Not Just Another Love Song
Disclaimer: Do I really need to say it?
Author's Note: I've been wanting to write a Nini/NA (or Lolo as Rita named him) fic for a loooong time, but never had an idea. Well, I still don't, but here goes anyway. Dedicated to ze loverly Bohemian Storm, my fellow worshipper of Shirtless Argentineans.
* * *
Chapter One: Beauty
She had never been the beauty of the stage, even before Satine had come. She was never the first one the men's eyes went to. She was, perhaps, the second one they lusted after, but never the first. She was always second fiddle to the star of the stage- the real beauty, no matter how well she danced or flirted or sauntered. She was never the one who men whispered to about her great beauty, about how she was the most beautiful creature they had seen. The only one who had told her that she was beautiful was her mother.
That was, until she met Him. He had changed everything, offered to give her the world, but she had denied herself that privilege. After all, the one rule of the Moulin was to Never. Fall. In. Love. And she was determined to keep that role, to keep her life, to keep her status, even if it was as playing second fiddle to Satine. It was better than living on the streets. Love didn't pay the rent, after all. Diamonds did.
The words Satine sang each night were true. Diamonds were a girl's best friend. They remained even after worldly charms faded away with dreaded age. She wanted to stay young forever, to keep what beauty she possessed.
She wasn't ugly by any means. Men paid good money to spend a night with her- to caress her soft curves, entwine their hands in her dark hair, and kiss her crimson lips. But she never felt truly beautiful until Him.
With Him, she was the first one his eyes rested on, the first thought on his mind when it fantasized, the first one he sought out on the dance floor. With him, she was finally Beautiful. And to think, she tried to throw that away, just because he didn't have money to buy her expensive jewels.
She was a jaded witch, you didn't have to tell her. She knew it. She saw it in the mirror like she saw her tainted past in her dreams. Just by looking into her own brown eyes she saw her darkness, her hatred, saw them as clearly as if her past sins were painted across her face like the rouge she wore each night.
No one saw her pain, not like she could. She was labeled as a common whore, albeit a well-paid one. She was tarnished, used, unwanted for more than one night. She was, like the others, a creature of the underworld. Anymore, she didn't argue with the generalized classification. If the shoe fit, wear it, right? And the shoe fit her perfectly. She was a whore- a whore who had lost her soul along with her virginity, a thousand times over.
She had grown accustomed to the fact that she would never have love. In fact, she had laughed at the very idea of love. It didn't exist in her world of lust and money and whirling can-can skirts. But He had changed all of that, swept in from above and turned her world upside down, frightening the hell out of her but thrilling her, all at the same time.
She would never forget the first time he walked through the doors of the Moulin. There was something about him that instantly drew her attention. It wasn't just that his bronzed skin set him apart from the rest of the pasty-faced old men in the crowd, or that the flash of red on his bandanna caught her eye amidst the black-and-white tuxes usually worn to the Moulin. It was something else, something she still didn't understand.
But whatever it was, it made her miss a step in the dance they were performing and fall drastically behind. Soon all eyes, including the handsome newcomer's, were on her. Thinking quickly, she did half a cartwheel, ending up on her hands with her legs straight up and began walking around on her hands, much to the pleasure of the audience.
"Look!" she heard someone cry out. "Her legs are in the air! Nini Legs-in-the-Air!" The name began to circulate around the room, along with appreciative laughs.
Her cackling laugh bubbled from her lips as she righted herself and caught up with the rest of the dancers. Arabia glared at her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Makin' myself famous, doll. I just got a nickname. Whadda you got?"
The black girl glanced over at where Harold Zidler stood on the bandstand. He did not look happy. "Well, I don't got Harold mad at me, that's for sure."
Nini ignored the comment, whirling with the steps, her skirts whipping around her long legs. Between spins, she managed to catch another glimpse of him. He was now seated in a booth with that shrunken gnome Toulouse, of all people. Gods, he was devilishly handsome, she thought as she high-kicked. He caught her eye and a smile crept over his bearded face.
She didn't have time to smile back before the music changed and the crowd of men rushed out onto the dance floor to claim their partners. She was too busy trying to avoid being hooked by one of the old geezers to notice that the stranger had left his table. When she looked again, he was gone.
A few minutes later, she paused on the outskirts of the dance floor to catch her breath. Her chest was heaving within the confines of her tight corset from her exertion. "Damn these costumes," she muttered.
An answer to her complaint caught her off-guard. "I personally find them quite alluring." The words were thickly coated with a lusty Spanish accent and rolled though the air like silk. She turned to find herself face-to-face with the handsome stranger she had seen earlier. His dark eyes were like melted chocolate, piecing her defenses and seeing beneath the layers of makeup, almost to her rotted soul. His lightly callused fingers touched her alabaster skin, caressing her in a way that almost caused her to shiver. His touch was like electricity.
"Oui?" she purred, switching into her seductive mode and working to not let her desires get the best of her.
"Si, mi hermosa."
She cocked her head to the side, listening to the strange words. "What does that mean?"
A tantalizing smile lit up his face. "I said, 'yes, my beauty.'" He turned away, and for a moment she thought that he was leaving to find a dance partner, but he glanced back over his shoulder as the smile stretched further. He offered his hand. "Shall we dance?"
She accepted, placing her pale hand within his tanned one. His fingers enveloped her tiny ones as he led her out on the floor. Music and dancers swirled around them, but she could only think of one thing.
He had called her Beauty.
END CHAPTER ONE
Disclaimer: Do I really need to say it?
Author's Note: I've been wanting to write a Nini/NA (or Lolo as Rita named him) fic for a loooong time, but never had an idea. Well, I still don't, but here goes anyway. Dedicated to ze loverly Bohemian Storm, my fellow worshipper of Shirtless Argentineans.
* * *
Chapter One: Beauty
She had never been the beauty of the stage, even before Satine had come. She was never the first one the men's eyes went to. She was, perhaps, the second one they lusted after, but never the first. She was always second fiddle to the star of the stage- the real beauty, no matter how well she danced or flirted or sauntered. She was never the one who men whispered to about her great beauty, about how she was the most beautiful creature they had seen. The only one who had told her that she was beautiful was her mother.
That was, until she met Him. He had changed everything, offered to give her the world, but she had denied herself that privilege. After all, the one rule of the Moulin was to Never. Fall. In. Love. And she was determined to keep that role, to keep her life, to keep her status, even if it was as playing second fiddle to Satine. It was better than living on the streets. Love didn't pay the rent, after all. Diamonds did.
The words Satine sang each night were true. Diamonds were a girl's best friend. They remained even after worldly charms faded away with dreaded age. She wanted to stay young forever, to keep what beauty she possessed.
She wasn't ugly by any means. Men paid good money to spend a night with her- to caress her soft curves, entwine their hands in her dark hair, and kiss her crimson lips. But she never felt truly beautiful until Him.
With Him, she was the first one his eyes rested on, the first thought on his mind when it fantasized, the first one he sought out on the dance floor. With him, she was finally Beautiful. And to think, she tried to throw that away, just because he didn't have money to buy her expensive jewels.
She was a jaded witch, you didn't have to tell her. She knew it. She saw it in the mirror like she saw her tainted past in her dreams. Just by looking into her own brown eyes she saw her darkness, her hatred, saw them as clearly as if her past sins were painted across her face like the rouge she wore each night.
No one saw her pain, not like she could. She was labeled as a common whore, albeit a well-paid one. She was tarnished, used, unwanted for more than one night. She was, like the others, a creature of the underworld. Anymore, she didn't argue with the generalized classification. If the shoe fit, wear it, right? And the shoe fit her perfectly. She was a whore- a whore who had lost her soul along with her virginity, a thousand times over.
She had grown accustomed to the fact that she would never have love. In fact, she had laughed at the very idea of love. It didn't exist in her world of lust and money and whirling can-can skirts. But He had changed all of that, swept in from above and turned her world upside down, frightening the hell out of her but thrilling her, all at the same time.
She would never forget the first time he walked through the doors of the Moulin. There was something about him that instantly drew her attention. It wasn't just that his bronzed skin set him apart from the rest of the pasty-faced old men in the crowd, or that the flash of red on his bandanna caught her eye amidst the black-and-white tuxes usually worn to the Moulin. It was something else, something she still didn't understand.
But whatever it was, it made her miss a step in the dance they were performing and fall drastically behind. Soon all eyes, including the handsome newcomer's, were on her. Thinking quickly, she did half a cartwheel, ending up on her hands with her legs straight up and began walking around on her hands, much to the pleasure of the audience.
"Look!" she heard someone cry out. "Her legs are in the air! Nini Legs-in-the-Air!" The name began to circulate around the room, along with appreciative laughs.
Her cackling laugh bubbled from her lips as she righted herself and caught up with the rest of the dancers. Arabia glared at her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Makin' myself famous, doll. I just got a nickname. Whadda you got?"
The black girl glanced over at where Harold Zidler stood on the bandstand. He did not look happy. "Well, I don't got Harold mad at me, that's for sure."
Nini ignored the comment, whirling with the steps, her skirts whipping around her long legs. Between spins, she managed to catch another glimpse of him. He was now seated in a booth with that shrunken gnome Toulouse, of all people. Gods, he was devilishly handsome, she thought as she high-kicked. He caught her eye and a smile crept over his bearded face.
She didn't have time to smile back before the music changed and the crowd of men rushed out onto the dance floor to claim their partners. She was too busy trying to avoid being hooked by one of the old geezers to notice that the stranger had left his table. When she looked again, he was gone.
A few minutes later, she paused on the outskirts of the dance floor to catch her breath. Her chest was heaving within the confines of her tight corset from her exertion. "Damn these costumes," she muttered.
An answer to her complaint caught her off-guard. "I personally find them quite alluring." The words were thickly coated with a lusty Spanish accent and rolled though the air like silk. She turned to find herself face-to-face with the handsome stranger she had seen earlier. His dark eyes were like melted chocolate, piecing her defenses and seeing beneath the layers of makeup, almost to her rotted soul. His lightly callused fingers touched her alabaster skin, caressing her in a way that almost caused her to shiver. His touch was like electricity.
"Oui?" she purred, switching into her seductive mode and working to not let her desires get the best of her.
"Si, mi hermosa."
She cocked her head to the side, listening to the strange words. "What does that mean?"
A tantalizing smile lit up his face. "I said, 'yes, my beauty.'" He turned away, and for a moment she thought that he was leaving to find a dance partner, but he glanced back over his shoulder as the smile stretched further. He offered his hand. "Shall we dance?"
She accepted, placing her pale hand within his tanned one. His fingers enveloped her tiny ones as he led her out on the floor. Music and dancers swirled around them, but she could only think of one thing.
He had called her Beauty.
END CHAPTER ONE