*Title: The Beat of a Heart (Part One- Take Me Home)
*Author: Jania Jitsu
*Disclaimer: Moulin Rouge belongs to Baz Lurhmann, I suppose. It certainly doesn't belong to me! Although I wouldn't mind an Ewan, if you can spare . . .
*Feedback: jania_jitsu@yahoo.com
*Category: Drama, Angst, and Humor scattered about. May end up a romance. It depends on how I decide to develop this. I have two really good ideas.
*Summary: Christian's father dies and he is forced to return home. This is always difficult, but when you've left your heart behind it's just painful. If you're looking for a sequel that's basically the original movie with name changes, you'd best stay clear.
*Spoilers: Erm . . . yeah. If you haven't seen Moulin Rouge, then get the hell out of here and into a Blockbuster! (Or Hollywood Video, or grocery store, or whatever.)
*Rating: It'll probably hit PG-13 some time. Mine usually do. : )
*Warnings/Notes: All right, this is my first actual Moulin Rouge fic. (I've written poetry before.) I've never really read any Moulin Rouge fanfiction (just summaries) so I don't know if anyone's ever had this idea before. I just thought I'd give Moulin Rouge fics a try, but I wanted to do something both original and plausible. I got this idea when I was baby-sitting the day after watching my Moulin Rouge DVD.
By the way, they never gave Christian a surname, did they? If they did please let me know, but I've labeled him "Stratton" for now. I also made up his age based on how old he looked in the movie (twenty-two) even though I'm not very good at guessing people's ages. Oh, and Tom Riddle isn't THE Tom Riddle, I just liked the name. (If you don't know what I'm talking about then don't worry about it.)
The woman I Loved is... dead...
The room had been emptied the previous day. The papers were taken off the walls and the typewriter was carefully packed into a box. The clothes were taken out of the dresser and folded neatly into suitcases. The bed was made ready for the arrival of the next occupant, whomever and whenever that might be.
The room was very peaceful in the quiet. It was strange and devoid of life where life had once been so abundant. Life had once been strewn across the furniture and hung out the windows, and sent up to the roof because there simply wasn't enough space to hold it all in that little room.
Things change, of course. The first occupant of the room had left months before. Now, finally, the second had found the will and reason to go as well.
So long ago I don't remember when--
that's when they say I lost my only frien.d
Well, they said she died easy of a broken heart disease
as I listened through the cemetery trees.
I see the sun coming up at the funeral at dawn,
the long broken arm of human law.
It always seemed such a waste,
she always had a pretty face.
I wondered why she hung around this place.
...
I'm so alone, and I feel just like somebody else.
I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same.
But somewhere here in between
the city walls of dying dreams
I think of death, it must be killing me.
Christian Stratton was finally home in London, England. He wasn't quite sure whether he was happy about this or not.
Vaguely, Christian knew that getting away from Montmartre, from France, and from the ruins of the Moulin Rouge was good for him. He also vaguely knew that he could not hole up inside himself forever. Satine had been dead for two years and his book had been sent to publishers in both England and France. It was being put into print. There was no reason for Christian to stay in France. It would only hurt him more.
Christian had never been one for doing what was best, though. He was a sensitive young man of emotions. He unconsciously followed his emotions like a strange religion, placing them on his sleeve for all to see.
Christian's emotions would have had him stay in his little room forever, writing poetry to his dead lover until someone discovered one day that he, too, had died. Christian would have been miserable, but somehow content in his misery- it would be the misery that he chose for himself.
Then Christian's father had died, requiring Christian to come home and claim his inheritance, or let it go to Cousin Alphonse.
Father and Alphonse always did have a way of spoiling things for Christian.
Tom Riddle and Rick Ellison stood at the train station. They were waiting for their long-lost friend, who was finally coming back from his adventuring off in France. Tom, Rick, and Robert- who had business to attend to and could not come to the station- had joked about this for the past three years. ("I don't like you, Rick." "Well, then, I think I'll just join Christian in France! They seem to have lots of fun there, after all!")
Secretly, though, they were all jealous. Christian, the youngest of them and currently twenty-six, had gone off on an Adventure. He hadn't written, or even telegrammed from France. The last they'd heard from him was at his home, where they watched with surprise as he packed and told them with shining eyes about his plan.
The plan was nothing complicated. He was going to France to become a writer. He was going to a place where he would be free to uphold his four pillars of Truth, Beauty, Freedom, and Love. These four words were always capitalized when Christian spoke. He had a vitality about him that could do that to a person: it could inspire and uplift and even capitalize nouns that weren't proper.
Naturally, Tom, Rick, and Robert couldn't wait to hear of Christian's Adventures. This was another word that was always capitalized. Adventure was an obscure thing to Tom. Like a beautiful courtesan: something one wanted very much, but would never have. Tom personally felt the loss of both.
"Do you see him?" Tom asked Rick. They were searching through the crowds that had stepped off the train, but had not yet found Christian.
Rick shook his head. "Nope. Wait . . . oh my God. That is him. Jesus, Tom, look! That's Christian!"
Tom looked over where Rick was pointing. But, surely, this could not be fun, vibrant Christian. This man was tired and jaded- not at all like the straight-backed, poetry-spouting, twinkle-eyed boy Tom used to know.
"What the hell did he do in France?" Tom wondered aloud.
Tom walked up to the man and touched his shoulder. "Christian?" he asked, a frown beginning to form on his face. Who was this man? It could not be Christian! Christian was full of life! This man looked dead, though he was certainly still breathing.
The man turned around and smiled. It was a sad smile and it did not reach his eyes, but it was Christian's nonetheless.
"Tom," he said warmly. "Rick."
Tom smiled and, like Christian's, it was a weaker version of his usually bright grin.
"Sorry about your father," Rick said promptly. Tom elbowed him and he winced.
"It's all right," Christian said. "We weren't close."
Tom knew that they had been when Christian was very young, but Christian had hit a hopeless romantic stage when he turned fourteen and he never grew out of it, much to the chagrin of his father.
Christian had changed a lot then but his friends had gotten used to it, taking every new discovery in stride. Now it seemed they would have to rediscover Christian once more.
'What happened?' Tom wondered again.
Christian looked at the headstone dispassionately. He had missed the funeral. He really didn't care. His father never liked him- why should Christian feel sad? And, after the death of Satine, how could he feel any more sad? The truth was that, even though it had been two years, Christian still was not ready to rejoin the world.
Unfortunately, he was about to be shoved into the world again . . . with or without his consent.
Tom sat in the carriage nervously, watching Christian stare at his own father's grave and wondering if he should tell his friend about the exact conditions of the dead father's will.
It probably wasn't a good idea. It would make Christian even more unhappy, and he had to deal with so much already.
And it really wasn't any of Tom's business, anyway. Leave it to the lawyers- that was all they were good for.
Tom settled back into his seat and sighed. This was going to be difficult. Or maybe not. They had talked on the way over to the graveyard, and Christian didn't seem to uphold his same ideals anymore. Actually, the only one he had dropped was love.
'What happened in France?' Tom wondered for the millionth time since the old friends had reunited.
That night, as Christian slept, he dreamt.
He was searching for Her. She was near, but so very far away! He couldn't find Her. Everything was shrouded in a dense fog.
He called out Her name and heard Her laugh.
"I'm the green fairy!" She called in Her melodious voice. "Come find me Christian!"
All he could see was Her cerulean blue eyes burning through the mists. They were beckoning him, as was Her voice: "Come, Christian. Find me!"
He shivered and she began to sing; her voice coming as naturally as if she spoke.
"Closing time- open all the doors and let you out into the world.
Closing time- time for you to go out to the places you will be from.
Closing time- one last call for alcohol, so finish your whiskey or beer.
Closing time- you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here.
"I know who I want to take me home.
I know who I want to take me home.
I know who I want to take me home. . . . Take me home . . .
Closing time- every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end. . . ."
o - }---)---) ~*~ (---(---{ - o
Author's Note: Okay, now an explanation for how I do songs. Moulin Rouge is a very music-oriented movie. That's how they convey emotions and story. It would almost be a crime to exclude music to the little sequel that I'm writing. Sometimes in a song, though, you don't want to use all the lyrics.
See the example of "One Headlight" above, which is by the Wallflowers. I didn't want to use the chorus, so I put three periods with no spaces in between (...) to show that I'm abridging the song.
As opposed to three periods with spaces in between each (. . .) signifies a drawn-out note or long pause.
I chopped up "Closing Time" (by Semisonic) so badly, however, that it would be impractical to make all the proper notations, so I'll just say in this note that I chopped it up horrendously. (That's where this chapter's title comes from, by the way.)
By the way, I really suggest that you download/obtain the songs that I put in here, because they're all really good!
Whew. Okay, that's it for this part. Hopefully I won't ever have so many notes again. It's just that this is the first part and I have a lot to explain.