A/N: "Isn't It Romantic?" is from the movie Love Me Tonight and it belongs
to Lorenz Hart and Richard Rodgers, not me. Some lyrics were changed just
a teensy bit to suit my purposes.
Christian's feet were light as air as he ran down the crowded Parisian streets, rushing to get back to Satine, who was probably cooped up sewing costumes somewhere. Oh yes, even in the most spectacular times, the Sparkling Diamond was needed for help with the sewing. It was twilight; the bakers on the street with their melting pastries and the flower girls with drooping blossoms were starting to pack away their wares for the night. Christian inhaled deeply as he strolled happily past, purchasing some not-too-faded daisies and a not-too-melted chocolate-glazed doughnut for Satine.
Someone was playing an accordion a few blocks away, and Christian could hear it's polka-ish strains. Giddy with the Parisian atmosphere and the tantalizing mingling of scents in his nose, Christian began to sing, not caring who looked at him like he was crazy. This was Montmartre, and here people sang and danced all the time at various hours of the day and night.
"Isn't it romantic?
Music in the night, a dream that can be heard.
Isn't it romantic?"
He was now quickening his pace, flitting like a bird through the cobblestone path through a park. The trees were laced with starlight and the river nearby shone like all of Satine's sparkling diamonds. Christian grinned at the bird-feeding old lady who was staring at him and winked. She smiled and winked right back.
"Moving shadows write the oldest magic word.
I hear the breezes playing in the trees above
while all the word is saying you were meant for love.
Isn't it romantic to be young on a night such as this?
Isn't it romantic? Every note that's sung is like a lover's kiss!
Sweet symbols in the moonlight, do you mean that I will fall in love, per chance?
Isn't it romance?"
Satine was bored. Sewing was awful yet necessary. Her needle plunged through the heavy brocade of the costume she was darning and she forced herself to think of other things. Looking out on Paris from the balcony she sat on, Satine thought about Christian. Where was her gallant knight? Wasn't he supposed to come and rescue her right about now? "If he isn't here in five minutes," she said to herself. Her thoughts trailed off as soon as she noticed the magical violet sky with it's glittering sky and serenading moon. A sudden rush of romantic feeling flooded her body and she began to sew with a vengeance, singing all the while. Maybe Christian would hear her and come to free her.
"My face is glowing, I'm energetic!" She sang, pushing that needle through the brocade like a madwoman. "The art of sewing I've found poetic! My needle punctuates the rhythm of romance."
Standing up now, letting the cloth drop to the floor in a heap, Satine looked down below. A ha! There was Christian, dancing up the street, jumping to click his heels. She giggled to herself and sang out louder, hoping he'd hear her. "Isn't it romantic?"
There was his songbird, perched on the edge of the balcony, grinning down at him. "Don't jump!" He warned, laughing. "I'll come to rescue you, Juliet!"
Singing as he walked up the stairs, the droopy daisies and the now crumbled doughnut in his hands, Christian floated on air.
"Isn't it romantic?
Soon I will have found some girl that I adore.
Isn't it romantic?" Now the door was open and he grabbed Satine's hands, waltzing her about the room.
"While I sit around, my love can scrub the floor," she responded in song, eyes twinkling.
"She'll kiss me EVERY hour, or she'll get the sack," stated Christian in mock solemnity. "And I mean EVERY hour." He tried to peck Satine on the cheek but she moved away in her own mock offense. "And when I take a bath, she will scrub my back."
"Isn't it romantic?" Satine added, twirling about like a ballerina. "On a moonlit night, he'll cook me onion soup!"
"Onion soup?" Christian made a face.
"Onion soup!" Satine giggled, kissing his nose.
"Kiddies are romantic," Christian proclaimed. "And if we don't fight, we'll soon have a troupe!"
"Four, tops." Stated Satine. "No more than four."
"We'll help the population!" Christian replied laughingly, dipping her dramatically. "It's a duty that we owe to dear old France."
The two moved out to the balcony and stared at the moon. The stars shone just a little less bright than their laughing eyes. "Oh…" Satine paused for emphasis before she concluded the song. "Isn't it…romance?"
THE END
Christian's feet were light as air as he ran down the crowded Parisian streets, rushing to get back to Satine, who was probably cooped up sewing costumes somewhere. Oh yes, even in the most spectacular times, the Sparkling Diamond was needed for help with the sewing. It was twilight; the bakers on the street with their melting pastries and the flower girls with drooping blossoms were starting to pack away their wares for the night. Christian inhaled deeply as he strolled happily past, purchasing some not-too-faded daisies and a not-too-melted chocolate-glazed doughnut for Satine.
Someone was playing an accordion a few blocks away, and Christian could hear it's polka-ish strains. Giddy with the Parisian atmosphere and the tantalizing mingling of scents in his nose, Christian began to sing, not caring who looked at him like he was crazy. This was Montmartre, and here people sang and danced all the time at various hours of the day and night.
"Isn't it romantic?
Music in the night, a dream that can be heard.
Isn't it romantic?"
He was now quickening his pace, flitting like a bird through the cobblestone path through a park. The trees were laced with starlight and the river nearby shone like all of Satine's sparkling diamonds. Christian grinned at the bird-feeding old lady who was staring at him and winked. She smiled and winked right back.
"Moving shadows write the oldest magic word.
I hear the breezes playing in the trees above
while all the word is saying you were meant for love.
Isn't it romantic to be young on a night such as this?
Isn't it romantic? Every note that's sung is like a lover's kiss!
Sweet symbols in the moonlight, do you mean that I will fall in love, per chance?
Isn't it romance?"
Satine was bored. Sewing was awful yet necessary. Her needle plunged through the heavy brocade of the costume she was darning and she forced herself to think of other things. Looking out on Paris from the balcony she sat on, Satine thought about Christian. Where was her gallant knight? Wasn't he supposed to come and rescue her right about now? "If he isn't here in five minutes," she said to herself. Her thoughts trailed off as soon as she noticed the magical violet sky with it's glittering sky and serenading moon. A sudden rush of romantic feeling flooded her body and she began to sew with a vengeance, singing all the while. Maybe Christian would hear her and come to free her.
"My face is glowing, I'm energetic!" She sang, pushing that needle through the brocade like a madwoman. "The art of sewing I've found poetic! My needle punctuates the rhythm of romance."
Standing up now, letting the cloth drop to the floor in a heap, Satine looked down below. A ha! There was Christian, dancing up the street, jumping to click his heels. She giggled to herself and sang out louder, hoping he'd hear her. "Isn't it romantic?"
There was his songbird, perched on the edge of the balcony, grinning down at him. "Don't jump!" He warned, laughing. "I'll come to rescue you, Juliet!"
Singing as he walked up the stairs, the droopy daisies and the now crumbled doughnut in his hands, Christian floated on air.
"Isn't it romantic?
Soon I will have found some girl that I adore.
Isn't it romantic?" Now the door was open and he grabbed Satine's hands, waltzing her about the room.
"While I sit around, my love can scrub the floor," she responded in song, eyes twinkling.
"She'll kiss me EVERY hour, or she'll get the sack," stated Christian in mock solemnity. "And I mean EVERY hour." He tried to peck Satine on the cheek but she moved away in her own mock offense. "And when I take a bath, she will scrub my back."
"Isn't it romantic?" Satine added, twirling about like a ballerina. "On a moonlit night, he'll cook me onion soup!"
"Onion soup?" Christian made a face.
"Onion soup!" Satine giggled, kissing his nose.
"Kiddies are romantic," Christian proclaimed. "And if we don't fight, we'll soon have a troupe!"
"Four, tops." Stated Satine. "No more than four."
"We'll help the population!" Christian replied laughingly, dipping her dramatically. "It's a duty that we owe to dear old France."
The two moved out to the balcony and stared at the moon. The stars shone just a little less bright than their laughing eyes. "Oh…" Satine paused for emphasis before she concluded the song. "Isn't it…romance?"
THE END