Christian sat, fingers poised over his typewriter. He flashed one quick,
warm look over at the sleeping Satine, and smiled. CHINK Christian
started with surprise as his finger tapped the typewriter. H. Christian
grinned, and soon his fingers were flying, flying over the keys, like
nothing had changed in two years.
PART TWO
How Wonderful Life was now that Satine was back in the world.
Christian smiled triumphantly. Tucking his hands behind his head in satisfaction, he leaned back, tipping his chair. The chair toppled back, Christian splaying out on the floor within a whirlwind of loose papers. Satine shot up, and caught a sight of Christian making a mad scramble for papers, some which successfully drifted out the window. Christian's face was a mixture of dejection and sheepishness. Covering her mouth, Satine stifled a laugh, failed, and burst out into peals of laughter. Christian whirled and shot her a mock glare.
"You think that's funny?" Christian growled. Satine nodded and grinned. "I'll show you funny, Mademoiselle Satine," Christian announced, pinning her arms above her head.
"You wouldn't dare!" Satine gasped, shooting Christian a horrified look. Christian just smiled. "Christian…" she warned, struggling against his grasp. Christian laughed and teasingly waved his index finger at her…closer…closer. "Christian, no!" Satine shrieked, as Christian let out a full-length tickle under her arms. Screeching with laughter, Satine fought, her foot connecting with his chest, sending him flying backwards, where he hit a table and lay still. "No.." Satine moaned, gathering her nightgown around her, and hustling over to him. "Christian?" she shook his shoulder slightly. No response. "Not funny, Christian," she said worriedly. Sighing she walked off. Picking up the typewriter, she examined it. "Hmm. Could be enough for a new wardrobe," she commented lightly. Sneaking a peek toward Christian, she saw that he was gone.
"If there is one thing someone does not do to a writer," a voice boomed, strong arms picking the machine lightly out of Satine's hands. "They do not toy with his typewriter." Christian grinned. "A writer, and an actor. How much better off can you get?" Setting the typewriter down carefully, he swept Satine into his arms and leaned down.
"Christian! Mail!" Toulouse yelled, dropping a package down the hole. Christian and Satine groaned.
"OK, Christian," Satine said firmly. "Me," she struck a seductive pose. "Or that sack of brown wrapping over there." Christian licked his lips nervously, and chewed his lip. Finally, he smiled and walked toward Satine, who held out her arms. "Never a doubt," she said, smiling. Just as Christian was about to walk into her arms, he dove sideways and grasped the package. "Christian!"
"Sorry, Satine," Christian said. "I can have you when I want," this brought a pout and a scowl to Satine's face. He grinned boyishly. "But I never get mail!" Eagerly tearing the wrapping, his eyes bulged. "Oh..God…" Satine strode over curiously.
"What is it?" Christian jumped up.
"N-Nothing! Just…uh…magazine for men."
"Christian! You don't get any magazines for men!"
"How do you know?" Christian retorted quickly. Satine was advancing on him, and fast.
"C'mon, Christian!" Satine exclaimed. Christian shook his head quickly. Satine dove toward him. Christian side-stepped, sending Satine tumbling.
"Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth," Christian chanted, grinning. Satine lurched to her feet, bolted towards him, and…collapsed. Christian gasped. "No…not again!" he raced to her crumpled form. "Satine, Satine! Satine!" he shook her gently, fear and worry creasing his face. He turned to yell for Toulouse, when Satine's eyes snapped open and she grabbed the object from Christian's hold. Her eyes sparkled, but faded as Christian stared down at her, then he turned and raced up to Toulouse's apartment.
"Christian?" Toulouse stared in shock at his ashen-faced friend. He was confused. One moment he heard Christian and Satine yelling with laughter, now Christian was up here alone, eyes downcast, lips pressed in a firm line. Christian looked up finally, face etched with hurt.
"I can't trust her, Toulouse," Christian said dully. "We know what an incredible actress she is….i can't tell if she's for real, or if she's faking." Toulouse frowned, and gestured for Christian to take a seat.
"Elaborate, my friend," Toulouse said slowly. "Give an example." Christian hesitated.
"Well, first she faked being dead, and I've lived out 2 of my years in misery," Christian began. Toulouse nodded understandingly. "Just now, I wouldn't show her what I got in the mail, and we were running, laughing, then she collapsed." Toulouse's eyebrows shot up, but he nodded for his friend to keep going. "Naturally, I got worried. I was about to call for you, when she snatched it out of my hand, eyes positively gleaming with triumph." Christian sighed wistfully, and Toulouse sat stunned. "Toulouse, can I count on my fingers how many times this has happened?"
"Well…"
"Faking death, faking collapse, faking not loving me…." Christian tipped off each thing on his fingers. "Are we a lie, Toulouse?"
"You must not think that way, Christian!" Toulouse said seriously. This was not going well! Meanwhile, Satine stared at the place where Christian once stood. Miserably, she turned the package over in her hands, brushing a velvet covering. Satine paused, and examined the cover. Freedom, Beauty, Truth, Love written by Christian James. Satine's hand fluttered to her mouth, and her eyes widened. He did it…for her…for them. She stood, and stuffed the book under the pillow, just as Christian appeared in the doorway.
One look at Satine's stunned face, and Christian knew. "Surprise," he mumbled quietly. Satine walked over to him, cautious. "Say nothing, Satine. Curiosity got the better of you, as it would with anyone."
"But Christian…" Satine began, before she realized he wasn't listening. Then he walked back out. Satine sighed, and sang softly.
I'm sorry for everything I've said
And for anything I forgot to say too
When things get so complicated
I stumble at best, muddle through
I wish that our lives could be simple
I don't want the world, only you
Oh I wish I could tell you this face to face
But there's never the time, never the place
So this song* will have to do
I Love You
{{Author's Note(s)::: Sorry so short, will get better. What Satine sings is called Radames' Letter from Aida, and song* is a substitute for "letter". Kapish?}}
PART TWO
How Wonderful Life was now that Satine was back in the world.
Christian smiled triumphantly. Tucking his hands behind his head in satisfaction, he leaned back, tipping his chair. The chair toppled back, Christian splaying out on the floor within a whirlwind of loose papers. Satine shot up, and caught a sight of Christian making a mad scramble for papers, some which successfully drifted out the window. Christian's face was a mixture of dejection and sheepishness. Covering her mouth, Satine stifled a laugh, failed, and burst out into peals of laughter. Christian whirled and shot her a mock glare.
"You think that's funny?" Christian growled. Satine nodded and grinned. "I'll show you funny, Mademoiselle Satine," Christian announced, pinning her arms above her head.
"You wouldn't dare!" Satine gasped, shooting Christian a horrified look. Christian just smiled. "Christian…" she warned, struggling against his grasp. Christian laughed and teasingly waved his index finger at her…closer…closer. "Christian, no!" Satine shrieked, as Christian let out a full-length tickle under her arms. Screeching with laughter, Satine fought, her foot connecting with his chest, sending him flying backwards, where he hit a table and lay still. "No.." Satine moaned, gathering her nightgown around her, and hustling over to him. "Christian?" she shook his shoulder slightly. No response. "Not funny, Christian," she said worriedly. Sighing she walked off. Picking up the typewriter, she examined it. "Hmm. Could be enough for a new wardrobe," she commented lightly. Sneaking a peek toward Christian, she saw that he was gone.
"If there is one thing someone does not do to a writer," a voice boomed, strong arms picking the machine lightly out of Satine's hands. "They do not toy with his typewriter." Christian grinned. "A writer, and an actor. How much better off can you get?" Setting the typewriter down carefully, he swept Satine into his arms and leaned down.
"Christian! Mail!" Toulouse yelled, dropping a package down the hole. Christian and Satine groaned.
"OK, Christian," Satine said firmly. "Me," she struck a seductive pose. "Or that sack of brown wrapping over there." Christian licked his lips nervously, and chewed his lip. Finally, he smiled and walked toward Satine, who held out her arms. "Never a doubt," she said, smiling. Just as Christian was about to walk into her arms, he dove sideways and grasped the package. "Christian!"
"Sorry, Satine," Christian said. "I can have you when I want," this brought a pout and a scowl to Satine's face. He grinned boyishly. "But I never get mail!" Eagerly tearing the wrapping, his eyes bulged. "Oh..God…" Satine strode over curiously.
"What is it?" Christian jumped up.
"N-Nothing! Just…uh…magazine for men."
"Christian! You don't get any magazines for men!"
"How do you know?" Christian retorted quickly. Satine was advancing on him, and fast.
"C'mon, Christian!" Satine exclaimed. Christian shook his head quickly. Satine dove toward him. Christian side-stepped, sending Satine tumbling.
"Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth," Christian chanted, grinning. Satine lurched to her feet, bolted towards him, and…collapsed. Christian gasped. "No…not again!" he raced to her crumpled form. "Satine, Satine! Satine!" he shook her gently, fear and worry creasing his face. He turned to yell for Toulouse, when Satine's eyes snapped open and she grabbed the object from Christian's hold. Her eyes sparkled, but faded as Christian stared down at her, then he turned and raced up to Toulouse's apartment.
"Christian?" Toulouse stared in shock at his ashen-faced friend. He was confused. One moment he heard Christian and Satine yelling with laughter, now Christian was up here alone, eyes downcast, lips pressed in a firm line. Christian looked up finally, face etched with hurt.
"I can't trust her, Toulouse," Christian said dully. "We know what an incredible actress she is….i can't tell if she's for real, or if she's faking." Toulouse frowned, and gestured for Christian to take a seat.
"Elaborate, my friend," Toulouse said slowly. "Give an example." Christian hesitated.
"Well, first she faked being dead, and I've lived out 2 of my years in misery," Christian began. Toulouse nodded understandingly. "Just now, I wouldn't show her what I got in the mail, and we were running, laughing, then she collapsed." Toulouse's eyebrows shot up, but he nodded for his friend to keep going. "Naturally, I got worried. I was about to call for you, when she snatched it out of my hand, eyes positively gleaming with triumph." Christian sighed wistfully, and Toulouse sat stunned. "Toulouse, can I count on my fingers how many times this has happened?"
"Well…"
"Faking death, faking collapse, faking not loving me…." Christian tipped off each thing on his fingers. "Are we a lie, Toulouse?"
"You must not think that way, Christian!" Toulouse said seriously. This was not going well! Meanwhile, Satine stared at the place where Christian once stood. Miserably, she turned the package over in her hands, brushing a velvet covering. Satine paused, and examined the cover. Freedom, Beauty, Truth, Love written by Christian James. Satine's hand fluttered to her mouth, and her eyes widened. He did it…for her…for them. She stood, and stuffed the book under the pillow, just as Christian appeared in the doorway.
One look at Satine's stunned face, and Christian knew. "Surprise," he mumbled quietly. Satine walked over to him, cautious. "Say nothing, Satine. Curiosity got the better of you, as it would with anyone."
"But Christian…" Satine began, before she realized he wasn't listening. Then he walked back out. Satine sighed, and sang softly.
I'm sorry for everything I've said
And for anything I forgot to say too
When things get so complicated
I stumble at best, muddle through
I wish that our lives could be simple
I don't want the world, only you
Oh I wish I could tell you this face to face
But there's never the time, never the place
So this song* will have to do
I Love You
{{Author's Note(s)::: Sorry so short, will get better. What Satine sings is called Radames' Letter from Aida, and song* is a substitute for "letter". Kapish?}}