01 // video forever
[The wall communicator flickers on by itself, as they do sometimes. It reveals someone new: a middle-aged, moustachioed man whose face is caked in stage makeup, and whose suit is torn and scorched in places
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She isn't even sure which floor she is on right now, but as she passes a door she hears a familiar clanking sound tune and voice. Could this be...?
She decides to knock on the door.]
Hello?
[More knocking.]
Is somebody in there?
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His answer is impatient:]
Don't disturb me when I'm rehearsing!
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Still, Father Wales has taught her that nothing's quite as valuable as having an overly obsessed and spliced-up lunatic on your side.
She knocks again.]
Mister Cohen. Mister Cohen!
[Again, louder]
Mister Cohen, whyever would you leave your fans waiting in a place like this?
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A moment later, his tone suggests this was his plan all along:]
Of course, of course! Come in! [He looks about; there's not really much he can do to make the room more presentable, so he settles for straightening his jacket.] I can always spare a few moments for a loyal fan.
[Five minutes in Wonderland and he's already being played by two different people. Cohen's doing well for himself.]
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She remembers Cohen the way he looked before, so this takes a moment for her to get used to. Her smile doesn't falter, although she decides not to step closer yet.]
Mister Cohen, it's been years! I was afraid you'd disappeared forever; just how have you been?
[Played? Now that's just a horrible way to word Sofia's sincere appreciation of his alternative art style.]
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He stands in greeting, his greasepainted face lighting up as he recognises Lamb. He's long since ceased to care that she's anti-Ryan, but he does remember fondly that she gave his art a show-room in her Park way back when.]
Times have been hard, hard; the audiences are vanishing into a haze of madness and addiction; hardly anyone appreciates the arts any more...
[His tone is long-suffering, but beneath it there's the hint of a plea. We still know Art, it begs. Say that you do. Say that I do.]
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Don't say that, Mister Cohen, don't even think it!
I don't remember how many years ago it was that I overheard Sinclair and his men joking about how you were "finally underground along with your atrocious music" [That's right, this one comes with airquotes.], but ever since that day I kept hoping... praying that it wasn't true, that somewhere, somewhere in Rapture your genius was still alive and now...
[She pauses.]
It may not be Rapture, but finding you here of all places lifts my spirits more than you could possibly imagine.
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He lives in a world of melodrama, and he so wants to believe he has fans, so even if Lamb's overacting rings alarm bells he subconsciously surpresses them.]
Men like that don't deserve to enjoy my music. They barely deserve to enjoy the name men.
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You mustn't let them get to you, Mister Cohen, the sad and pathetic outcries of those who simply cannot appreciate true art.
Their spiteful voices pale in comparison to the many who have always looked up to you as their inspiration; the Family, Mister Cohen, has held you in the highest regard until...
[~CUE PAUSE FOR EFFECT~]
...until the sea took them all.
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That's a tragedy which I still regret to this day.
[His voice is heavy, his sadness sincere, but -- it's sadness for the loss of a showroom; mourning for people who went there and praised his work, rather than mourning for those people in their own right.]
I'm so glad that you, at least, are here.
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The pleasure is all mine, Mister Cohen; only thanks to you do I finally feel at home.
[*read: "surrounded by nutbags"]
By the way, Mister Cohen... [She steps over to the closet in his room.]
You appear to be short of art supplies, perhaps it would interest you that the closets here have the unique property to grant you almost anything you wish for...
[She opens the door, reaches in, fetches a bouquet of red roses and hands it to Cohen.]
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Doctor Lamb... I simply don't know what to say.
[let's not pretend for a minute that's he's looked all there during this conversation - but that's even more pronounced now, as though only half of the encounter is going on outside of his head. He stands like someone who's just been handed an award.]
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[Hey, have some more of that sincere smile! Also it's about time she starts making her way towards the exit.]
Now, I believe I have kept you away from your creative process long enough. This is an entirely new world and you must have so many ideas!
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