(Writing on my phone is tough. There's too many buttons for my fat fingers. Part are short for that reason cause I have no patience. =^x^= )
Hearing those words triggered Jack's fight or flight instincts. He squirmed and brought his head back, slamming the back of his skull into what he hoped to be the artists face. There was a satisfying impact that stunned him dizzy for a moment but the loosening grip and yell told him that he had been successful in his attack.
Jack pulled his arms free and stood up immediately. His hand shot to the gun strapped to his back, fingers curling around the grip and sliding it free from its holster. He didn't want to have to shoot the man. Cohen had proved to be honest and useful if not a bit eccentric and Jack wasn't judge or jury so he could hardly reign down punishment for what he did to his fellow artists. The splicers were one thing, a pity killing, like putting down a dog. He ou it in his head that despite it being cruel, he was doing them a duty. But Cohen was sane? Could he be considered as much? He was as sane as one could be in a place like this.
During that train of though he had managed to brandish the weapon before a hand grabbed a handful of his hair. Jack had but a moment to react, barely a surprised gasp escaping him as his face was slammed brutally onto the music rack. The entire piano shook from the impact and Jack whined in pain, head spinning from the blow.
"You don't wish to be compared to a moth, do you? You wanted to be looked upon as a wasp with a deadly stinger. You look the part-" The fist in Jack's hair tightened and he yelped, voice barely carried over Cohen's words.
"-fighting, breathing, striving for life. But I've watched you while you fluttered about my nest and you are anything but... You are no wasp."
Jack shook his head. He could barely comprehend what the man was saying to him. Then again, he never really could even before he was dazed with the sudden blow. Hands were upon him and the shotgun was pried from his fingers and tossed off stage. Once unarmed, his wrists were wound tightly behind his back and silk closed around them, tying them tightly together. Jack gave his hands a testing tug and found them to be bound tightly together.
A hum came from the spliced up man behind him and gradually grew into an amused chuckle. "No, no. You are not a wasp at all but neither are you a moth. You are still growing and changing within your chrysalis. Waiting for the moment to reach metamorphosis. You'll bloom and spread your wings and they'll be ever so lovely." The sickly sweet voice continued, a hand pressing him to the closed piano lid and kept him from moving out of place.
"No."
The artist seemed put back by those sudden words as could be told by the tightening of the grip on his wrists. "What did you say?"
Jack tilted his head as best he could and aimed a glare over his shoulder. His cheek was pressed to the glossy surface to the piano as he licked his dry lips and ground out his previous words.
"I said no." The sound was low and his voice almost cracked from disuse.
Cohen went deathly silent as if assessing this turn of event before speaking again. This time his words were higher in pitch and sounded almost frantic. The same way his voice had sounded when he referred to Jack as one of those 'doubters'.
"You have the audacity to not speak and then.... Your first words uttered in my presence are a denial of mine? You think you amount to more then I? That- that you can deny me my most prized possession? My words?!"
Flinching at the tone, Jack attempted a poor excuse of shaking his head. It was hard to do, pinned to a piano.
"Doubter! Out of all the people, the supposed connoisseurs, the audience, my disciples.. You are just like them! Your just like them!!"
Play me like a piano 2/?
Hearing those words triggered Jack's fight or flight instincts. He squirmed and brought his head back, slamming the back of his skull into what he hoped to be the artists face. There was a satisfying impact that stunned him dizzy for a moment but the loosening grip and yell told him that he had been successful in his attack.
Jack pulled his arms free and stood up immediately. His hand shot to the gun strapped to his back, fingers curling around the grip and sliding it free from its holster. He didn't want to have to shoot the man. Cohen had proved to be honest and useful if not a bit eccentric and Jack wasn't judge or jury so he could hardly reign down punishment for what he did to his fellow artists. The splicers were one thing, a pity killing, like putting down a dog. He ou it in his head that despite it being cruel, he was doing them a duty. But Cohen was sane? Could he be considered as much? He was as sane as one could be in a place like this.
During that train of though he had managed to brandish the weapon before a hand grabbed a handful of his hair. Jack had but a moment to react, barely a surprised gasp escaping him as his face was slammed brutally onto the music rack. The entire piano shook from the impact and Jack whined in pain, head spinning from the blow.
"You don't wish to be compared to a moth, do you? You wanted to be looked upon as a wasp with a deadly stinger. You look the part-" The fist in Jack's hair tightened and he yelped, voice barely carried over Cohen's words.
"-fighting, breathing, striving for life. But I've watched you while you fluttered about my nest and you are anything but... You are no wasp."
Jack shook his head. He could barely comprehend what the man was saying to him. Then again, he never really could even before he was dazed with the sudden blow. Hands were upon him and the shotgun was pried from his fingers and tossed off stage. Once unarmed, his wrists were wound tightly behind his back and silk closed around them, tying them tightly together. Jack gave his hands a testing tug and found them to be bound tightly together.
A hum came from the spliced up man behind him and gradually grew into an amused chuckle. "No, no. You are not a wasp at all but neither are you a moth. You are still growing and changing within your chrysalis. Waiting for the moment to reach metamorphosis. You'll bloom and spread your wings and they'll be ever so lovely." The sickly sweet voice continued, a hand pressing him to the closed piano lid and kept him from moving out of place.
"No."
The artist seemed put back by those sudden words as could be told by the tightening of the grip on his wrists. "What did you say?"
Jack tilted his head as best he could and aimed a glare over his shoulder. His cheek was pressed to the glossy surface to the piano as he licked his dry lips and ground out his previous words.
"I said no." The sound was low and his voice almost cracked from disuse.
Cohen went deathly silent as if assessing this turn of event before speaking again. This time his words were higher in pitch and sounded almost frantic. The same way his voice had sounded when he referred to Jack as one of those 'doubters'.
"You have the audacity to not speak and then.... Your first words uttered in my presence are a denial of mine? You think you amount to more then I? That- that you can deny me my most prized possession? My words?!"
Flinching at the tone, Jack attempted a poor excuse of shaking his head. It was hard to do, pinned to a piano.
"Doubter! Out of all the people, the supposed connoisseurs, the audience, my disciples.. You are just like them! Your just like them!!"