Okay guys, this is my very first story so please be gentle. I fell in love with Moulin Rouge and decided to interpret the story in a different way using more detail by focusing more closely on character motivations and back stories and the like. I hope you guys enjoy it and please review!
Stepping off of the crowded train car, a tall young woman with wispy long strands of golden hair set off on the grimy streets of Paris to the highly controversial town of Montmartre. Breathing in the foul stench of waste and cigarettes brought her to her senses. She grabbed a small suitcase she had containing some photos, a journal of her writing, clothing, and a sum of money. In her other hand was a box of which encased her most prized possession; her typewriter. Grasping the handle of her typewriter she walked along the over crowded streets, past beggars whose hands were as black as their bare feet, and past small children looking for scraps of food in the trash bins.
Emma had seen her fair share of the terrible living conditions back in New York, but bring here in Paris and seeing first-hand the children with nothing but a long cut shirt with exposed legs, dirty faces and bright eyes made her turn away from them swiftly. Unwilling to look and see the pleas of anguish that laced their tears, she repressed her empathy, (or was it pity?), and strode away from the station. Emma's small heels clicked quickly across the brick walkway leading north of the city. The air was much different here, Emma thought. Back in New York sure, it wasn't fairly enjoyable either but it never reeked of week old waste everywhere you went. It was a pungent punch to the stomach. In New York you could practically taste the fuel in the automobiles but the ladder would seem to prove a much better alternative.
As she walked past petite markets and through parks where she could see the trees leaves swiftly changing from the bright green to a crisp auburn. A cool breeze relaxed her and she thought she would rather like to return to this park before the winter chill set in. She stopped along the fence to the park and surveyed the grounds. It was a tiny park, if one could even call it that. It was appeared to only be a small patch of green in a sea of grey. There were only a few trees with notable age but she saw small children running around the small space seemingly playing a game together. They ran around yelling and laughing and once again Emma turned away. Perhaps she wouldn't come back after all.
She soon after entered Montmartre and she spotted it. The infamous red mill standing atop the Moulin Rouge. She set her luggage down to look at the building. Emma had heard very little about what exactly went on between the walls of the building, but she had heard rumors. The scandalous can-can dancers, some of which seduced the powerful and dangerous men of the upper class, the beautiful courtesans who ensnared your mind with their temptress ways. The village of Montmartre was dubbed a "village of Sin" as Emma's father had liked to refer to it as. Shaking her head at the thought of her father she felt she wind picked up slightly. She could hear some of the dried leaves blowing across the brick street. She tucked some of her stray hair behind her ear and re-adjusted her little black cap.
The blonde woman once again began her dissent into the city along the cigarette ridden streets of Paris. Fortunately she found a one room apartment fairly quickly. But the rent was steep. Given her situation, her father would not give her any more money than she absolutely needed to come here. She distinctly remembered leaving her father and his disgusted face and disapproving shake of his head as she walked sullenly away from him. She did not pay any mind to what her father thought of the bohemian revolution. He would never understand her and she stopped bothering to put in an effort to get him to try. She had no intention to ever see him again. She was here to start her life anew and not be reminded constantly of her familial hardships.
Emma dragged her luggage up the two flights of creaking wood stairs to the door of her new room. She was jamming the key into the lock when she heard a slightly accented voice behind her.
"Hello, are you just moving in?"
Emma turned around abruptly to see a peculiarly short man with a speech impairment of some sort standing in front of her. She blinked her eyes twice before answering. Was he dressed as a nun?
"Oh… Hello. Um yes I just got here actually." She stammered while simultaneously trying to work the key into the lock.
"Why Hello! I am Toulouse-Lautrec Montfa, I live just above you" Toulouse said with a toothy smile. "I was just rehearsing a play and we are in desperate need of a writer and I couldn't help but notice your typewriter as I was headed out." He looked up at the case for Emma's typewriter and then to her eyes with hopefulness.
"Uh well I…I don't know. I don't even know you or what this play even is?" Emma said cautiously wondering whether to trust the man or not. "Let me just get situated and we'll talk." Emma turned the key and the door fell open.
"I'm terribly sorry Miss If I've been too forward but if you should change your mind our room is 3B. Feel free to stop by if you'd like." Toulouse said dejectedly.
Toulouse began to hobble down the steps to the entrance of the building. Emma set down her type writer and suitcase quickly on the nearest table and went after Toulouse.
"Hey wait," Emma rushed out the door and to the staircase.
Toulouse turned around abruptly and looked expectantly at Emma.
"I don't really know anyone here so I'm kind of wary about new people." Emma began "But I'm willing to take you up on your offer." With raised eyebrows and a small smile she closed her door and stood in the hallway.
Toulouse's eyes lit up and the biggest smile broke out across his face. He walked quickly up to Emma "That's wonderful! If you'll come with me I'll introduce you to everyone and tell you all about Spectacular Spectacular!" Toulouse's Spanish-Italian accent came clearly now. He started talking rapidly about his play and how it embodies the bohemian ideals of Freedom, Beauty, Truth and Love but he failed to mention what it was actually about.
The short man led Emma upstairs and before she even stepped into the hallway she could hear the commotion commencing inside 3B. There were shouts and singing of words that failed to rhyme and the sound of glasses clinking together roughly.
"Now, before we enter I must warn you these guys are loud and obnoxious and love to drink. Feel free to leave whenever you want." Toulouse said earnestly and reached out the grab the handle but stopped and turned back toward Emma." I haven't caught your name, Miss…?"
"Oh I'm sorry, I'm Emma. Emma Swan." Emma extended her hand, "Let's just see what exactly it is I'm getting myself into!"
They shared a firm handshake. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Emma." Toulouse pushed open the door and walked inside. Emma gazed about the room taking in the stench of liquor laced with cigarettes. She saw a grand piano in the left corner of the room accompanied by a young bald fellow. She saw many glasses upon the top of the piano. All about the room there were presumably empty beer bottles, paintings of which she couldn't decipher and a rather large bed on the opposing wall of the piano. There was an older man with a gray and brown beard near the window playing a sitar and a strong man with facial hair in a pattern Emma had never seen on anyone back in New York.
Toulouse went the center of the room and announced excitedly "Everyone we have found our new writer!" Emma felt very out of place with this group of men. Not knowing how to act around them was making her nervous. "This is Emma; she is going to be the voice of the children of the revolution!" Toulouse exclaimed eagerly.
The slightly intimidating man with the odd facial hair walked towards Emma and held out his hand. "Hello Madame," the man had a thick Argentinian accent and his voice was incredibly raspy. Emma grabbed his hand and shook with a firm grip. "I'm….." was all the man had time to say before he fell to the floor, seemingly unconscious.
"Oh my God did I do something to him?!" Emma exclaimed nervously looking at Toulouse and bending down to look at the man.
"Oh no don't worry, he simply narcoleptic that's all." Toulouse walked past the man to shut the door.
"Toulouse we should really proceed, we have to figure out what we're to present to Ms. Mills!" The bald man at the piano explained hurriedly to Toulouse. "And Hello Miss, it's nice to meet you Emma, but we must get going on this as quickly as possible."
"Yes, yes of course. Why don't we show Emma what we've got so far eh?" Toulouse walked to the back wall which was draped over by a mural detailing hills and a beautiful blue sky. "Well for starters, it's called "Spectacular Spectacular" and its set in Switzerland!" His voice going up an octave expressing his excitement and clapping his hands together rapidly. "We open with the main character singing about the hills being animate with euphonious symphonies of decants…and that's about all we have right now unfortunately…" Toulouse said dropping his gaze to the floor as if staring at it hard enough would give him an idea.
Emma looked quizzically around the room meeting the gaze of the pianist she wondered, Switzerland? Euphonious symphonies? "Wait a minute, who is Miss Mills?"
Toulouse lifted his head and looked from Emma to the pianist and then back to Emma open mouthed. "Don't you know?" At the sight of Emma's bewildered state Toulouse continued on "She's the star of the Moulin Rouge! The Ravishing Regina!"
Emma had never heard of the woman but before she could raise any more questions Toulouse continued on.
"Spectacular Spectacular embodies everything bohemian and all we need is Regina to get our play to the public." Toulouse explained "The children of the revolution will have a voice and an influence if this takes off. If you want to help us, you would be meeting her tonight." Toulouse looked towards the window that over looked the street.
Emma followed his gaze and started towards the window. Her footsteps creaked on the old wood floor and once she reached the window pane she could see miniscule cracks throughout the glass. She looked out past the streets and abandoned buildings and saw birds flying in the bright blue sky. There were always at least two birds flying along in the open air, always together, she thought to herself. Emma wished she could have the freedom they did, free to fly anywhere they wanted without fear of the repercussions. She inhaled deeply and turned to face Toulouse, the piano man and the still unconscious man on the ground. "I'll do it. But how am I supposed to talk to this woman and convince her of anything?"
Toulouse's face lit up abruptly "We have a plan."