A's/N: This is not your usual MR fanfic. And I expect flames. But, I am the author, and this is what I wanted. Flame away.
Taking Satine Home
By *SugarPrincess*
Paris, France 1925
The party was in full swing by the time Joseph Dawson arrived with his two buddies. Though the clear, Parisian night was freezing, the party was heating up, music blaring and people dancing.
Joe, fresh out of New York City, adored the lights and attitude of the French. He had dragged his two childhood friends to France with him, promising them cute French girls.
The snow drifted slowly to the ground, carelessly sprinkling the pavement. Joe stepped into the bar where the party was taking place and shrugged out of his coat.
He cheered along with the others when the music stopped, danced, and drank, acting as most 20-year-old men would at a party.
But unlike every other male in the room, something was unnerving him, and couldn't figure out what.
After a dance, his partner claimed she needed to 'freshen up' and escaped to the bathroom, accompagnied by 12 of her giggling friends. Joe went over to the bar and ordered and received a beer. Both of his friends were on the dance floor, and he was all alone.
Sighing, he turned back to the bar, and took a sip of his beer. He was interrupted by a soft sigh.
He turned his head towards the corner of the bar.
Standing there was the most beautiful girl Joe had ever seen.
She was wearing a beautiful white gown, very different from the flappers of the time and foreign to Joe's eyes. Her hair was flaming red and loose, cascading down her back in fiery waves. Her eyes were so intensely blue that they seemed to penetrate to the very soul.
She leaned on the bar lightly, what looked like a crown of some sort next to her delicate hand on the bar counter.
He smiled at her, and she allowed a small smile to grace her face.
He picked up his beer, and with a surge of courage, walked over to her.
"Hi, I'm Joe." he said, putting his beer on the counter and extending his hand.
The woman placed her small hand in his, closing her fingers around his.
"I'm Satine." she said.
Joe noticed that her hands were very cold.
Satine was not very talkative. She was very quiet, allowing Joe to do all the talking. On closer examination, Joe noticed that her eyes seemed haunted. Involuntarily, he shivered. He asked her if she would like to go for a walk, and she accepted.
He went to get his coat, and when he stepped outside, Satine was there, wearing her same strapless white gown. Alarmed, Joe asked her for her coat's whereabouts. She shrugged and smiled, saying she had none. Joe gallantly gave her his.
They walked for a bit, Joe again doing all the talking.
They got to Joe's car, and he asked her if she would like a ride home. She nodded and told him to go to Montmartre.
The once lively capital of the Bohemian Revolution was now a ghost town, one full of the mere shadows of people. The night seemed darker here, the cold more fridgid.
"That's where I live." Satine said, pointing to an old, run down windmill. "Let me off here."
Joe tried to insist to let him walk her to her door, but she refused. Defeated, he watched her skip up the snowy walkway and walk in, turning when she opened the door and waving before disappearing inside.
It was not until he had left Montmartre did he realize that Satine still had his coat. He drove back quickly to the old building, parking his car and walking up the front walk. He knocked on the door.
No reply.
He knocked again.
Still nothing.
Finally, he cautiously opened the door.
"Hello?" he called, his cry echoing about the empty hall. He walked in, closing the door behind him. "Hello!" A few more steps and he found another door, which lead him to a courtyard. He shivered, the temperature had taken a violent drop. He shuddered again, this time at the sight of a dilapidated- elephant?- that had seen much better days. He walked up the steps and entered another hall. He called out again. "Hello?"
"I'm in here, stop your bellowing." came a voice. Shrugging, he followed the voice to a large theater.
By this time, Joe was very confused. He saw a figure sitting in the front row, and he walked down the center to the first aisle.
"Hello." he said. "I'm Joe. I just dropped Satine off, and she still had my coat by accident. I came here to get it back."
The man chuckled, motioning for Joe to sit down, which he did.
By the looks of him, the man could be no more than 40, but his facial expressions made him seem much older. "Welcome the club, young man." he said.
Joe wrinkled his brow. "Excuse me, sir, I don't think I understand."
The old man, chuckled again and stood up. "The 'Satine-took-my-coat' club. This has happened every year for the past 25 years." he said, more to the stage than to him. "You met Satine- at a party, correct?"
Joe nodded. He still wasn't sure what was happening.
"And she was standing all alone- in a white dress. And she was staring at you."
Joe nodded again. Either the old man has lost his mind, or he was.
"And she looked lonely, so you went over to talk to her, am I right?"
Joe stood up. "Look, I don't know what's happening here, but-"
"You are not the first that this has happened to, nor do I think you'll be the last." Again, the old man chuckled. "She always has the same taste- dark hair, green eyes... somethings never change."
He was answered with Joe's blank stare. "Don't you understand? Satine's not real!"
Joe was more confused that ever, and plopped back down into his seat, dumbfounded. "Explain." he demanded.
"Satine died 25 years ago tonight. And every year on this date, she comes back, goes to a party, and gets a young man of your description to take her home. He lends her his coat, which he never gets back. He comes back to retrieve it and-" the old man shrugged "They are greeted with a crazy old man who hears that door open and close and hears a laugh, but never sees a coat. You might as well forget about the coat. And hope it was of fine quality. Satine was always a stickler for the better things in life." The old man clapped Joe's back. "You'd better get your way and find yourself a tailor."
Bewildered, Joe stared at him. "Who are you?" he asked.
The old man smiled sadly. "One of many broken-hearted lads that the lovely Satine leaves behind."
"Did she take your coat?"
The old man let out a light, sad life. "No. I'm one of her vitcims from when she was alive."
"You knew her?"
"Yes, fool. Now, leave this old man alone with his memories and go by yourself another coat."
Defeated, Joe turned and walked up the aisle. Halfway to the door, he turned.
The man was up on the stage, kneeling in the middle.
"Hey!" Joe called. The man turned to him, and Joe caught a flash of his youth. "What's your name?"
The man chuckled and grinned. "It's Christian." With that, he turned back to the stage, seeing things that Joe could never imagine.
Joe left, but the mystery bothered him. He wanted some sort of closure.
At midnight on a cold winter's night, madness envelopped Joseph Dawson, and he went an old cemetary in Montmartre.
He searched for many hours by the waning light of the moon, and finally her found her.
Her tombstone.
And on the dirt in front of it, under the roses, lay his neatly-folded jacket.
FIN
A's/N#2: This story idea came from the Urban Legend 'Taking Laurie Home' from the book of Urban Legends 'Alligators in the Sewer'. It may have sucked, but I had to write it. Flame your heart out!