Summary: The poet and courtesan haven't "rehearsed" in a week, and it's
about time somebody did SOMETHING . . .
Author's Note: Hey, everybody. I started this a while ago in my notebook, and only just recently finished it. I have been dying to post a pure fluff fic (which I LOVE reading and writing!) and I finally am (yay!). One thing: There were italics in some places where it would make a lot of sense, but my stupid computer won't leave them there when I upload. *curses* . . . ahem . . . anyways, I made this as good as possible w/o the lovely italics, so hopefully it will still be good. Enjoy, and please make me feel loved- review!!! I worked so hard on this . . .
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The tension was growing, and they knew it.
All these days apart were killing Christian and Satine with slow, agonizing torture. The week had been pure hell for the both of them, and as Friday afternoon found everyone, including the Duke, at a hot, stuffy, humid rehearsal, the anxiety was intense. They needed to be together. Needed to. And Satine's dinners, picnics, strolls, and god knows what else with the Duke had kept them apart. All. Week. Long. And it was driving Christian mad with jealousy. How he wished he could show the world how madly in love he was with Satine. And her, him. But no, the Duke was the one who had that privilege, and the dunce didn't even realize that the girl was head over heels for someone else. They had literally made no contact all week, save with their eyes. At worst they were able to steal at the very least a few minutes a day, and it kept them going. And now they were finding that going on was extremely difficult without suffering the feeling that they were going to burst inside.
"No, no, NO!" yelled Harold, motioning with one hand to stop the music. "Baby Doll, you can't possibly kick like that during this song! You look like a fool! And Nini! What's happening with your twirl? Are you drunk or something? Either that, or you've just plain given up on your stupid self!"
This was definitely not an improvement in the general mood.
Nini lunged at Harold, but Marie held her back. "Lovie, we'll work on it. Don't worry, none of us are in a good mood today." Nini muttered curses under her breath.
'You can say that again,' thought Satine, glancing longingly at Christian. But only for a millisecond.
"Please, we all need a break," whined Baby Doll, wiping her sweaty brow with the back of her hand. Harold sighed.
"FINE! Back in 20 minutes, everyone! Then to Scene six! Christian, I need to see you about the script," he added, more quietly. Christian nodded, and then sighed.
"Wonderful," he thought, "Scene six. Now I get to watch Satine kiss yet another man that isn't me." Normally, her kissing the Argentinean for the show didn't matter to him, but under the stressful circumstances, it most certainly did. He headed slowly backstage with Harold, but not before glancing at Satine with a pained expression.
Satine nearly ripped out her hair in anguish. 'Great, more alone- time stolen from us.' She rubbed at her temples, trying to cover the frustration she was sure would bubble to the surface. But she maintained her often-used façade.
"Dearest," whined the Duke.
'Fabulous,' she thought, 'just who I need. . .' She moaned inaudibly, then adopting her Sparkling Diamond smile, chirped,
"Yes, dear Duke?"
"I'm afraid these 20 minutes are to go to waste as I must attend to some matters of business. I shall return to supervise the remainder of this rehearsal shortly, I assure you."
"Oh, yes of course, Duke, whatever you must do," she said, her voice dripping with pseudo enthusiasm. She waved daintily, then turned around with a sigh of relief. "Thank god . . ." she muttered.
And then she had an idea.
"Toulouse!" she called, looking around for the sweet little man who was a dear friend to her. "Ah, yes, there you are. I must speak with you about the scenery for the opening scene, as I am most displeased with your efforts. Please join me in my dressing room immediately." She said all of this with a very business-like manner, and at first the artist was confused. But a subtle wink from the redhead assured him that there was more meaning to this private meeting than scenery.
"Of couwse, Mademoiselle," he said, smiling brightly and following her to her room.
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Their meeting was rushed, but Satine made a good job of it all. Always the persuasive one, she got just what she wanted out of Toulouse.
Not that he wasn't all for it.
His excitement was palpable; he was helping the two people he admired most in the world, and with a good cause. Their alacrity could almost not be contained as they went to go fetch the Argentinean.
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Two minutes later, Toulouse, Satine, and the Argentinean were in Satine's dressing room, their remarks a mixture of arguing and pleading.
"Pleeease. . . ?" wheedled Satine, giving him the all-powerful "I'm- gonna-make-ya-feel-guilty" pout.
"Oh, you stupid lovebirds . . ."
"Pwease," said Toulouse, "you faint all the time- this will be totawwy acceptabwe. No one will suspect anything! It's geniuth!"
The Argentinean threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine!" he said, immediately regretting it as they both almost choked him to death in a tight hug.
"Hey, you know," he said, grinning almost evilly at the others, "this is my chance to humiliate that idiot duke. No doubt he'll go into a jealous rage of mouth-twitching."
The others laughed in agreement.
"I'd like to see the look in that rodent-face . . .come on, let's do this!"
The Argentinean had Satine and Toulouse on their feet and out the door, now as eager as any of them.
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"All right, break over!" yelled a rather flustered Harold. The cast and crew all moaned in response, but they knew better than to argue.
"Scene six, come on, now, let's go!"
The Argentinean and Satine went to the stage, but not before he threw her a subtle and sly wink. She coquettishly winked back, sealing their plan.
"My love, oh, my love, it has been too-"
His eyes rolled back into his head, and his narcolepsy knocked the Argentinean unconscious.
Not.
Satine almost erupted into hysterical giggles at the show he had just put on.
"Oh, dear," she said loudly, shaking her head pitifully. "Now what?"
"Chwistian!" exclaimed Toulouse, looking suddenly in the direction of the writer. "Chwistian, you take the place of the Awgentinean. Come now, you'we the only one who knows it besides him-"
"NO!" yelled the Duke.
They all stared
Satine silently laughed.
The Argentinean snorted. Then rolled over.
"I- I mean . . . I don't think that's necessary," he said, hastily composing himself. "We can rehearse a dancing scene until the man is awake," he announced.
'Oh no, ya don't,' Satine thought.
"My dear Duke," she said. "This scene has been done quite poorly by the writer, so if you wish to change his idiotic portrayal of the lovers, this is your chance to show your genius. Besides," she added, glancing over at a very confused Christian, "I need to learn some more of my lines. It is vital that we run through this scene several times."
More silent laughter erupted, this time from the "unconscious" Argentinean and Toulouse.
"F-f-fine, d-dearest," he sputtered, his mouth twitching in rage. This time, Christian saw the Argentinean laugh.
The clever schemers had planned it! His eyes grew wide and sparkled with understanding as they met Satine's with a longing glance.
"All right, well . . ." said Harold, eager to get back to work. "Come on, now, Christian, let's go, don't diddy-daddle."
Christian was at Satine's side before you could say . . ."spectacular".
Dear reader, you have no idea how intense the temptation was for our darling poet to reach out to our beloved actress who was standing a mere few feet from his grasp. Oh, just one touch, one embrace, one kiss . . .
"CHRISTIAN!" yelled Zidler . . . for the seventh time.
"I SAID, start from where we left off!" He ended this outburst with a funny look at Satine, who wore a blissfully far-off look on her face as she gazed at . . .
. . . the writer?
NO.
No way! It just wasn't possible. Harold shook himself.
Christian and Satine, however, were in their own little world, relishing in the sheer joy of the secret double entendre of their words.
"My love, oh, my love, it has been too long. My heart cannot bear the pain of being without you." The onlookers were under the impression that their young writer was quite the actor. None knew his words were true in every sense. This was no actor. This was a man in love.
"Darling, let me look at you. Let me take in your features once more, so they may be forever set in my mind."
. . . and a girl in love.
The pure ecstasy shone through their eyes as Christian recited his next line.
"Kiss me, love. Just kiss me."
And kiss they did.
The subtle coughing and uncomfortable clearing of throats did nothing in obtaining the attention of . . .highly preoccupied. . . Christian and Satine. It wasn't until the Duke's quick temper got the better of him that any sort of reaction was gotten out of the giddy lovers.
His twitching fingers threw down his chair, frightening them into jerking, however reluctantly, apart.
"THAT'S- enough . . . f-for, uh . . . t- today," he announced, his tomato red face pinched into a rat-like glower.
No one dared cross him. They all left, rather hurriedly, including himself and Warner.
Christian and Satine, who were last to leave . . . well, there really were no words to be said. After collapsing into one another's arms, weak with laughter and love, they ran to Christian's garret, hand in hand, to . . . well . . . make up for lost time.
Boy, did they ever.
Author's Note: Hey, everybody. I started this a while ago in my notebook, and only just recently finished it. I have been dying to post a pure fluff fic (which I LOVE reading and writing!) and I finally am (yay!). One thing: There were italics in some places where it would make a lot of sense, but my stupid computer won't leave them there when I upload. *curses* . . . ahem . . . anyways, I made this as good as possible w/o the lovely italics, so hopefully it will still be good. Enjoy, and please make me feel loved- review!!! I worked so hard on this . . .
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The tension was growing, and they knew it.
All these days apart were killing Christian and Satine with slow, agonizing torture. The week had been pure hell for the both of them, and as Friday afternoon found everyone, including the Duke, at a hot, stuffy, humid rehearsal, the anxiety was intense. They needed to be together. Needed to. And Satine's dinners, picnics, strolls, and god knows what else with the Duke had kept them apart. All. Week. Long. And it was driving Christian mad with jealousy. How he wished he could show the world how madly in love he was with Satine. And her, him. But no, the Duke was the one who had that privilege, and the dunce didn't even realize that the girl was head over heels for someone else. They had literally made no contact all week, save with their eyes. At worst they were able to steal at the very least a few minutes a day, and it kept them going. And now they were finding that going on was extremely difficult without suffering the feeling that they were going to burst inside.
"No, no, NO!" yelled Harold, motioning with one hand to stop the music. "Baby Doll, you can't possibly kick like that during this song! You look like a fool! And Nini! What's happening with your twirl? Are you drunk or something? Either that, or you've just plain given up on your stupid self!"
This was definitely not an improvement in the general mood.
Nini lunged at Harold, but Marie held her back. "Lovie, we'll work on it. Don't worry, none of us are in a good mood today." Nini muttered curses under her breath.
'You can say that again,' thought Satine, glancing longingly at Christian. But only for a millisecond.
"Please, we all need a break," whined Baby Doll, wiping her sweaty brow with the back of her hand. Harold sighed.
"FINE! Back in 20 minutes, everyone! Then to Scene six! Christian, I need to see you about the script," he added, more quietly. Christian nodded, and then sighed.
"Wonderful," he thought, "Scene six. Now I get to watch Satine kiss yet another man that isn't me." Normally, her kissing the Argentinean for the show didn't matter to him, but under the stressful circumstances, it most certainly did. He headed slowly backstage with Harold, but not before glancing at Satine with a pained expression.
Satine nearly ripped out her hair in anguish. 'Great, more alone- time stolen from us.' She rubbed at her temples, trying to cover the frustration she was sure would bubble to the surface. But she maintained her often-used façade.
"Dearest," whined the Duke.
'Fabulous,' she thought, 'just who I need. . .' She moaned inaudibly, then adopting her Sparkling Diamond smile, chirped,
"Yes, dear Duke?"
"I'm afraid these 20 minutes are to go to waste as I must attend to some matters of business. I shall return to supervise the remainder of this rehearsal shortly, I assure you."
"Oh, yes of course, Duke, whatever you must do," she said, her voice dripping with pseudo enthusiasm. She waved daintily, then turned around with a sigh of relief. "Thank god . . ." she muttered.
And then she had an idea.
"Toulouse!" she called, looking around for the sweet little man who was a dear friend to her. "Ah, yes, there you are. I must speak with you about the scenery for the opening scene, as I am most displeased with your efforts. Please join me in my dressing room immediately." She said all of this with a very business-like manner, and at first the artist was confused. But a subtle wink from the redhead assured him that there was more meaning to this private meeting than scenery.
"Of couwse, Mademoiselle," he said, smiling brightly and following her to her room.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Their meeting was rushed, but Satine made a good job of it all. Always the persuasive one, she got just what she wanted out of Toulouse.
Not that he wasn't all for it.
His excitement was palpable; he was helping the two people he admired most in the world, and with a good cause. Their alacrity could almost not be contained as they went to go fetch the Argentinean.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Two minutes later, Toulouse, Satine, and the Argentinean were in Satine's dressing room, their remarks a mixture of arguing and pleading.
"Pleeease. . . ?" wheedled Satine, giving him the all-powerful "I'm- gonna-make-ya-feel-guilty" pout.
"Oh, you stupid lovebirds . . ."
"Pwease," said Toulouse, "you faint all the time- this will be totawwy acceptabwe. No one will suspect anything! It's geniuth!"
The Argentinean threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine!" he said, immediately regretting it as they both almost choked him to death in a tight hug.
"Hey, you know," he said, grinning almost evilly at the others, "this is my chance to humiliate that idiot duke. No doubt he'll go into a jealous rage of mouth-twitching."
The others laughed in agreement.
"I'd like to see the look in that rodent-face . . .come on, let's do this!"
The Argentinean had Satine and Toulouse on their feet and out the door, now as eager as any of them.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"All right, break over!" yelled a rather flustered Harold. The cast and crew all moaned in response, but they knew better than to argue.
"Scene six, come on, now, let's go!"
The Argentinean and Satine went to the stage, but not before he threw her a subtle and sly wink. She coquettishly winked back, sealing their plan.
"My love, oh, my love, it has been too-"
His eyes rolled back into his head, and his narcolepsy knocked the Argentinean unconscious.
Not.
Satine almost erupted into hysterical giggles at the show he had just put on.
"Oh, dear," she said loudly, shaking her head pitifully. "Now what?"
"Chwistian!" exclaimed Toulouse, looking suddenly in the direction of the writer. "Chwistian, you take the place of the Awgentinean. Come now, you'we the only one who knows it besides him-"
"NO!" yelled the Duke.
They all stared
Satine silently laughed.
The Argentinean snorted. Then rolled over.
"I- I mean . . . I don't think that's necessary," he said, hastily composing himself. "We can rehearse a dancing scene until the man is awake," he announced.
'Oh no, ya don't,' Satine thought.
"My dear Duke," she said. "This scene has been done quite poorly by the writer, so if you wish to change his idiotic portrayal of the lovers, this is your chance to show your genius. Besides," she added, glancing over at a very confused Christian, "I need to learn some more of my lines. It is vital that we run through this scene several times."
More silent laughter erupted, this time from the "unconscious" Argentinean and Toulouse.
"F-f-fine, d-dearest," he sputtered, his mouth twitching in rage. This time, Christian saw the Argentinean laugh.
The clever schemers had planned it! His eyes grew wide and sparkled with understanding as they met Satine's with a longing glance.
"All right, well . . ." said Harold, eager to get back to work. "Come on, now, Christian, let's go, don't diddy-daddle."
Christian was at Satine's side before you could say . . ."spectacular".
Dear reader, you have no idea how intense the temptation was for our darling poet to reach out to our beloved actress who was standing a mere few feet from his grasp. Oh, just one touch, one embrace, one kiss . . .
"CHRISTIAN!" yelled Zidler . . . for the seventh time.
"I SAID, start from where we left off!" He ended this outburst with a funny look at Satine, who wore a blissfully far-off look on her face as she gazed at . . .
. . . the writer?
NO.
No way! It just wasn't possible. Harold shook himself.
Christian and Satine, however, were in their own little world, relishing in the sheer joy of the secret double entendre of their words.
"My love, oh, my love, it has been too long. My heart cannot bear the pain of being without you." The onlookers were under the impression that their young writer was quite the actor. None knew his words were true in every sense. This was no actor. This was a man in love.
"Darling, let me look at you. Let me take in your features once more, so they may be forever set in my mind."
. . . and a girl in love.
The pure ecstasy shone through their eyes as Christian recited his next line.
"Kiss me, love. Just kiss me."
And kiss they did.
The subtle coughing and uncomfortable clearing of throats did nothing in obtaining the attention of . . .highly preoccupied. . . Christian and Satine. It wasn't until the Duke's quick temper got the better of him that any sort of reaction was gotten out of the giddy lovers.
His twitching fingers threw down his chair, frightening them into jerking, however reluctantly, apart.
"THAT'S- enough . . . f-for, uh . . . t- today," he announced, his tomato red face pinched into a rat-like glower.
No one dared cross him. They all left, rather hurriedly, including himself and Warner.
Christian and Satine, who were last to leave . . . well, there really were no words to be said. After collapsing into one another's arms, weak with laughter and love, they ran to Christian's garret, hand in hand, to . . . well . . . make up for lost time.
Boy, did they ever.