Even from down the lane, the singing could be heard.
Lights poured out from the doors and Charles could feel the pulsing throb of emotions contained within the walls of the Moulin Rouge, a small smile coming to his lips.
"Once we are inside, I will speak to Stryker and arrange your meeting with Erik," Beaubier murmured as they passed through the first gates, sidling in along with the other gentlemen seeking the pleasures of the night.
"But what am I supposed to do?" Charles asked, concern splashing across his face. Now that they were here, he was suddenly very aware of his lack of a plan.
"Perform your poetry. Make him see the beauty of your words. If you can serenade him, he will convince Stryker that you are the voice of the Bohemian Revolution! The financier will be most pleased, Charles. Everyone will know the magic of your lyrics," Jean-Paul sighed, as though the very memory of Charles' singing melted his heart.
By this point they had managed to find themselves on the dance floor. Colors and sounds were blending and blurring with the leftover absinthe effects, before colliding with the thoughts and swells of consciousness that surrounded Charles.
It was dizzying.
Trying to get a grip on what was happening around him, Charles pulled his mind in, straightening his vision and grounding his feet. He was surprised to find a dancer in front of him, spinning around in a rainbow of bright and almost garish color. The music became clearer, and he could pick out the words. Pulsing beats throbbed with his heart, pulling the words out.
He couldn't help but enjoy himself. Making his way towards the table where the rest of his friends had settled, he could feel the edges of his psyche fraying once more, the atmosphere drawing it out like poison from a wound. There were brighter flecks of minds scattered throughout the crowd, and he couldn't help but gasp.
"There are mutants here!" he half asked, half exclaimed. Jean-Paul nodded, and beamed at him over a glass of champagne.
"Of course. The Moulin Rouge is—"
Beaubier was cut off by the booming voice of Stryker himself, the dancers waiting anxiously.
"GENTLEMEN. Welcome to the Moulin Rouge, purveyor of every pleasure and preference!"
The crowd was pulsing once more, the men mingling with the dancers. The Moulin Rouge. Where the rich and powerful cam to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The stark black suits clashed with the luminous colors flashing around the floor, be it dresses or even powers being flung around.
"And now," Stryker murmured, a sudden hush falling over the crowd.
"The Can Can."
The floor cleared instantly. Lines of colorful dancers filled the sudden gap, and the music exploded. Legs flew in the air, and sparks of powers glittered and bedazzled the crowd. Everyone was laughing, and the music was ringing in his ears. He could barely hear what Beaubier was trying to tell him, but he caught the words Erik, tonight, and alone.
Charles' stomach lurched.
By now the Can Can was over, and the last echoes of the music were disappearing. Everyone was quieting down, and Charles could feel the focus of the room beam upwards intently. The hush before was nothing compared to the absolute dead silence now.
The air began to flash, small specks of glitter raining down towards the upturned faces. But they never reached the ground. Now the air was boiling, a sparkling cloud that contorted and flowed above the dance hall.
"The Gilded Prince," Beaubier breathed, and Charles couldn't help but suck in a sharp breath.
He descended through the whirling mass of metal bits, and they coalesced into fluttering cape matched by a shining crown that glimmered as it caught the light. Despite wearing a mask, Charles could make out high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and smoldering green eyes that locked in directly with his.
Gently, carefully, Charles sent out a tendril of thought to try and contact Erik. Something sharp and cold stopped him, and he withdrew quickly, wincing. Beaubier gave him a questioning look, but Charles just waved him off and settled for watching the show.
A woman joined him in the air, suspended by a trapeze and covered in what looked like diamonds. She too locked eyes with Charles, and he realized she was the diamond. Then the cold sharp stabbing thoughts jabbed at him, and he hastily blocked it out. He glared at her, but she had turned away,
Now she and Erik were dancing in midair, his metallic cape swirling around them, and she began to sing.
It went along the lines of girls and diamonds and something, but Charles wasn't listening. He was captivated by the metalbender and his graceful motions through the air. They slowly descended together, and disappeared in the mass of people below. Charles craned his neck to get a look, disappointed at the sudden vanishing of Erik.
Someone else, too, had their attentions directly on Erik, desire and want bleeding through into Charles' psyche. Looking around, he couldn't pinpoint the source, and tried to block it out. But it was strong, and throbbing, increasing in intensity every time Erik came into view.
Finally Charles just had to draw in every strand of thought he had flowing through the crowd for relief, and settled for watching Erik dance and weave his way through the throngs of people. His eyes kept flicking in Charles' direction, and every time he sent a small flutter through Charles' stomach.
Beaubier went to leave, but quickly turned back to borrow Charles' kerchief, waving it haphazardly in his face and blocking his view of the dance floor.
"Pardon me, I need this, excuse moi, terribly sorry," he babbled, now speaking with someone in the booth behind them. Charles could see the dancing pair again, and once more locked eyes with Erik, who was staring at him.
Now he was making his way through the crowds, slowly but surely. Making his way towards Charles. His eyes never left Charles'.
Charles could feel his heart pounding, the sound of rushing blood in his ears drowning out the sound of the woman's singing. She seemed to have picked her plaything for the night, but Erik still had to choose.
He came closer.
And then he was standing right in front of Charles. He bowed ever so slightly, hand extended, his eyes glinting beneath his silver mask.
"Hello," he murmured, a coy smile creeping onto his face.
Charles could only stare breathlessly, unsure of what to do or how to respond. Erik turned to the crowd, everyone becoming antsy and noisy.
"I'm afraid it is gentleman's choice," he apologized, much to the disappointment of the rest of Moulin Rouge's patrons, and he faced Charles once more. Without saying a word, he pulled him to the dance floor, and Charles' heart leaped into his throat.
'We're actually dancing, he's holding me, oh god, he's so warm,' Charles' thoughts babbled in his mind, before he remembered he was here with a job.
"I was h-hoping we could do a p-poetry reading," he said, his voice straining to be heard over the noisy dancers. Erik cocked his head to the side, confused slightly before regaining his usual smirk.
"Oh, of course. I do love a little poetry after dinner."
"Is there somewhere a bit more private we can do it?"
Erik's eyes flashed, and his smirk deepened.
"Of course. Meet me in the elephant after the show."
Suddenly he disappeared into the crowd, leaving Charles stranded. Making his way back to the table, he grinned wildly at Beaubier. Just as he was about to speak the finale began, and they all turned to eagerly watch the spectacle.
Erik and the woman rose into the air, their voices mingling as the music swelled. Just as they reached the peak, Erik shuddered, his metal cape trembling. And then he was falling in a cascade of silver. The crowd gasped, but right before he hit the ground he disappeared into thin air, only a faint puff of red left behind.
"Eyyyyy!" Stryker cheered, clapping frantically. That must have been the finale. Soon everyone else joined in the applause, and the crowd was pumped again.
"I'm afraid you've gone and scared the Queen and her Prince away-" he began, but was interrupted by the sounds of disappointment from the people.
"But I see a lot of lonely dancers out there still!"
The dancing continued once more, and Charles made his way for the exit. He was going to the elephant. He was going to speak his poetry about truth and beauty, and that which he believed in above all else, love.
And they were going to be totally alone.