His lips mouthed the words to a song he'd long ago memorized, not even aware of the voice that flowed forth like liquid honey.
It had taken Zidler some convincing. Christian had begged, pleaded, gone down on his hands and knees - he'd threatened Zidler, himself, the Moulin Rouge, and lastly... Satine's dream. That was what finally won his over, what glazed Zidler's eyes with a glassy layer of tears, which tore him apart from the inside. Satine's dream - was that not what was important here? Was that not what inside their hearts, they all clung to with a raging fire, which they'd fiendishly protect at any cost? Probably. He gave Christian to go out and dance, nothing less, nothing more.
And months had passed. Now he sat 'pon Her trapeeze, high above the hooting men and whorish girls, swinging softly as he sung. Some would have said he was an angel right then, high above it all. He'd always had a slightly feminine look about him, especially after he'd lost weight, after her death. Gaunt cheekbones were highlighted with a soft swipe of blush stolen from the Diamond Dogs, lips plastered with thick red blood, like the liquid that painted Satine's lips after she coughed. Stop that, he told himself, chidingly, cringing as he threw his head back,voice silencing the room. Stop that.
.:.
After the show, he stumbled through the change rooms, ignoring the daggar glares shot from the other girls. The hisses and whispers broke on his ears as he pretended not to hear them, pretended to not see the hateful looks they shot. He'd conditioned himself to think it was because he was more beautiful than such, that he was more famous, that he was more pure. He'd told himself they were dirty, dirty girls. He would do nothing for money.
Which, in the long run, was a good thing, considering the fact he was male, and most patrons were not looking for such.
This mascarade had not only saved the Moulin Rouge, but turned it against it's self, causing a silent war to erupt, spraks to crack as hands brushed and eyes met. He gave a small huff and continued up back to his chamber, her champer, the chamber... he lay on the bed, face down upon the sheets, sobbing into the satin pillow. Makeup ran and stained, fingernails tore vainly at the fabric, muffled sobs broke out through the empty walls, echoing and fading out. He hated himself, he hated the damn Moulin Rouge, he hated the Diamond Dogs... He looked up, lower lip quaking, staring at the picture of her. Satine. It didn't matter it was right beside his bedside, no one came there anyways. He stroked the glass, so frail, so fragile... grasping the picture in his hands, he clutched it tightly to his chest, and fell asleep holding it, still sniffling like a small child, face stained with tears and makeup he'd put to hide his blemishes, hide his broken heart, become her.
| A/N: I don't usually write this... I just want to say I'm sorry that this chapter seems so hokey, it will get better (or so I'm hoping). I wasn't originally planning on doing this, so I put the storyline together the night before. Something IS developing, and more explinations will come with the next chapter. I just wanted to write something before school started, so I could try and hook you guys. ;) Also - please review with constructive critisim, I am so far the largest critic of my work, and would love to hear what someone else thought I could improve on. It's the only way I'll get better.
Ciao! |
It had taken Zidler some convincing. Christian had begged, pleaded, gone down on his hands and knees - he'd threatened Zidler, himself, the Moulin Rouge, and lastly... Satine's dream. That was what finally won his over, what glazed Zidler's eyes with a glassy layer of tears, which tore him apart from the inside. Satine's dream - was that not what was important here? Was that not what inside their hearts, they all clung to with a raging fire, which they'd fiendishly protect at any cost? Probably. He gave Christian to go out and dance, nothing less, nothing more.
And months had passed. Now he sat 'pon Her trapeeze, high above the hooting men and whorish girls, swinging softly as he sung. Some would have said he was an angel right then, high above it all. He'd always had a slightly feminine look about him, especially after he'd lost weight, after her death. Gaunt cheekbones were highlighted with a soft swipe of blush stolen from the Diamond Dogs, lips plastered with thick red blood, like the liquid that painted Satine's lips after she coughed. Stop that, he told himself, chidingly, cringing as he threw his head back,voice silencing the room. Stop that.
.:.
After the show, he stumbled through the change rooms, ignoring the daggar glares shot from the other girls. The hisses and whispers broke on his ears as he pretended not to hear them, pretended to not see the hateful looks they shot. He'd conditioned himself to think it was because he was more beautiful than such, that he was more famous, that he was more pure. He'd told himself they were dirty, dirty girls. He would do nothing for money.
Which, in the long run, was a good thing, considering the fact he was male, and most patrons were not looking for such.
This mascarade had not only saved the Moulin Rouge, but turned it against it's self, causing a silent war to erupt, spraks to crack as hands brushed and eyes met. He gave a small huff and continued up back to his chamber, her champer, the chamber... he lay on the bed, face down upon the sheets, sobbing into the satin pillow. Makeup ran and stained, fingernails tore vainly at the fabric, muffled sobs broke out through the empty walls, echoing and fading out. He hated himself, he hated the damn Moulin Rouge, he hated the Diamond Dogs... He looked up, lower lip quaking, staring at the picture of her. Satine. It didn't matter it was right beside his bedside, no one came there anyways. He stroked the glass, so frail, so fragile... grasping the picture in his hands, he clutched it tightly to his chest, and fell asleep holding it, still sniffling like a small child, face stained with tears and makeup he'd put to hide his blemishes, hide his broken heart, become her.
| A/N: I don't usually write this... I just want to say I'm sorry that this chapter seems so hokey, it will get better (or so I'm hoping). I wasn't originally planning on doing this, so I put the storyline together the night before. Something IS developing, and more explinations will come with the next chapter. I just wanted to write something before school started, so I could try and hook you guys. ;) Also - please review with constructive critisim, I am so far the largest critic of my work, and would love to hear what someone else thought I could improve on. It's the only way I'll get better.
Ciao! |
