Look at you, what would your father say?”
TRISTAN RUFFE: (barked: “Actually, my father is dead. Why exactly are you here?”
JOSEPH ROTTENSHIELD: “What do you think?”
TRISTAN RUFFE: “A thousand Florins…”
JOSEPH ROTTENSHIELD: “And thirteen percent of profit by year”
TRISTAN RUFFE: “I do not even have a half of penny.”
Tristan grabbed the bottle of wine Jonah brought him. The servant did not know what to do – he was standing in the kitchen holding stale bread, that Ruffe did not even take a glimpse at. The boy was so hungry that he was barely able to resist the unbelievably strong temptation to bite into the old loaf. He put it in the wooden box with resentfulness. Quickly, he started lighting a fire in the furnace.
Ruffe opened the bottle rapidly and began to drink wine greedily. His face changed and looked calm.
TRISTAN RUFFE: “Listen, Jonah… Do you have some money? Can I borrow…”
The boy could not take any more heat and he burst in tears. Tristan leaped to his feet, confused.
TRISTAN RUFFE: “What are you blubbering about?! Do you have the money or not?”
What a fantastic audition! Excited to be working with you sir!
That's super kind of you to say! Thank you so much, it's gonna be a pleasure to work with you too!