(no subject)
Who: Cohen and Riku
When: Backdated to January 2nd, right after Cohen receives the core's gift
Where: Felton Theater Stage
Summary: Plastered dead people and high emotional tension
Warnings: Dead people and yelling. Lots of yelling. Maybe. Also, spoilers for Bioshock.
Whatever anger or joy had been felt from last night's performance, it was gone now. Lost to an even more stunning piece of work. A masterpiece that trumped anything the Joker could ever do. It was the - best - Cohen had to offer, and it was here. Out on the stage, as if it had been pulled right from Rapture herself, was his Quadtych; piece for piece and photo for photo. Everything was just how he left it. Even the bloody confetti from celebration of the little moth's accomplishments was littered across the stage. Sander was - enamored ; caught in the ecstasy that had first washed over him upon the piece's completion. Here it was, all over again, a monument; his - nod - to immortality. Forever would his old disciples live - on - in this piece-- their death's documented and posted in the four frames. They were all there. There was Young Fitzpatrick caught in his triumphant crescendo! Over here was Martin Finnigan, his perfect carriage captured for the rest of eternity. Silas Cobb lie sprawled on the ground, his mutilated face half hidden by bandages and a warped bird mask...he was... his favorite. And then, there was Hector Rodriguez. Cohen's little "lush"~.
He lost himself there. The world could have gone up in flames and Cohen wouldn't have noticed. God, himself, could have crushed the entire theater except for Cohen, the stage, and his piece and he wouldn't have even blinked. He could cry and, in fact, that is precisely what he does.
When: Backdated to January 2nd, right after Cohen receives the core's gift
Where: Felton Theater Stage
Summary: Plastered dead people and high emotional tension
Warnings: Dead people and yelling. Lots of yelling. Maybe. Also, spoilers for Bioshock.
Whatever anger or joy had been felt from last night's performance, it was gone now. Lost to an even more stunning piece of work. A masterpiece that trumped anything the Joker could ever do. It was the - best - Cohen had to offer, and it was here. Out on the stage, as if it had been pulled right from Rapture herself, was his Quadtych; piece for piece and photo for photo. Everything was just how he left it. Even the bloody confetti from celebration of the little moth's accomplishments was littered across the stage. Sander was - enamored ; caught in the ecstasy that had first washed over him upon the piece's completion. Here it was, all over again, a monument; his - nod - to immortality. Forever would his old disciples live - on - in this piece-- their death's documented and posted in the four frames. They were all there. There was Young Fitzpatrick caught in his triumphant crescendo! Over here was Martin Finnigan, his perfect carriage captured for the rest of eternity. Silas Cobb lie sprawled on the ground, his mutilated face half hidden by bandages and a warped bird mask...he was... his favorite. And then, there was Hector Rodriguez. Cohen's little "lush"~.
He lost himself there. The world could have gone up in flames and Cohen wouldn't have noticed. God, himself, could have crushed the entire theater except for Cohen, the stage, and his piece and he wouldn't have even blinked. He could cry and, in fact, that is precisely what he does.