01 // video forever

[presto_presto]

[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

Comments

[audio]

[worldentire]

[He takes note of the new video feed and just about chokes on his cigarette, as he's apparently apt to do these days. His eyes widen and he grins slightly, half out of dread and the other out of the possibilities.]

Say, is that Sander Cohen I hear?

[action] loling so hard

[worldentire]

[Sinclair makes sure he barely looks like himself in the mirror before he leaves - if, he thinks, he looks himself at all. A suit jacket and matching pants, with the ridiculous (and clean) rabbit mask on his face made him nigh unrecognizable. He saunters after the bot, a cigarette in his customary holder, and braces himself before entering the room.

As soon as his eyes hit the artist he suppresses a shiver, instead gasping over-dramatically and pausing where he stands.] M-my God. [His voice is just a whisper.] S-... Sander Cohen.

[action] loling till I choke

[presto_presto]

[Cohen straightens up from the grand piano and sweeps a majestic bow, one hundred percent the showman. From the way he projects his voice, you'd think this was a concert hall rather than a music room with carpeted walls.]

Welcome to this very special performance!

[action] ohgod, I love your Cohen. <333 he's so hilarious.

[worldentire]

[He begins clapping emphatically, smiling wide to avoid not laughing out loud. This freak is pretty much the same.] Oh, God, this.. [a choke] This is the greatest day of my life...

[action] aaa thank you bb. :D

[presto_presto]

[Positively glowing with pride, he sits at the piano, shakes his cuffs back from his hands and then raises a hand sharply for silence.]

[action]

[worldentire]

[goes silent immediately, but is still grinning widely. It can be taken as amazement - though, it's totally his laughter being very barely contained. He shifts uneasily, as if dying of anticipation.]

[action]

[presto_presto]

[He puts his fingers to the keys, and after four beats of silence launches into the complex chords of his third scherzo - it begins with an agitated staccato in a high key, one that shows hints of a recurring theme that's half-hidden behind the controlled chaos of notes. Then the notes begin to dive, octave by octave, spiralling around themselves and resolving more and more strongly into the theme.

It's a strong theme, deceptively simple, underpinning the more frantic notes and giving them something to return to every time. Then he's playing it with both hands, up and down the keys, unreservedly; the theme takes over the piece, aggressive and brisk, forcing the more flightly notes to gather behind it as a guard of honour.

It's not as manic as his seventh scherzo, but it has the same feeling of grandeur, and a similar complexity. There's a sense that the theme has to break free of the piece and then lead it, hopeful and later triumphant, and Cohen's fingers race each other to help it on its way.]

[action]

[worldentire]

[Sinclair watches quietly, a little shocked at the quality of the music. He's shocked at the semblance of beauty pouring from the piano. It's hard to believe the man could still produce something that wasn't insanity. He can still remember slinking through Frolic and hearing the desperate and wild playing of the madman before Delta came along to save him from the city, and it'd chilled him; this, however, was something inspired and magical, and for a moment he wonders if all that ass-kissing actually did some good.

He claps, awestruck, after the artist has finished, and the awe is only partially false.] ...that was beautiful, Mr. Cohen. [His voice holds some of the awe, and is quiet from being so surprised.]

[action]

[presto_presto]

[He sort of spoils it by trying and failing to be a master of absolutely everything, but classical music is something Cohen can genuinely get right. He goes still, his foot on the pedal, allowing the final notes to ebb naturally. Then he looks up.

His face is blissful. Then the quick dart of his eyes around the room betrays the fact that he believed he was somewhere else, and for a split second the face behind the greasepaint is disappointed, even to the point of pain. A moment later, he has the oversharpened, underfocused look to which Sinclair is probably more accustomed. The look of a man making a conscious effort to sleepwalk.

All that passes in a handful of seconds, and then Cohen is bowing again, lifting his arms to Sinclair's applause.]

Too kind! Too kind.

[action]

[worldentire]

That was absolute perfection, Mister Cohen. One'a your best so far. I'm honored you played it just for me!

[And he's back to rambling love he doesn't mean, making a very, very concentrated effort not to let the chill creeping down his spine show. That look... He hadn't really thought Cohen was sane behind all the nonsense - not that sane is the word he'd use for it. More like ... aware.

It was that look.]

[action]

[presto_presto]

Is there any one tune you've been dying to hear...?

[It's a plea hidden adeptly in a gracious, sweeping offer. It's a bargain: I'll play for you; you'll applaud me; and we will capture a fraction of the glory days, instant by instant.]

[action]

[worldentire]

[Oh, hell. How long is he going to have to stay here and kiss this psycho's ass? He ponders for a second - only a second, to avoid any suspicion upon his head - and decides that one more song can't hurt. After all, he has to keep Cohen happy, and two songs for his secret admirer would definitely leave the man pleased for at least a few hours. He smiles brightly and fidgets where he stands.] I'm not sure, Mr. Cohen, everythin' you do is just so damned good.

[action]

[presto_presto]

[He has to think for a moment. There's so much he could play. But since his last piece was the scherzo, it only makes sense to follow it up with

[action]

[worldentire]

[There we go. There's that overplayed hack. Sinclair sighs mentally, forcing himself to keep the awed smile on his face, even once his annoyance turns to slight worry at the man's shaking. He'd seen Cohen go flying off the handle at people before he spliced into insanity - and god forbid he do it now.] Beautiful! [His voice is hushed, seemingly from awe, though it's honestly from worry.]

[action] ohgodmoodswings

[presto_presto]

[He had one of his few chances to imagine that everything was different - and he cheated himself of it. It's like cold water to the face; you can't hide in a fantasy from the fact that you failed to create that fantasy.

So he's angry - at himself, but he deals with that by turning it outward. And Sinclair's praise abruptly sounds hollow, abruptly sounds like a mockery.

Cohen slams the piano lid down, making the whole instrument jangle in alarm, his shoulders lifted like the bristling hackles of an angry dog. He glares daggers at Sinclair.]

Don't fucking lie to me!

[action] shit shit shit now what

[worldentire]

[Immediately he's in defense mode - which, honestly, isn't much, but he does have a security bot lingering outside. He swallows, taking a step back.]

I'm not lyin'. [It's a weak try, but it's all he really has, this far in the lie. Hell, he's not even sure if he could get out of this damned room if it doesn't work, considering just how spliced up Cohen is.]