Writers roleplay.

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"It gives him a sense of power, of being able to control his circumstances," Vissarion told her. "He was formerly a captive in his world, suffering terrible indignities to say the least; so no wonder if now the poor fellow tries to have the upper hand some way, in some things."
 
"That 'cause you've never seen me fight." He put up his fists and began to circle the girl.
"You'd be dead in three seconds. If you were lucky. Even ask the last guy I fought. 'Course, he won't do much talking. He's nothing but a little pile of slime and bones now."
He very gently punched Kate on the shoulder.
"So watch out."
 
Kate tossed her head and fiddled with the Violin bow again. "Mr. Ivan, I don't think you'd hurt any of us here. You may have hurt others, I'm sure, but I'm not afraid in the least, because I still don't think you'd hurt any of us." She grinned and tossed her head a little defiantly again.
 
"I have hurt girls younger than you," Ivan said seriously, "Look." He pulled up his sleeve to the arm. Around his wrist was a pink ribbon.
"She wore this. I wear it now so I don't forget her. I wear it now in hopes that she'll forgive me. Her father did. Of course, I killed him, too...."
He shoved his sleeve back down his arm, and began to twirl the useless pistol.
"Shot him with this. I had to, though. He was bleeding to death and starving. That was the hardest kill I ever made." It seemed that he spoke these words with a sob. A few tears ran down his cheeks but he didn't bother to wipe his eyes or hide the fact that he was crying.
He cleared his throat, attempting to gain control of his emotions.
 
Vissarion leaned close to Ivan and said quietly, "Having feelings is not necessarily a weakness. You know that I could break you like a twig, but I have been known to weep....and even, horror of horrors, to call people 'friend.' "
 
"Heck, even I know that." He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his coat, "Though most of the time I show emotion, nobody else is around to see it. You should have seen me when I...when my friend died. Poor man," his voice trailed off and he seemed to be thinking about something else.
"Vissy," he said at last, "I'm glad that you haven't broken my like a twig." He smiled (nicely for once), and offered him a hand to shake.
 
Vissarion gladly returned the handclasp. "As I think I've said before, Ivan, time was when I was _worse_ than you at _your_ worst--because I didn't have the excuse of having suffered like you at the time. I was a bully because I had been pampered and indulged--a spoiled brat with a large body. But when pain and humiliation did come upon me, God used them to change my heart."
 
"I'm a brat without being spoiled. I don't about God using anything to change someone's heart. I think I'd be just as nasty, even if something great would smite me." He shrugged and stared at the sky.
"Hey, smite me with something wonderful so I can change!"
He waved the pistol in the air.
 
"I don't know that I'd call myself wonderful," Vissarion told Ivan, "but I like to think that I have _metaphorically_ struck you in a positive way. And God Himself willed you and me to meet. So He's already answered that latest request of yours, FRIEND."
 
"Listen, Buddy-pal." Ivan had returned to his normal sarcasm, "I wouldn't say that you're so wonderful. But, again, you have saved my butt a million times, and that's pretty darn great."
 
"Well, I think it was twice; but you're welcome--FRIEND." He stressed the last word as a gentle pretense of purposely trying to be annoying.
 
Kate absentmindedly played with the violin bow, thinking. Should she play her violin? She reached back and touched the instrument carefully.
 
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