A/N: I've been on a fanfic kick for a couple days now, ignoring my summer homework ;) The basic premise for this one is…well I don't really want to reveal much of it, but see if you can figure it out in the first chapter, if not it will be in my note in the next. Shouldn't be too hard though, if I can actually write it.
Satine waited quietly backstage, nervously adjusting her corset and hat. Marie ran over to apply more makeup, even though Satine felt she would sneeze if she saw one more speck of blush. "Please, Marie, I think that's enough," she complained.
"Dearie, you've got to look your best tonight!" Marie shook her head. "This new patron Harold's got, he's a Duke! You've got to hook him lovey, for all of us."
Satine nodded sadly. "I know Marie, it's just that, well…never mind."
Satine was on in two minutes to do her Sparkling Diamond act that she did every Wednesday and Saturday, and she still got nervous about it. It wasn't that she thought she would forget her lines or anything, but it was the staring, hungry eyes of all the men in the crowd. They were relentless. They looked at her like a prize to be won, and followed her wherever she went. She even saw them in her dreams, those eyes that penetrated through her, seeing only a beautiful painting of a girl for them to buy and take home to play with. They were always there. Always. Once Satine had gone so far as to hope that someday she would meet someone who would see her for her, and who would actually care. Someone who wouldn't just go through the familiar motions, throw money at her, and run out the door, barely even thanking her for her time and services. But she never let her mind wander there again. It was too dangerous to get her hopes up. Next to "Never fall in love", that was an important unspoken rule for courtesans - "Trust no one. Let them pay and show them out."
Satine climbed the stairs and sat on her perch, the trapeze she came down on at the beginning of her song. She plastered that sultry, seductive look to her face she always started out with, and waited for her cue. Tonight, for some reason, she felt worse than other nights, like she would be sick if she had to go out there one more time. Maybe the job was finally getting to her. The rumor going around in the halls was that there is a point when every courtesan cracks. Maybe she truly couldn't handle the emotional stress anymore.
The lights below her went dim, and one of the stagehands threw down the silver sparkles as they always did. Satine felt herself being lowered down by rope, and began:
"The French are glad to die for love,
They delight in fighting duels,
But I prefer a man who lives
And gives expensive…jewels."
She then pretended to be happy and excited, squealing as she flew around the room. That part of the song was always the worst for her, because it was such a lie. Satine was so sick of men who did nothing but offer her expensive jewels she wanted to scream.
She proceeded into the next part, where she got to dance and do high kicks to lively jazz music. Satine admitted to herself that this was fun, because it was almost like being a real star. But this was not the kind of stardom she was looking for. She wanted people to notice her for more than just her beauty.
As her song came to a pause, and Satine recollected herself while still trying to ignore all the men with wide eyes who were reaching out to her, she whispered to the owner of the establishment, "Is the Duke here, Harold?"
The large and cheery man peered quickly around her to glance at the tables on the side. "Oh well pigeon, there he is now!" he boomed at her.
"Where?" Satine squinted into the crowd. All the faces always looked the same to her. She had no idea who Harold was pointing to.
"He's the one Toulouse is shaking a hanky at!" Satine could easily spot the dwarf artist, and looked just above him to see who she was forced to spend the night with and lie to.
*Ugh* she thought to herself, while making sure she was outwardly grinning. *This one's not even cute.* Oh well, such was her life. As she winked at him he looked greedily towards her, not even attempting to smile. He already made her feel very uncomfortable. She knew she had no choice but to do her job with him, despite personal feelings. *Hope for the best, hmm?* she asked herself. What she was hoping was that if he was one of Toulouse's friends, he would have at least some decent qualities about him.
Moments later, as she glided over to dance with him, she found that she hadn't even finished saying, "I'm afraid it's ladies' choice night," as she always did, before he grabbed her hand and pulled her possessively toward the dance floor. *So, he's one of those. He wants all the power. Oh well, as long as he shows the cash.*
For the first time, he flashed a grin at her, licking his lips and staring down her body. Satine wanted to squirm her way out of his grasp, but he held too tightly. He whispered smoothly in her ear, "Sounds like an excellent production, my dear. I'd be delighted to be involved."
Satine flinched at the way he called her "dear."
But he wasn't done. As they continued dancing, he continued talking, with that sickeningly sweet voice and those always watchful eyes. "That is of course, if you like what I do…"
Satine continued smiling, reminding herself this would all be over soon and she could just return to her room, where she spent most of her free time locked away, pretending she cared about nothing and nothing cared about her. "I'm sure I will," she said, a little surprised the man was being so blunt.
He pulled her up from a dip, and as his hand dug into her back she felt a twinge of pain. He was not being gentle, which was never a good sign. "Toulouse thought we might be able to do it in private…you know, a private a poetry reading…" He winked on those last words, caressing her neck.
Satine was surprised at this. He had seemed like the type who would get right to the point, no questions asked, but now he was trying to play the "I'm naïve and don't know how to handle myself" attitude. She was disgusted even more. She just decided to wait it out, and the two didn't talk for the rest of the dance. Satine knew what he was thinking about anyway.
Soon, but not soon enough for her liking, Satine ascended back upwards on the trapeze. She never minded this part. She was for once going away from the men and their eyes, but she just wished she could stay away. "Diamonds," she cooed, "Diamonds…square cut or pear shaped these rocks won't lose their shape…"
Everything went quiet and she prepared for her big finish. Strangely, a pain was starting to build up from her stomach that she couldn't name. She pushed it out of her mind and tried to finish her song. "Diamonds, are a girls'…best…" But instead she found herself gasping, and trying to find something to hold onto. Satine felt the sinking sensation of being suffocated, and welcomed the darkness when it came. Her last thoughts were that she would rather be anywhere than here, so she easily let herself slip into unconsciousness.
As Satine was awoken moments later she just wished she could have stayed asleep forever. After all, she had only taken this job because she needed the money. She'd had no idea what she was getting herself into. Depression, sadly enough, was a common condition in the underworld.
She quickly dressed, to put herself into her "Smoldering Temptress" persona and get ready for the Duke. Harold hugged her and sent her on her way. Satine was getting a bit sick of him as well, and sick of being used and toyed with by him.
As she arrived in the elephant scantily clad in her short, black, lacy ensemble, she could almost feel the man below her undress her with his eyes. She fought the urge to shy away and run out the door, and instead raised an eyebrow, whispering, "Poetic enough for you?"
Her patron immediately helped himself to champagne, while taking out a piece of paper and beginning to read. She almost choked.
"You…you're actually here to… to read poetry?" she gasped at him.
"Well yes, my dear," he said twitching his nose. "But you obviously like it already so let's just move on, shall we?"
He approached her slowly, and Satine backed up until she felt the wall behind her. "You're beautiful," he said with his oily voice, and moved into kiss her. Satine quickly pushed him away, and almost didn't succeed. He was strong.
"Wait…wait," she demanded. "You're a poet? Poets aren't dukes!"
He nodded, taking hold of her waist again and pulling her towards the bed. "Well yes my dear, but the title's not important of course. Toulouse sent me to you as the writer for the new show that will shortly be playing here, starring you. And of course if you are to keep me on as writer, you WILL do what I say. You have no other choice, anyways. Can you think of anyone who would be willing to write a play for the Moulin Rouge? That's not what this place is for, so let's get to business."
He tried to push her down, but Satine rolled out from under him. "If you're the writer, that must mean Audrey's gone! And if you're the writer, that must mean…THE DUKE! Hide! Hide!"
She pushed the man behind the table, and he stayed. Obviously he was aware of how much trouble they could both get in if he were found. Harold would not be happy.
She opened the door to reveal a man who had to be the real Duke, complete with a huge, bald, body guard and all. His back was turned to her and he fumbled nervously with his hat. "Duke," she welcomed him in. "We've been expecting you. How wonderful of you to take time out of your busy schedule to visit."
Satine fixed her eyes seductively on him, but for some reason didn't find it as hard this time. The man that stood before her now was not half as intimidating as the idiot she had behind the table. Something in his eyes and the way he smiled sadly at her told her he was much more trustworthy. He removed his hat to reveal short black hair, and bowed in way of greeting. "My pleasure, milady. And please, don't call me 'Duke'. It's too formal, and I hate the title anyways…the only dukes I've ever known have been obsessed with money and very greedy."
Satine was in awe. He shook his head. "I don't even know what I'm doing here," he said, almost to himself. He smiled again towards her, sitting in a chair and not even reaching for the champagne. Most patrons went straight for that or the bed. He was different. "My given name is Christian, please call me that."
Satine waited quietly backstage, nervously adjusting her corset and hat. Marie ran over to apply more makeup, even though Satine felt she would sneeze if she saw one more speck of blush. "Please, Marie, I think that's enough," she complained.
"Dearie, you've got to look your best tonight!" Marie shook her head. "This new patron Harold's got, he's a Duke! You've got to hook him lovey, for all of us."
Satine nodded sadly. "I know Marie, it's just that, well…never mind."
Satine was on in two minutes to do her Sparkling Diamond act that she did every Wednesday and Saturday, and she still got nervous about it. It wasn't that she thought she would forget her lines or anything, but it was the staring, hungry eyes of all the men in the crowd. They were relentless. They looked at her like a prize to be won, and followed her wherever she went. She even saw them in her dreams, those eyes that penetrated through her, seeing only a beautiful painting of a girl for them to buy and take home to play with. They were always there. Always. Once Satine had gone so far as to hope that someday she would meet someone who would see her for her, and who would actually care. Someone who wouldn't just go through the familiar motions, throw money at her, and run out the door, barely even thanking her for her time and services. But she never let her mind wander there again. It was too dangerous to get her hopes up. Next to "Never fall in love", that was an important unspoken rule for courtesans - "Trust no one. Let them pay and show them out."
Satine climbed the stairs and sat on her perch, the trapeze she came down on at the beginning of her song. She plastered that sultry, seductive look to her face she always started out with, and waited for her cue. Tonight, for some reason, she felt worse than other nights, like she would be sick if she had to go out there one more time. Maybe the job was finally getting to her. The rumor going around in the halls was that there is a point when every courtesan cracks. Maybe she truly couldn't handle the emotional stress anymore.
The lights below her went dim, and one of the stagehands threw down the silver sparkles as they always did. Satine felt herself being lowered down by rope, and began:
"The French are glad to die for love,
They delight in fighting duels,
But I prefer a man who lives
And gives expensive…jewels."
She then pretended to be happy and excited, squealing as she flew around the room. That part of the song was always the worst for her, because it was such a lie. Satine was so sick of men who did nothing but offer her expensive jewels she wanted to scream.
She proceeded into the next part, where she got to dance and do high kicks to lively jazz music. Satine admitted to herself that this was fun, because it was almost like being a real star. But this was not the kind of stardom she was looking for. She wanted people to notice her for more than just her beauty.
As her song came to a pause, and Satine recollected herself while still trying to ignore all the men with wide eyes who were reaching out to her, she whispered to the owner of the establishment, "Is the Duke here, Harold?"
The large and cheery man peered quickly around her to glance at the tables on the side. "Oh well pigeon, there he is now!" he boomed at her.
"Where?" Satine squinted into the crowd. All the faces always looked the same to her. She had no idea who Harold was pointing to.
"He's the one Toulouse is shaking a hanky at!" Satine could easily spot the dwarf artist, and looked just above him to see who she was forced to spend the night with and lie to.
*Ugh* she thought to herself, while making sure she was outwardly grinning. *This one's not even cute.* Oh well, such was her life. As she winked at him he looked greedily towards her, not even attempting to smile. He already made her feel very uncomfortable. She knew she had no choice but to do her job with him, despite personal feelings. *Hope for the best, hmm?* she asked herself. What she was hoping was that if he was one of Toulouse's friends, he would have at least some decent qualities about him.
Moments later, as she glided over to dance with him, she found that she hadn't even finished saying, "I'm afraid it's ladies' choice night," as she always did, before he grabbed her hand and pulled her possessively toward the dance floor. *So, he's one of those. He wants all the power. Oh well, as long as he shows the cash.*
For the first time, he flashed a grin at her, licking his lips and staring down her body. Satine wanted to squirm her way out of his grasp, but he held too tightly. He whispered smoothly in her ear, "Sounds like an excellent production, my dear. I'd be delighted to be involved."
Satine flinched at the way he called her "dear."
But he wasn't done. As they continued dancing, he continued talking, with that sickeningly sweet voice and those always watchful eyes. "That is of course, if you like what I do…"
Satine continued smiling, reminding herself this would all be over soon and she could just return to her room, where she spent most of her free time locked away, pretending she cared about nothing and nothing cared about her. "I'm sure I will," she said, a little surprised the man was being so blunt.
He pulled her up from a dip, and as his hand dug into her back she felt a twinge of pain. He was not being gentle, which was never a good sign. "Toulouse thought we might be able to do it in private…you know, a private a poetry reading…" He winked on those last words, caressing her neck.
Satine was surprised at this. He had seemed like the type who would get right to the point, no questions asked, but now he was trying to play the "I'm naïve and don't know how to handle myself" attitude. She was disgusted even more. She just decided to wait it out, and the two didn't talk for the rest of the dance. Satine knew what he was thinking about anyway.
Soon, but not soon enough for her liking, Satine ascended back upwards on the trapeze. She never minded this part. She was for once going away from the men and their eyes, but she just wished she could stay away. "Diamonds," she cooed, "Diamonds…square cut or pear shaped these rocks won't lose their shape…"
Everything went quiet and she prepared for her big finish. Strangely, a pain was starting to build up from her stomach that she couldn't name. She pushed it out of her mind and tried to finish her song. "Diamonds, are a girls'…best…" But instead she found herself gasping, and trying to find something to hold onto. Satine felt the sinking sensation of being suffocated, and welcomed the darkness when it came. Her last thoughts were that she would rather be anywhere than here, so she easily let herself slip into unconsciousness.
As Satine was awoken moments later she just wished she could have stayed asleep forever. After all, she had only taken this job because she needed the money. She'd had no idea what she was getting herself into. Depression, sadly enough, was a common condition in the underworld.
She quickly dressed, to put herself into her "Smoldering Temptress" persona and get ready for the Duke. Harold hugged her and sent her on her way. Satine was getting a bit sick of him as well, and sick of being used and toyed with by him.
As she arrived in the elephant scantily clad in her short, black, lacy ensemble, she could almost feel the man below her undress her with his eyes. She fought the urge to shy away and run out the door, and instead raised an eyebrow, whispering, "Poetic enough for you?"
Her patron immediately helped himself to champagne, while taking out a piece of paper and beginning to read. She almost choked.
"You…you're actually here to… to read poetry?" she gasped at him.
"Well yes, my dear," he said twitching his nose. "But you obviously like it already so let's just move on, shall we?"
He approached her slowly, and Satine backed up until she felt the wall behind her. "You're beautiful," he said with his oily voice, and moved into kiss her. Satine quickly pushed him away, and almost didn't succeed. He was strong.
"Wait…wait," she demanded. "You're a poet? Poets aren't dukes!"
He nodded, taking hold of her waist again and pulling her towards the bed. "Well yes my dear, but the title's not important of course. Toulouse sent me to you as the writer for the new show that will shortly be playing here, starring you. And of course if you are to keep me on as writer, you WILL do what I say. You have no other choice, anyways. Can you think of anyone who would be willing to write a play for the Moulin Rouge? That's not what this place is for, so let's get to business."
He tried to push her down, but Satine rolled out from under him. "If you're the writer, that must mean Audrey's gone! And if you're the writer, that must mean…THE DUKE! Hide! Hide!"
She pushed the man behind the table, and he stayed. Obviously he was aware of how much trouble they could both get in if he were found. Harold would not be happy.
She opened the door to reveal a man who had to be the real Duke, complete with a huge, bald, body guard and all. His back was turned to her and he fumbled nervously with his hat. "Duke," she welcomed him in. "We've been expecting you. How wonderful of you to take time out of your busy schedule to visit."
Satine fixed her eyes seductively on him, but for some reason didn't find it as hard this time. The man that stood before her now was not half as intimidating as the idiot she had behind the table. Something in his eyes and the way he smiled sadly at her told her he was much more trustworthy. He removed his hat to reveal short black hair, and bowed in way of greeting. "My pleasure, milady. And please, don't call me 'Duke'. It's too formal, and I hate the title anyways…the only dukes I've ever known have been obsessed with money and very greedy."
Satine was in awe. He shook his head. "I don't even know what I'm doing here," he said, almost to himself. He smiled again towards her, sitting in a chair and not even reaching for the champagne. Most patrons went straight for that or the bed. He was different. "My given name is Christian, please call me that."