WRITER: Alright. Villain. I'll add one. Or, one of you can... betray me.
DRYAD: You've already established that it's my job to help you.
WRITER'S BLOCK: And it's my job to not help you. [Thinks.] I'll just switch sides several times.
WRITER: Atlas?
ATLAS: I'm more of a... world-holder than world-breaker.
DRYAD: You're the writer. We can't do this for you.
[The WRITER rolls his eyes.]
= = = = =
[The surgeon reaches his hand out and is given an unusually large blade by the nurse. Measuring it, hefting it, he throws it into the air, catching it by the handle as whirls back down to him. Recklessly, and with one swipe, he slashes across the patient's stomach. A few claps from the audience show appreciation for his antics.]
[Next, he is given a regular scalpel. He positions it over the gash that stretches across the patient's abdomen, held like fine dining silverware, pinky extended.]
[The surgeon presses down to cut further in, and immediately recoils when the blade scrapes against stone.]
[Murmurs from the spectators. The surgeon stares for a brief moment, but does not lose his composure. He motions to the nurse for a towel, and wipes away at the wound. He tries again with the scalpel; stone once more.]
[There is masonry under the skin of the patient.]
