Title: If you think of anything, please let me know 'cause I'm kinda bad at this titling thing
Feedback: Five paragraphs, five words, five letters! I DON'T CARE! I just want something, because I need a reason to keep writing, and much thanks to those of you who have contributed! :)
Disclaimer: I don't have any money, so suing me over copyrights would be a waste of attorney fees. But since I'm kinda sick of repeating myself about who I own and don't own, I'll just say if they weren't in the movie, I own 'em and if they were, then Mr. Luhrman owns 'em.
Author's Note: I know this is kinda unrealistic and it maybe like stories other people wrote (sorry) but it was a crazy idea I had after watching the movie.
Summary: I'm not good at this, so I'm just gonna keep you in suspense until you read it ::mwahaaa::

Part Seven

January 20th, 1908
~ Hotêl La Blanche, Montmartre, France
It hasn't changed a bit. Christian thought as he dropped his trunk of dust-covered clothing and toiletries on the creaky floors of Flat 4D. It had been Toulouse's old apartment when Christian had been there last, but he learned from the landlady the artist had died in 1901.
"This is where you lived? You wrote a book with so much beauty living in a place like this?" Stuart asked as he swept a gaze around the rather run-down apartment. Christian walked over to where a hole used to be in the floor. It was now covered with planks of wood, and Christian ran his hand over it.
"Yes, Stuart, and it used to be worse. This is used to be an opening." Stuart rolled his eyes.
"Where you get your inspiration I'll never know, chum." He tossed off his jacket and plopped down on a worn, moth-eaten couch. Christian strolled over to a cot on the other side of the room.
"I'll sleep here, and you can have the bed on the loft." Christian told Stuart as he began removing things from his bag. Stuart bound up the aching stairs to the loft and laughed.
"My, this is quite a view. You can see Paris...hey! There's the Moulin Rouge!" he shouted, like an excited child. Only he pronounced it "Moolyn Roage". Christian shook his head.
"It's the MOULIN ROUGE, and yes, you can see almost anything from here. This is why I chose it." He pulled from his bag the final garment, a waistcoat, and took off his trench, which had crusty mud on it.
Tossing the jacket aside, he stretched his arms. It had been four days since his last decent meal, and frankly, he was famished. Turning to the direction of the loft, Christian called,
"Stuart, I'm going to the market. Anything you want in particular?" Stuart leaned dangerously far over the weakened railing and shook his fire-red head.
"No, I'll pick up some din elsewhere. Thanks, chum."
***
"Luke, get the baguettes." Nichole DeLoncre instructed her young son, who was seated behind the counter of the store with Lucie playing jax.
"Yes, mummy." Luke hurried off and Lucie stood carefully as to not disturb the pieces. She sauntered over to the counter and glanced through the uneven glass at the foods beneath it. Just then, Luke's voice filtered in from the back.
"Mummy, I can't find any!" Nichole groaned.
"See, Lucie, men cannot care for themselves." She tapped Lucie's nose and was off to aid her son. As Nichole's wide posterior was crossing the threshold into the back beyond a curtain, the jingling of the doorbells sounded, signaling the arrival of a customer.
Lucie pulled herself onto a stool and gasped when she saw the same man she had the run-in with that morning. Only now his coat was gone and he had no hat.
"Bonjour." She greeted, flashing her melting smile. He looked up and grinned, shy yet wise.
"Oh, we meet again." He laughed and that same flicker of emotion flashed through his eyes. She nodded.
"Yes, we do. What a coincidence." She looked about. "What are you in search of, sir?" he chewed his lip.
"Have you any crepes?" he asked, and Lucie was momentarily impressed by the knowledge of French foods when his mannerisms and voice all shouted Englishman.
Lucie hopped off the stool and opened up the door to the bread cabinet. Setting there, cooling from their stint in the oven, were a dozen crepes. Handing him a spatula, Lucie motioned to them.
"Take as many as you please. They are 12 francs a piece." He nodded, considering this reasonable, and took six. He then handed Lucie 72 francs he had acquired at the bank and as she rang them up, he looked at her thoughtfully.
"So, what are you doing here in Montmartre?" Lucie asked as the temperamental cash register acted up.
"I'm helping an old friend. He's an actor here, and I am his agent." Lucie nodded.
"Where is he performing?" she asked as she handed him his receipt.
"The Moulin Rouge." He replied, but he said it slowly, as though the very word stuck in his throat. Lucie sensed this, and decided not to mention that her uncle owned it.
"Well, they're known for great shows, so your friend is lucky." She informed him, still smiling. He nodded.
"If only." He looked out at the darkening sky. "I best be off. Good day, mademoiselle." He tipped his imaginary hat and she giggled, curtsying in reply.
***
As Christian walked back to the La Blanche, he couldn't get that girl's face out of his mind. Her creamy skin, her crystal-clear blue eyes, her pursed pink lips, her uncontrolled yet beautiful raven hair...and the way she spoke...
But who she reminded him of, he didn't want to think about.
You've got to get her out of your mind. He told himself as he climbed the stairs of the La Blanche, the dusk settling upon Montmartre behind him.
But try as he would, Christian couldn't get the face of Satine out of his head...


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Author's Note: Another boring chapter, but they're gonna get better! Bear with me please! Thanks again to reviewers. Reviews are appreciated and encouraged! C-ya when I c-ya

PS: On the suggestion of tHe cRaZy KaCceE I am adding a little translator since I've sort of been using a lot of French:

From Chapter 1:
Monsuier: Mister Mademoiselle: Miss Madam: Missus Garcon: Boy Fille: Girl
Bonjour: Hello Cherié: cherished, beloved Merci beaucoup: Thank you very much Bébé: Baby 'Tite cherié: Little dear Japonisme: (You probably know this, but I thought I'd add it anyway) it's the imitation of Japanese shapes, colors, and themes that was popular during this time period in France Étonnant amazing

From Chapter 2:
Joyeux Anniversaire: Happy Birthday Chahuteuse: can-can dancer Crepe: small, thin, pancake

I'm pretty sure that's all I used so far, but if not, I'll figure it out and add more. Thanks again for the reviews and advice! Ta ta (do I say that A LOT or what?) Hehe