I am so sorry I haven't updated my other stories. But I just can't think of what to write! Sorry! And since I've been wanting a Moulin Rouge/Twilight cross over (cause none of the ones I like are finished) I'm writing my own... so here it goes! p.s. Goes by the actual script for Moulin Rouge!!!!! one more quick note... Edward is a vampire and Bella was changed after she died. But not by Edward... So he doesn't know that she's a vampire... HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!!!!!
Toulouse:
There was a boy,
A very strange enchanted boy.
They say he wondered very far,
very far...
Over land and sea.
A little shy...
...and sad of eye...
...But very wise was he...
…And then one day...
One magic day,
he passed my way...
...While we spoke of many things...
...Fools and kings...
… This he said to me:
'The greatest thing you'll ever learn
Is just to love and be loved in return'
Edward POV
The Moulin Rouge…a nightclub, a dance hall and a bordello. . .
ruled over by Harold Zidler. A kingdom of night-time pleasures where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld.
The most beautiful of all these was the woman I loved. Bella. A courtesan, she sold her love to men. They called her "the sparkling diamond", and she was the star of the Moulin Rouge. The woman I loved is dead.
I first came to Paris one year ago. It was 1899, the summer of love. I knew nothing of the Moulin Rouge, Harold Zidler, or Bella. The world had been swept up in a bohemian revolution, and I had traveled fro London to be part of it. On a hill near Paris was the village of Montmartre. It was not, as my father had said – A village of sin! - … but the center of the Bohemian world... with musicians, painters, and writers. They were known as the "children of the revolution". Yes, I had come to live a penniless existence. I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom... and that which I believed in above all things, love. - Always this ridiculous obsession with love! - There was just one problem. I had never been in love. Luckily, right at that moment an unconscious Argentinean fell through my roof. He was quickly joined my a dwarf dressed as a nun.
"How do you do? My name is Henri Marie Raymond Toulouse-Lautrec Mongfire." Toulouse had said. Carrying out his last name.
"What?" I said.
"I'm terribly sorry about all this. We're just upstairs rehearsing a play." He replied.
"What?" I asked, even more confused.
A play, something very modern called "Spectacular Spectacular".
"And it's set in Switzerland!" Toulouse said.
Unfortunately, the unconscious Argentinean suffered from a sickness called Narcolepsy.
"Perfectly fine one moment, then suddenly unconscious the nest." Toulouse said, making a sleeping noise, with his hands tucked under his head.
"How is he?" said the bald man wearing a top hat with a rumpled, old suit.
"Wonderful. Now the narcoleptic Argentinean is now unconscious, and therefore the scenario will not be finished in time to present to the financier tomorrow." said one of the other men, looking like a drag queen.
"He's right Toulouse. I still have to finish the music." Replied the bald man.
"We'll just find someone th read the part." Toulouse replied.
"Oh, where in heaven's name are we going to find someone to read the role of a young sensitive Swiss poet/goat herder?" the drag queen said.
They all looked at me!
Before I knew it, I was upstairs standing in for the unconscious Argentinean.
"The hills animate with euphonious symphonies of descant!" Toulouse sang.
"Oh stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!" The drag queen said. "Stop that insufferable droning! It's drowning out my words! Can we please just stick to a little decorative piano?"
There seemed to be artistic differences over Audrey's lyrics to Satie's song.
"I don't think a nun would say that about a hill." The argentineans doctor said.
"What if he sings 'the hills are vital, intoning the descant'?" Satie said.
"No, no. The hills quake and shake..." Toulouse said.
Suddenly the Argentinean stood up. "The hills are incarnate with symphonic melodies!"
We all looked at the Argentinean, as he fell back on the bed, unconscious again.
"No." The doctor replied.
"The hills..." I tried to say, but everyone kept interupting.
"No. The hills..." Toulouse said.
"The hills..." I said again, while waving my hands.
"The hills..." Toulouse said.
"The hills are chanting the eternal mantra..." The doctor said.
"The hills are alive..." I said a little louder, continuing to wave my hands in the air.
"Frank is living in my foot!" The bald man, named Satie, said.
Since nobody else was listening to me, I thought of another way to get their attention.
The hills are alive with the sound of music!
Everyone stopped arguing and stared at me. Then the Argentinean leaped up.
"'The hills are alive with the sound of music'! I love it!"
"The hills..." The doctor said.
"... are alive..." Toulouse said.
"... with the sound of music... it fits perfectly!" Satie said.
Encouraged, I continued.
With songs they have sung for a thousand years.
I felt the hopeful look on my face. They all gasped.
"Incandiferous! Audrey, you two should write the show together!" Toulouse said.
But Toulouse's suggestion that Audrey and I write the show together was not what Audrey wanted to hear.
"Goodbye!!!" Audrey left, slamming the door!
"Here's to your first job in Paris!" Toulouse said, raising a glass of absinthe to me, still standing on a ladder.
"Toulouse, Zidler will never agree" Satie said, turning to me. "No offense, but have you ever written anything like this before?"
"No." I replied nervously.
"Ah, the boy has talent!" the Argentinean said, resting his hand on my crotch. " I like him!" he said, removing his hand.
"Nothing funny, I just like talent." He said.
Toulouse turned to Satie trying to convince him to let me write the show. I listened in. "'The hills are alive with the sound of music'-see Satie, with Edward we can write the truly bohemian revolutionary show that we've always dreamt of!" Toulouse finished.
"But how will we convince Zidler?" Satie said.
But Toulouse had a plan.
"Bella..." Toulouse whispered, while continuing to whisper his plan to everybody else, while I was trying to listen in.
They would dress me in the Argentineans best suit, and pass me off as a famous writer. Once Bella heard my modern poetry, she would be astounded, and insist to Zidler that I write "Spectacular Spectacular". The only problem was, I kept hearing my father's voice in my head: You'll end up wasting your life at the Moulin Rouge with a can-can dancer!
"No, I can't write the show for the Moulin Rouge!" I said