Writers roleplay.

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...because the fairytale Dwarf Rumpelstiltskin, famed for turning straw into gold, has just succeeded in turning hay into electrical wire. With this, he proceeds to install new wiring throughout the mysterious castle--which, given the size of the place, will keep him busy for years, while the straightfaced characters continue their storyline as before.
 
I sensed this was gonna happen, so I attempt to stop him, but alas, I failed, and he beats me to the ground and all of a sudden, Jasper Hale tackles him and knocks him unconcious.

"Are you ok, princess?" Jasper asks me.

"I think so. That evil dwarf got me good, Jasper." I said
 
And then it did.

Right out of a wall of the castle-or-whatever, in a non-solid state, there drifted an apparition similar to the tentacled fiends; but it was larger, and had something like hands on its numerous limbs. It flew away in the same direction where Ivan had briefly glimpsed people before, and was out of sight before Ivan could bring it to Vissarion's attention.
 
"I just saw something weird, Mr. Vissy." he said, "It was like a monster-thing, only see-through. But I may have been seeing things. I haven't slept in a while." He shrugged, and stared at the sky. The sun was almost gone now.
"If any either of you try to run," A new voice said, "You can be certaint that the other will die." Ivan turned around quickly to face the person who spoke.
It was an elf. In one hand, it held a barbed whip. The other had a gun, identical to Ivan's. The gun was pointed at Vissarion, but he was looking at Ivan.
"Well, Vanya, my boy, we meet again." Ivan gaped.
"You're dead!" he said, "I tore out your throat, I've got your gun!"
"Do I look dead? Now, both of you come with me." He motioned for Ivan to stand behind Vissarion, and pressed the gun to his back.
"Walk," he ordered, "And don't try to escape."

"He's my old Master," Ivan mumbled to Vissarion, "I killed him after I escaped. I don't understand..."
 
Vissarion seemed to murmur something. The next instant, the newcomer's hands were empty; his gun and whip had both evaporated like a mist.

"Yes, He _does_ listen to me," the swordsman remarked to Ivan.
 
Ivan's old Master looked surprised. He looked from Ivan to Vissarion.
"Get out of here before I kill you again," Ivan growled at him. The elf looked from Vissarion to Ivan and walked away, obviously confused.
Once he was gone, Ivan stared at the warrior.
"You...." he started to say something, but then burst into what was either hysterical laughter or hyseterical sobbing. When he was done, he grinned.
"Nice trick. I wish I had learned that years ago." He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
 
>> "Nice trick. I wish I had learned that years ago." He wiped his
>> eyes with the back of his hand.


"The whole point, my friend, is that it _wasn't_ a 'trick.' It was _actual_ divine intervention. I can't _command_ God to help me by my own will, but He _chooses_ to help me at appropriate times. That is for Him to decide."
 
"Oh." Ivan raised an eyebrow, "So He's only on our side sometimes. What kind of protector is THAT? And the elf will be back. He's no coward."
He shook his head.
"Divine intervention, hm? How'd you do it? Some sort of magical chant? Did you have to sell your sould and write it in blood?"
 
"I didn't sell my soul; God already rightfully OWNS it, since He is my Creator. As our Creator, He LENDS our lives to us...and He has not merely the brute power, but the moral RIGHT, to decide when our mortal lives will end. Meanwhile, if your enemy shows up again, he'd better have plucked a new gun off a tree first, because I'm not the least bit worried about him in a stand-up fight. Still, we should go back and tell Jade the latest developments."
 
"Well if he owns my soul, and it's so precious to him, why'd he let a creep like me borrow it?" Ivan was clearly more than annoyed, "Are you trying to convert me? Someone tried that once. And clearly, it didn't work. I've survived this long being very angry at God, and he hasn't snuffed me yet." He turned to walk back to the building.
"And as for Master...I'm not sure we CAN kill him. He's supposed to be dead, after all."
 
Leading Ivan back toward where they had left Jade, Vissarion patiently reminded his embittered friend, "YOU began the discussion, by referring to an answered prayer as a trick. Since I never claim to have magic (or 'plasma') inherent in myself, I clarified that it was God Who made those weapons vanish."

He then called out in Jade's direction: "Lady Jade, we finally DID run into something close to a human being--only to have him turn out to be an imported person like the rest of us!"
 
"Who tried to kill us!" added Ivan unhelpfully. He sat down on the ground and glared at the still-setting sun.
"Ok, so it wasn't a 'trick'. I've never prayed, so I wouldn't know. I surived on my own strength and hope."
 
"And guess Who _gave_ you all strength or intelligence you possess?" But Vissarion said no more, waiting to hear what Jade might have to tell about her analysis of the dead monster.
 
"I built it up over twenty years. Maybe longer. But it doesn't matter. I don't NEED this God of yours. And I doubt you can prove me otherwise. He seems to take good care of you, and He hasn't snuffed me. He probably doesn't know I exist. And don't give me any of that 'He loves you' crap. If that was true, I'd have grown up in the Lake Houe." He pulled up a tuft of grass.
"Hey, Super-Human! You done using the Psycho-thingie?"
 
"Ivan, God hasn't killed you for the same reason I haven't killed you. If 'love' sounds too syrupy to you, call it mercy." Then Vissarion waits for Jade to acknowledge their presence.
 
The Spanish Inquisition said:
"I built it up over twenty years. Maybe longer. But it doesn't matter. I don't NEED this God of yours. And I doubt you can prove me otherwise. He seems to take good care of you, and He hasn't snuffed me. He probably doesn't know I exist. And don't give me any of that 'He loves you' crap. If that was true, I'd have grown up in the Lake Houe." He pulled up a tuft of grass.
"Hey, Super-Human! You done using the Psycho-thingie?"
Click to expand...

"Yes Im done and with good news," she said with a wry grin, "we can program the gun for Hiyalotis disease, a slant version of small pox, and Hypotherimic Condense Syndrome, which do you think...oh well wait," she said, "never mind lets just go with HCS."
 
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