"Christian!" Toulouse's voice rang out from upstairs. Christian's eyes
didn't move from where his hands lay taut on his lap. He was in no mood for
partying, or having fun of any sort. Heck, he didn't even want to write.
Christian sensed that someone was in the room with him, but he didn't look
up. "Christian," Toulouse repeated, his voice closer. He stopped at the
sight of the young writer, dismayed to see that Christian had not moved
from his position all day. "Guess what day it is!" Toulouse pressed
brightly, eyes seeking Christian's for a glimmer of curiosity, excitement,
anything. He got nothing.
Finally, Christian raised his head, exposing emotionless, red-rimmed eyes, a drawn, haggard face, and pale complexion. "The day that marks the second year of which my very soul was yanked out, leaving me but a hollow, empty shell? I'm sorry, Toulouse, but that is the only way I can remember that symbolizes today." He glanced briefly at Toulouse's face, then his eyes flicked back down to his hands. Toulouse took a breath, and swept his gaze around Christian's garret, heaving a sigh of remorse. Cans, dirty clothes, crumpled pieces of writing littered the room. He fixed his eye on Christian, although Christian's eyes remained transfixed on his hands.
"Satine would be ashamed," Toulouse murmured softly. It seemed as though each muscle, each fiber of Christian's being tensed, his hands tightening in his lap. His jaw tightened to the point that a blue vein was visible, and the back of his neck spotted with red. "Satine would want you to keep going…she did even when she knew she was dying. This is not the Christian Satine knew and loved, this is…"
"You wouldn't know what Satine wanted," Christian muttered through clenched teeth, his voice low and chilled. Toulouse stared at his friend, whose voice had always been gentle and melodious. "You wouldn't know. I wooed her with songs and poetry. I loved her with every spare inch of my heart. But did I know what she wanted? She wanted to get away. That's all I knew, Toulouse. That's all," Christian's voice broke.
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn," Toulouse recited slowly. "Is just to love, and be loved, in return." Christian lifted his head again, and gazed at him, the dull pulling at his heart lengthening.
"And what of when that love ends, Toulouse? What happens when part of that love just…leaves?"
"Love never dies, Christian," Toulouse replied softly, and Christian just looked at him. When had his friend become so philosophical? Emotions tore at Christian's heart, but although Christian knew Toulouse was right, he was too stubborn to admit it. So, Christian did the next best thing.
"Go away, Toulouse." Toulouse looked ready to protest. "Now, Toulouse, leave." Toulouse had been through this with Christian before, 2 years ago, but now he knew to control it. Toulouse did not budge. "Toulouse, GET. OUT. NOW!" Christian bellowed, springing up from the bed. Toulouse fought the urge to recoil, not used to this sudden temper streak his mild-mannered, gentle writer friend possessed. Shrugging, with a meaningful look tossed over his shoulder, Toulouse hobbled out.
Chest heaving, Christian leaned against the window frame, staring at the rundown building that was once the vibrant Moulin Rouge. Harold Zidler had been so grief torn over the loss of his Sparkling Diamond, his Sparrow, that the elephant that was once home to Satine, Christian's Satine, was torn down. Christian shook his head. So many memories, gone with Satine. Satine was the Moulin Rouge, and without her, it ceased to exist. Just like Christian himself.
"Satine," Christian half choked, half whispered. "Did I bring this upon us? Come what may, I will love you until my dying day. It wasn't till now that I realized the irony of my words. Your dying day came so fast, so quickly. Was that just how our love was to be?" He rested his head on the window, thinking over this, when he snapped his head up. "NO! Toulouse is right! Satine wouldn't approve of me this way. Think of Satine, Christian!" he admonished himself. "Without Satine, I feel like I'm dying inside. Yet Satine was dying, but she kept on! Heck," he laughed dryly to himself. "She didn't tell me she was dying until right before she did die!"
Suddenly, Christian swung out to his terrace, tossing his words to the wind. "Come what may, come what may. I will love you, until my dying day!!" the wind caught his words and carried them high into the heavens, in hopes that Satine would hear his words.
{OK, that's Chapter One. Excuse me, but this is my first Moulin Rouge fanfic. Many more chapters to come, so don't think I left you hangin!} Oh, and some r&r would be nice (
Finally, Christian raised his head, exposing emotionless, red-rimmed eyes, a drawn, haggard face, and pale complexion. "The day that marks the second year of which my very soul was yanked out, leaving me but a hollow, empty shell? I'm sorry, Toulouse, but that is the only way I can remember that symbolizes today." He glanced briefly at Toulouse's face, then his eyes flicked back down to his hands. Toulouse took a breath, and swept his gaze around Christian's garret, heaving a sigh of remorse. Cans, dirty clothes, crumpled pieces of writing littered the room. He fixed his eye on Christian, although Christian's eyes remained transfixed on his hands.
"Satine would be ashamed," Toulouse murmured softly. It seemed as though each muscle, each fiber of Christian's being tensed, his hands tightening in his lap. His jaw tightened to the point that a blue vein was visible, and the back of his neck spotted with red. "Satine would want you to keep going…she did even when she knew she was dying. This is not the Christian Satine knew and loved, this is…"
"You wouldn't know what Satine wanted," Christian muttered through clenched teeth, his voice low and chilled. Toulouse stared at his friend, whose voice had always been gentle and melodious. "You wouldn't know. I wooed her with songs and poetry. I loved her with every spare inch of my heart. But did I know what she wanted? She wanted to get away. That's all I knew, Toulouse. That's all," Christian's voice broke.
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn," Toulouse recited slowly. "Is just to love, and be loved, in return." Christian lifted his head again, and gazed at him, the dull pulling at his heart lengthening.
"And what of when that love ends, Toulouse? What happens when part of that love just…leaves?"
"Love never dies, Christian," Toulouse replied softly, and Christian just looked at him. When had his friend become so philosophical? Emotions tore at Christian's heart, but although Christian knew Toulouse was right, he was too stubborn to admit it. So, Christian did the next best thing.
"Go away, Toulouse." Toulouse looked ready to protest. "Now, Toulouse, leave." Toulouse had been through this with Christian before, 2 years ago, but now he knew to control it. Toulouse did not budge. "Toulouse, GET. OUT. NOW!" Christian bellowed, springing up from the bed. Toulouse fought the urge to recoil, not used to this sudden temper streak his mild-mannered, gentle writer friend possessed. Shrugging, with a meaningful look tossed over his shoulder, Toulouse hobbled out.
Chest heaving, Christian leaned against the window frame, staring at the rundown building that was once the vibrant Moulin Rouge. Harold Zidler had been so grief torn over the loss of his Sparkling Diamond, his Sparrow, that the elephant that was once home to Satine, Christian's Satine, was torn down. Christian shook his head. So many memories, gone with Satine. Satine was the Moulin Rouge, and without her, it ceased to exist. Just like Christian himself.
"Satine," Christian half choked, half whispered. "Did I bring this upon us? Come what may, I will love you until my dying day. It wasn't till now that I realized the irony of my words. Your dying day came so fast, so quickly. Was that just how our love was to be?" He rested his head on the window, thinking over this, when he snapped his head up. "NO! Toulouse is right! Satine wouldn't approve of me this way. Think of Satine, Christian!" he admonished himself. "Without Satine, I feel like I'm dying inside. Yet Satine was dying, but she kept on! Heck," he laughed dryly to himself. "She didn't tell me she was dying until right before she did die!"
Suddenly, Christian swung out to his terrace, tossing his words to the wind. "Come what may, come what may. I will love you, until my dying day!!" the wind caught his words and carried them high into the heavens, in hopes that Satine would hear his words.
{OK, that's Chapter One. Excuse me, but this is my first Moulin Rouge fanfic. Many more chapters to come, so don't think I left you hangin!} Oh, and some r&r would be nice (