The Sparkling Poetess
by She's a Star
Disclaimer: Moulin Rouge belongs to the fantabulous Baz Luhrmann. The poem 'The Choice' belongs to Dorothy Parker, but let's pretend Satine wrote it, kay?
A/N: In Honors Language Arts a few weeks ago, we had to recite poems in front of the class. My wonderful psychic sista Stina recited 'The Choice', and it reminded me of MR. So....voila! :) Enjoy. I didn't think this turned out that great, but let's ignore that part, shall we?
Dedication: To Norah, for being simply wonderful and realizing my brilliance, a feat even I have yet to accomplish. :)
Personally, I've drawn the conclusion that I just have no brilliance, but maybe it's me...
~*~
People had never supposed that Satine had possessed a sense of humor. Christian supposed he couldn't blame them: after all, the ability to create both unadulterated desire and body-shaking mirth wasn't one that many people had.
But of course, Satine had been extraordinary.
Even after ten years, Christian still couldn't even begin to forget that. Change had to happen to everyone, he supposed, and it certainly had to him. Somewhere within the last decade, the starry-eyed penniless poet had moved aside to make way for the quiet, mysterious critically acclaimed author that he was now. Though he still resided in Paris, he lived in one of the finest homes in the city, rather than a tiny garret filled with love and dreams.
But despite every difference, his love for Satine had never wavered. He awoke each morning to fondly admire the framed photograph he kept of her beside his bed, and memories of her wild curls and dancing eyes never ceased to bring a smile to his lips.
She'd been able to make him laugh like no one else could. Her overdramatic sighs and childish giggles still rang through his mind, beautiful bittersweet memories.
When they were together, they'd always been able to make each other smile. Satine's soul had matched Christian's in a way that he couldn't begin to explain...when they'd been together, through tears or smiles, he always had felt as though he was finally whole.
Though the pain hurt much less now, he never felt the blissful completeness. He could barely even remember it anymore...
Now he was alone; alone with the memories.
They were such beautiful memories...
One dark, stormy day that seemed to reflect his tattered soul perfectly, he got out his beloved box of Satine's things that had been left in his possession. The scent of her soft perfume immediately filled the air around him, and he briefly buried his face into one of her lacy robes.
If only he could hold her once more...
He carefully set the robe onto the floor next to him and pulled a yellowing piece of paper out of the box. It was covered in elegant, slanted cursive, and just looking at it brought a smile to Christian's lips. He could still hear Satine's voice reading it, breathy and over dramatized.
Sighing, he closed his eyes and allowed his memory to take him back to a day when the world truly had seemed such a perfect place.
~*~
"You, Mr. Claremont, are not the only poet at the Moulin Rouge!" Satine declared triumphantly as soon as she burst into Christian's garret, a flurry of red curls and sparkling blue eyes.
"Oh?" Christian asked with an amused smile, feeling his heartbeat quicken at the sight of her.
"Prepare to be amazed," Satine declared, waving her arms about dramatically. In her left hand, she held a piece of paper covered in elegant cursive. "For I am not only Satine the Sparkling Diamond, but Satine the Sparkling Poetess as well!"
"Intriguing," Christian laughed, leaving his typewriter and staring at Satine in interest.
Satine cleared her throat dramatically.
"The Choice," she read aloud, placing one hand on her heart, "By....moi."
Christian immediately burst into ecstatic applause, and Satine silenced him with an annoyed glare.
After making a show of clearing her throat, she began poetically, "He'd have given me rolling lands, houses of marble, and billowing farms!"
"Who's 'he'?" Christian asked suspiciously.
Satine waved her hand airily at him and continued.
"Pearls to trickle between my hands, smoldering rubies to circle my arms!"
"Haven't you got enough of those already?" asked Christian indignantly, not about to be overshadowed by the 'dear' Duke.
"Shh!" Satine exclaimed in mock annoyance, putting a finger to her crimson-painted lips. She then resumed reciting her poem, sighing over-exaggeratedly. "You-you'd only a lilting song. Only a melody, happy and high."
Christian grinned. "Me. That's better."
"Shut up!" Satine cried with an infuriated shriek, giggles escaping her lips. Striking a foolishly dramatic pose, she proclaimed, "You were sudden, and swift, and strong....never a thought for another had I."
The familiar compassion that he felt whenever around Satine, or even when thinking about her, washed over Christian, and he approached her slowly and wrapped his arms lazily around her waist.
She still continued to gesture madly with her hands as she declared, "He'd have given me laces rare, dresses that glimmered with frosty sheen...shining ribbons to wrap my hair, horses to draw me as fine as a queen!"
"You don't like horses," Christian reminded her teasingly, playing with one of her fiery curls.
"You," Satine whispered tenderly into his ear, leaning her head on his shoulder, "You'd only to whistle low...gaily I followed wherever you led. I took you, and I let him go."
The paper fell from her hands and slowly down to the floor as Christian pulled her into a soft kiss. When they pulled apart, Satine's face sported a devious smile.
Eyes sparkling, she finished slyly, "Somebody ought to examine my head!"