Summary: Absinthe-fuelled affairs with imaginary green fairies will always end in tears, as Christian finds out the hard way. Can the tender love of the newly reformed duke save our favourite poet from the horror of that evil beard?
Rating: PG-13 (Parental Guidance for children under 13)
Notes: I am punishing myself (and my readers) by starting a new WIP, but this is far too ridiculous to write all in one go. And, hey, look, it's my first Moulin Rouge fic. Aren't you proud of me? Also, I have tried to make a conscious effort to keep Tolouse's speech as it is in the film. Feel free to laugh condescendingly at my efforts. Also, another note on Tolouse; I noticed there's two ways of spelling his name. I went for the one without the extra u. I'm sure someone will inform me if I'm wrong, but that's just the way I've done it. Sorry...
Warnings: Slash (natch) and *shock, horror* het as well. Although considering the het is between a drunk Christian and the green fairy, don't expect it to be too serious. Big spoiler from the film (although the ending was revealed in the first five minutes of the film anyway, and right at the start of the film's soundtrack so it's not really a big deal.) Also, lots of Christian's beard bashing. That beard is evil! Evil I tells ya!
Archive: All you have to do is ask.
Feedback: *Begs pitifully*
Disclaimer: All the characters from Moulin Rouge belong to the insane genius that is Baz Luhrmann *all hail Baz*, and Bazmark productions. I am in no way affiliated with the characters or the films, nor do I claim to own them. This is a non-profit fanfiction, written purely for entertainment purposes.
Chapter 1
Satine was dead. In fact, she'd be dead for several months now, and during that time, Christian had grown his unspeakably foul beard down to his chest, written, re-written and edited his and Satine's story (Special Edition in shops now, priced 24.99), and debated washing himself. Twice. But nothing could stop his heartache, least of all a small dwarf man dressed this time as a French maid, who conveniently chose the precise moment our story starts to burst through the hole left in Christian's roof, after that unfortunate incident with the Argentinean, in a most Spectacular! Spectacular! fashion.
"Cwistian!" The small dwarf man squealed. Christian looked up bewildered, even though he should have been used to it by now. "Your beard! It's Spetacuwar! You are a twue Bohemian at wast!"
"Thank you, Tolouse, but I'm rather busy," Christian told him importantly. To reiterate his point, he began shuffling bits of paper in a complicated manner. The dwarf did not look convinced.
"I know what's wong." The dwarf said. Christian wanted to reply 'Well, isn't it painfully obvious what's wrong? My one true love is dead, and I now have nothing to live for', but against his better judgement he decided to humour Tolouse.
"Oh? And what would that be?"
"Sex." The dwarf exclaimed decisively. Christian blinked.
"Sex?"
"You need to feel woved once again. To feel woved, you need to succumb to the pweasures of the fwesh."
"Tolouse," Christian looked at the dwarf, alarmed, "are you propositioning me?" He'd always had the impression that Tolouse's interest in him went slightly beyond that of platonic friendship. And, after all, it was a decidedly bohemian way of thinking...
"No!" Tolouse at least had the decency to look embarrassed. "I just meant..." He faltered. "Perwaps you need to get out more."
"Tolouse, you know I'm going to have to ask you to leave now?" Christian said stiffly.
"Cwistian," Tolouse begged him, "This is not healthy. Satine has been dead for months..."
Christian's bottom lip started to tremble. "Satine..."
"Uh-oh." Tolouse took cover under a nearby table, expecting the worst. Even he wasn't prepared, though, for the torrent of tears that began to fell abundantly from the poet's lovely eyes.
"Satine!!!" Christian began wailing pitifully. For extra effect, he began banging his head on the typewriter. Tolouse sighed. They could be here for a long time.
After twenty very long minutes (which, admittedly, was an improvement on his last outburst, which had lasted a full fifty), Christian's wailing had now been reduced to a light grizzling, and Tolouse decided it was safe to come out.
"On second thought, perwaps you're not ready for a wewationship. I have just the thing for you."
"A voodoo witch doctor?" Christian sniffed. Tolouse stared at him, puzzled.
"Whatever for?"
"Never mind." Christian shook his head. "Just wistful thinking."
"Well, no... something better than that." Tolouse grinned wickedly as he brought a suspicious green bottle out from underneath his robe. Quite how he had disguised the bump was anyone's guess. "Absinthe!"
Christian was bemused. Was Tolouse's intention to get him plastered and lure him into one of those depraved (but, admittedly quite fun) bohemian orgies that nearly always ended with Nini-legs-in-the-air's legs, not quite so much in the air, but as in the kind of position that Christian wouldn't have thought possible for anyone with more than six bones in their body?
"Tolouse, are you trying to get me drunk?"
"Well, yes, I guess I am..."
"Great!" Christian cheered up immediately.
"You mean you want to?"
"Tolouse, I'm depressed. Of course I want to drink. That's what depressed people do, isn't it?"
Not for the first time, Tolouse wondered if Christian's depression was not so much rooted in a deep heartache for his deceased love, but more in the fact that being depressed allowed him to be both tortured and self-obsessed; ideal qualities for a struggling poet. He didn't ponder too much on it, though, because the thought of getting Christian drunk (and invariably naked) was far more appealing.
"Yes, that is defwently what they do." Tolouse nodded profusely. "Dwunk and naked."
Christian looked at him oddly, but didn't pursue the comment. "Right, well, I better get some of this down me, then." He exclaimed. He grabbed the bottle off the dwarf and unscrewed the top. When he noticed that Tolouse was watching him intently, he cleared his throat. Tolouse looked over his shoulder, confused. "It's just... I'd prefer to get drunk alone. You know, so I can be even more depressed."
"Oh." Tolouse frowned. "But I thought..."
"Yes?"
"Oh, nothing." Tolouse sighed. "I'll just be going, then."
"Thanks, Tolouse." Christian smiled endearingly at him.
"Wight, I'll be weaving, then..."
"I appreciate it."
"Here I go, walking out the door..."
"Close it on your way out, please."
"I'll be upstairs, if you need me..."
"Bye, Tolouse."
"Good bye, Cwistian." Finally, he was gone, but Christian got the distinct impression, judging from the plaster strips that had suspiciously begun to fall, that the dwarf was still outside, banging his head painfully against the wall.
"Oh well." Christian shrugged. He was depressed, which meant he didn't have to concern himself with his friend's well being. Actually, thinking about it, there was a surprising amount of perks to being depressed. And, as he stared at the green bottle, he realised that drinking copious amounts of Absinthe, with nobody disapproving, but rather thinking 'Poor boy, it's only natural that he'll drink to forget' was one of them. And with that last happy thought, he began to get drunk.
Rating: PG-13 (Parental Guidance for children under 13)
Notes: I am punishing myself (and my readers) by starting a new WIP, but this is far too ridiculous to write all in one go. And, hey, look, it's my first Moulin Rouge fic. Aren't you proud of me? Also, I have tried to make a conscious effort to keep Tolouse's speech as it is in the film. Feel free to laugh condescendingly at my efforts. Also, another note on Tolouse; I noticed there's two ways of spelling his name. I went for the one without the extra u. I'm sure someone will inform me if I'm wrong, but that's just the way I've done it. Sorry...
Warnings: Slash (natch) and *shock, horror* het as well. Although considering the het is between a drunk Christian and the green fairy, don't expect it to be too serious. Big spoiler from the film (although the ending was revealed in the first five minutes of the film anyway, and right at the start of the film's soundtrack so it's not really a big deal.) Also, lots of Christian's beard bashing. That beard is evil! Evil I tells ya!
Archive: All you have to do is ask.
Feedback: *Begs pitifully*
Disclaimer: All the characters from Moulin Rouge belong to the insane genius that is Baz Luhrmann *all hail Baz*, and Bazmark productions. I am in no way affiliated with the characters or the films, nor do I claim to own them. This is a non-profit fanfiction, written purely for entertainment purposes.
Chapter 1
Satine was dead. In fact, she'd be dead for several months now, and during that time, Christian had grown his unspeakably foul beard down to his chest, written, re-written and edited his and Satine's story (Special Edition in shops now, priced 24.99), and debated washing himself. Twice. But nothing could stop his heartache, least of all a small dwarf man dressed this time as a French maid, who conveniently chose the precise moment our story starts to burst through the hole left in Christian's roof, after that unfortunate incident with the Argentinean, in a most Spectacular! Spectacular! fashion.
"Cwistian!" The small dwarf man squealed. Christian looked up bewildered, even though he should have been used to it by now. "Your beard! It's Spetacuwar! You are a twue Bohemian at wast!"
"Thank you, Tolouse, but I'm rather busy," Christian told him importantly. To reiterate his point, he began shuffling bits of paper in a complicated manner. The dwarf did not look convinced.
"I know what's wong." The dwarf said. Christian wanted to reply 'Well, isn't it painfully obvious what's wrong? My one true love is dead, and I now have nothing to live for', but against his better judgement he decided to humour Tolouse.
"Oh? And what would that be?"
"Sex." The dwarf exclaimed decisively. Christian blinked.
"Sex?"
"You need to feel woved once again. To feel woved, you need to succumb to the pweasures of the fwesh."
"Tolouse," Christian looked at the dwarf, alarmed, "are you propositioning me?" He'd always had the impression that Tolouse's interest in him went slightly beyond that of platonic friendship. And, after all, it was a decidedly bohemian way of thinking...
"No!" Tolouse at least had the decency to look embarrassed. "I just meant..." He faltered. "Perwaps you need to get out more."
"Tolouse, you know I'm going to have to ask you to leave now?" Christian said stiffly.
"Cwistian," Tolouse begged him, "This is not healthy. Satine has been dead for months..."
Christian's bottom lip started to tremble. "Satine..."
"Uh-oh." Tolouse took cover under a nearby table, expecting the worst. Even he wasn't prepared, though, for the torrent of tears that began to fell abundantly from the poet's lovely eyes.
"Satine!!!" Christian began wailing pitifully. For extra effect, he began banging his head on the typewriter. Tolouse sighed. They could be here for a long time.
After twenty very long minutes (which, admittedly, was an improvement on his last outburst, which had lasted a full fifty), Christian's wailing had now been reduced to a light grizzling, and Tolouse decided it was safe to come out.
"On second thought, perwaps you're not ready for a wewationship. I have just the thing for you."
"A voodoo witch doctor?" Christian sniffed. Tolouse stared at him, puzzled.
"Whatever for?"
"Never mind." Christian shook his head. "Just wistful thinking."
"Well, no... something better than that." Tolouse grinned wickedly as he brought a suspicious green bottle out from underneath his robe. Quite how he had disguised the bump was anyone's guess. "Absinthe!"
Christian was bemused. Was Tolouse's intention to get him plastered and lure him into one of those depraved (but, admittedly quite fun) bohemian orgies that nearly always ended with Nini-legs-in-the-air's legs, not quite so much in the air, but as in the kind of position that Christian wouldn't have thought possible for anyone with more than six bones in their body?
"Tolouse, are you trying to get me drunk?"
"Well, yes, I guess I am..."
"Great!" Christian cheered up immediately.
"You mean you want to?"
"Tolouse, I'm depressed. Of course I want to drink. That's what depressed people do, isn't it?"
Not for the first time, Tolouse wondered if Christian's depression was not so much rooted in a deep heartache for his deceased love, but more in the fact that being depressed allowed him to be both tortured and self-obsessed; ideal qualities for a struggling poet. He didn't ponder too much on it, though, because the thought of getting Christian drunk (and invariably naked) was far more appealing.
"Yes, that is defwently what they do." Tolouse nodded profusely. "Dwunk and naked."
Christian looked at him oddly, but didn't pursue the comment. "Right, well, I better get some of this down me, then." He exclaimed. He grabbed the bottle off the dwarf and unscrewed the top. When he noticed that Tolouse was watching him intently, he cleared his throat. Tolouse looked over his shoulder, confused. "It's just... I'd prefer to get drunk alone. You know, so I can be even more depressed."
"Oh." Tolouse frowned. "But I thought..."
"Yes?"
"Oh, nothing." Tolouse sighed. "I'll just be going, then."
"Thanks, Tolouse." Christian smiled endearingly at him.
"Wight, I'll be weaving, then..."
"I appreciate it."
"Here I go, walking out the door..."
"Close it on your way out, please."
"I'll be upstairs, if you need me..."
"Bye, Tolouse."
"Good bye, Cwistian." Finally, he was gone, but Christian got the distinct impression, judging from the plaster strips that had suspiciously begun to fall, that the dwarf was still outside, banging his head painfully against the wall.
"Oh well." Christian shrugged. He was depressed, which meant he didn't have to concern himself with his friend's well being. Actually, thinking about it, there was a surprising amount of perks to being depressed. And, as he stared at the green bottle, he realised that drinking copious amounts of Absinthe, with nobody disapproving, but rather thinking 'Poor boy, it's only natural that he'll drink to forget' was one of them. And with that last happy thought, he began to get drunk.