[VIDEO] Episode 4: In which y-AAAAHHHHHOHGOD FIREFIREOWOWOWWWSOMUCHFIRE!!!!

[angel_junk]

[Bhamba doesn't seem to know that there is an event going on right now, nor does he seem to care. Thanks to several crocodile attacks his transmission equipment is more unstable than others and has been switching on and off at random a lot

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[VIDEO]

[presto_presto]

[The mansion seems to have decided that Cohen's been secreted away with his composing hat on for far too long. Unbeknownst to him, the communicator flickers on, displaying him beating away at the piano in the midst of one of the pieces that he's been working on.

The piano sits only a few feet from the screen, so his face is fairly visible. The one side of it is reddish and starting to slough off, threatening to obscure his left eye.

He hasn't been very careful about his intake.]

[ACTION]

[presto_presto]

THERE YOU ARE!

[To tell the truth, it would not be difficult for a solution to have been more sensible than that. Cohen spots Bhamba making for the stairs, vanishes, and reappears a few moments later about five feet down them.]

No elegance at all!

[HEYBHAMBACHECKOUTTHISFIRE]

[ACTION]

[angel_junk]

[Oh baby, what big balls... of fire you have!

No, wait. This is not the time for bad jokes. This is the time for a tragic slow motion scene during which Bhamba's face turns into a monument of OH CRAP OH SHIT OH FUCK right before vanishing in the blaze.

Holding his hands up to shield his face Bhamba fails to grab the handrail, fails to time his step correctly and trips forward, falling down the flight of stairs while on fire in a sequence you might find comical if you're into that sort of thing.

Bhamba himself is done laughing for the day, coming to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, clothes still smoldering, his leg twisted at an odd angle and his scorched lips desperately gasping for what is undoubtedly going to be his last breath.]

[ACTION]

[presto_presto]

[The flaming pile of scientist tumbles past him, and Cohen steps out of the way; if he's hit by a few stray embers, then it's irrelevant, he's had worse.

As he watches Bhamba fall and hit the floor, a wild sort of grin twists his face.]

Not bad, woodpecker!

[He starts to descend the stairs, grandly, arms raised, flames gathering at his hands again.]

Next time, a little more passion!

[He sends another fireball crashing into the guy, for emphasis.]

[ACTION]

[angel_junk]

[Bhamba's eyes are wide open, his eyebrows singed off to make them appear even bigger, their white standing out against the bleeding black and red-hot mess of burned flesh.

His grimace is terrified and pleading, yet so hollow and inconsequential at the same time, its life already gone by the time Cohen's last fireball comes crashing down on his remains.]

[ACTION]

[presto_presto]

[That shows dedication to the performance. Cohen won't let this one go unremembered. When the flames are spent - and splicers' fire kills fast but doesn't feed on people for all that long - he reaches the bottom of the staircase, extinguishes his hands and picks up Bhamba's corpse.

It's still hot, and the flesh gives way under Cohen's fingers - crisp on top, but melted underneath, like a roasted marshmallow. It's a texture he's familiar with.

Cohen hefts the man's corpse up and over his shoulder in a businesslike manner, the same manner with which he might handle any art material. This narration won't talk about what drips onto him. Then he and the body vanish in that pulsing red mist.]