Tympans of Temples Held

September 11th, 1958

Audio Transcript – 'Songbird'

[Cohen's songbird... that's what they're calling me now. Ryan and his inner circle have the Rapture Tribune in their back pockets, and after every performance there's a new puff piece praising the talent of Cohen's newest disciple. If I had known that the macabre tableau vivant in the Fleet Hall was an audition, I would have told Frank Fontaine just where to stick his grand masterplan. Even art in Rapture is built atop labyrinths of deception and death. Every scientific breakthrough, every creative triumph... in trying to reach this so-called 'exaltation of man' they descend further into the primeval abyss they're so desperate to escape. Creation at the cost of destruction. The ouroboros, eating itself in order to survive. When God introduced the serpent to the Garden of Eden, the snake already had half its tail down its throat.]

The performances began to blur together in a kinetoscope reel of stage lights, applause, and cocktail parties. Elizabeth soon learned that there were certain social obligations that came with being a Cohen disciple that she simply couldn't avoid. Frank Fontaine was correct on one account: Elizabeth had a recurring proclivity for attracting the attention of Rapture's social elite. She had made something of herself. She had played Andrew Ryan's game, and she had won.

At the very least, Elizabeth decided, she had taken advantage of the Rapture penchant for business transactions. She had an understanding with Cohen, a sort of unspoken contractual agreement: in exchange for her artistic drudgery, he would provide Elizabeth with a small apartment above the Fleet Hall and copious amounts of free time. Kyle Fitzpatrick, the man behind the rabbit mask, even brought Elizabeth books from time to time. Elizabeth read about the city, Andrew Ryan, the engineering manuals on the bathyspheres and the pneumonic lines. She even read Frank Fontaine's book for a laugh. Fitzpatrick was only too happy to oblige her. He was a kind, quiet man, astonishingly intelligent, and a prodigy of the piano. Elizabeth wasn't sure how someone so bright could have allowed himself to be enthralled by a man like Sander Cohen, but Kyle didn't like to talk about it. He brought Elizabeth her books, and he reminded her of her rehearsal schedule. Otherwise, their conversations were few and far between.

Elizabeth suspected Cohen worked the artist scene much like Ryan worked the product market, through virulent monopolization. Both men were captains of industry in their own respects. Cohen consolidated Rapture's talent under his mentorship to avoid competition. The coveted prospect among artist types had become Cohen's sponsorship rather than the chance to challenge the maestro himself. It explained the willing peonage of men like Kyle Fitzpatrick. And when it came to dealing with Sander Cohen, Elizabeth suspected compliance was much safer than defiance.

At the end of the day, the whole arrangement worked in her favor: Cohen's patronage allowed her to insinuate herself into the Fort Frolic social scene. Which, according to Fontaine, included Andrew Ryan.

Every evening, as soon as the afternoon matinees were over, and the lights went on in the Fleet Hall, Elizabeth was at the microphone. She upheld her end of her agreement with Cohen; she sang the words she didn't believe, smiled a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and afterwards, allowed herself to be paraded before Rapture's social elite. In a few short days, Elizabeth had perfected a persona of short, polite laughter and small talk. But Cohen's promise to her in Mercury Suites was never far from the forefront of her thoughts. Quid pro quo, he had said, and Elizabeth had every intention of collecting.

"Kyle," Elizabeth caught up to Fitzpatrick as he prepared the stage for that night's performance, "where's Cohen?"

Elizabeth wore a slim black dress and elbow-length gloves, the same costume plastered across posters and show bills throughout Rapture. She had consented to the gloves to hide her pinky finger, but she continued to wear her brooch on a lace choker; Elizabeth refused to part with it. It reminded her of what was important.