DISCLAIMER: Moulin Rouge fanfic
DISCLAIMER: Moulin Rouge
fanfic. All are owned by Baz Luhrmann, Fox, etc. :D just DON'T
sue!!! :P -It's not like you're gonna get anything
out of it anywayI can't work, I don't make money.
The end.
SUMMARY: It's 2 years
after Satine's death, and a stranger appears one night at
the Moulin Rouge to see the newest show – who bares a
remarkable resemblance to Satine.
CATEGORY: Romance
RELATIONSHIPS: Unknown at
this point
SPOILERS: Well, yes.
Considering that the part about Satine's "death"
semi-spoils the moviebut the rest won't because I
haven't seen it yet!
CHARACTERS: Christian,
Chantal, and the rest of the cast
RATING: PG-13for nowit
gets decidedly more graphic later thoughpushing into R
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I haven't
even SEEN the movie yet, just read spoilers on it, I don't
know the cause of Satine's deathperhaps I can edit
this after I see it tomorrow. Note: title IS in French, it
means Broken Promises.
Les Promets Cassé, by Misako
Chapter One - Possibilities
MOMENTS
If I die tonight, I'd go with no regrets
If it's in your arms, I know that I was blessed
And if your eyes are the last thing that I see
Then I know the beauty heaven holds for me.
-Westlife
The opulent Bohemian setting of
the Moulin Rouge dazzled Chantal's eyes as she stepped
through the threshold. It was her first trip there, and she had
been interested as to the new show there, "Of Light and Dark"
by a new Bohemian writer. A year ago, the Moulin Rouge had been
in disrepair, but after a wealthy benefactor had helped it open
again, it was once again the gathering place for the rich and
famous.
"Christian. That was his
name, wasn't it?" Chantal mumbled, smoothing back her
wavy auburn hair. She delicately fingered her corset, running the
pads of her fingertips over the black lace and satiny gold fabric.
Her fiancé, the English Lord Worchester, had given the dress to
her as a statement of his love. She had been thankful, but would've
been much more thankful if he actually spent time with her rather
than showering her with expensive gifts. The Lord was young,
twenty-seven, but at her age, twenty, she would rather have a man
who would devote himself to loving her. Chantal barely saw her
fiancé, for he was often away on business trips and she was
often left alone in her Chateau just outside of Paris, the city
of light and love. She moved rapidly towards the sides of the
stage as the cast was still practicing.
A young man caught her eye,
leaning on a pillar nearby and watching the proceedings with a
sorrowful expression upon his handsome features. Chantal watched
him for a moment then turned away, fingering the golden heart
locket at her throat, the delicate filigree and several diamonds
set within it. It was the only thing that she had of her mother's,
as her mother had been on a cruise when the ship had sunk.
Suddenly the stagelights suddenly illuminated her features,
highlighting the pale moonglow of her skin and her shimmering
auburn hair. She was startled as the spotlight edged upon her,
and attempted to move back discretely, lowering her eyes. As she
looked up, she saw the all movement had halted, and the entirety
of the cast was at her as if she were the incarnation of Mary,
mother of Jesus. The most profound thing she saw was, after
sweeping her eyes around the large room, were the wide, intensely
blue-green eyes of the young man. He had paled almost to the
point that Chantal was afraid he was about to faint. His longish
brunet hair had been flattened by leaning against the pillar, but
the disarray of his hair did nothing to detract from his
incredulous, joyful, and yet, wary, expression. Everyone watched
in silence as he cautiously approached Chantal.
"Satine?" He whispered,
sounding as if he had no more breath to breathe.
Chantal shook her head. "No.
My name is Chantal." A saddened look replaced the hope in
his face, and Chantal's heart melted.
"Sorry." He whispered,
and kept his eyes upon her as he slowly backed away, the mournful
expression in his eyes riveting Chantal as she their gazes
connected. She watched as he finally turned, breaking the thin
line of contact between them and disappeared behind a
neighbouring velvet curtain.
"Excuse me," Chantal
asked a dancer, who had been watching the exchange with a sad
expression upon her own face. "But who was that?"
"Mademoiselle, his name is
Christian. Satine was his love. She died two years ago," the
dancer paused, her hazel eyes scanning Chantal's fair
features. "You bear a remarkable resemblance to Mademoiselle
Satine. It is haunting."
"Merci." Chantal thanked
the dancer, then turned away, her cerulean eyes straying to the
curtain of which Christian had disappeared behind. Other patrons
were already seating themselves, and she found her seat, and
watched as the dancers came out on the stage and faintly heard
the appreciative clapping of the audience. She was haunted by the
emptiness of his expression, the almost complete lack of any
other emotion other than sadness, until he had seen her. Chantal
never really once focused on the show, and when it ended, she
clapped politely, but her mind was a thousand miles away. Getting
up from her table, she slowly walked towards the exit, and walked
out. As she crossed the street towards a waiting car, she stared
up at the slowly turning, red windmill, bit her lip and got in.
As the car rumbled and started, she gazed up at the star-studded
sky and prayed for Satine to watch over her heartbroken love.
******
Chantal lay awake in her bed that
night, staring up at the gauzy material that covered the four
posters of her bed, and sighed. Restlessly, she lithely raised
herself off her bed and walked over to her vanity. She examined
her reflection in the mirror, the flawless pale skin, the
naturally rouged lips, the silken waves of auburn hair, and the
delicate hollow at her throat where the heart locket rested.
Sighing, she got up, and walked out, through the French doors,
onto the balcony that joined her room. The memory of Christian
had been burned into her memory, and no matter how hard she
tried, she could not get the image of him out of her mind. He was
handsome, yes, but Chantal felt guilty. Guilty for stirring up
Christian's emotions and guilty for thinking about another
man when she had her own fiancé. There was just something about
Christian that would not allow her to put him out of her mind.
Rather, it wasn't just that he was saddened or heartbroken,
rather, it was as if she could sense his underlying talent, and
willingness to give his heart and soul to something he loved.
Chantal sighed. "Perhaps its
because it's something I've always wanted," she
muttered, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. "To
have a man willing to give everything for me." Still, she
felt an irresistible urge to return to the Moulin Rouge, and what
frightened her was that she didn't know why.
******
Chantal rose early the next
morning, before the morning light of the sun shone through the
windows. She dressed in a flattering, deep green dress with
flecks of blue thoughout. She tied her hair back in a loose
French twist and applied the slightest bit of rouge to her lips,
but only slightly, as she did not have much need for it. She had
her maid tie up her corset, and she slipped on a pair of heels
before departing her room to quickly eat a bit of breakfast and
then return to the Moulin Rouge. She hurried out of the Chateau
and quickly slipped into the waiting car.
"Le Moulin Rouge, monsieur."
She commanded her chauffeur, and they began to move. She settled
back in for the ride, and watched as the sun began to rise.
******
As they arrived at the Moulin
Rouge, Chantal stared up at the looming building.
"Merci, monsieur." She
thanked the chauffeur before turning to walk towards the Moulin
Rouge, holding her dress up slightly so the hem wouldn't
soil from the muddy ground. As she entered the door, everyone
present turned and stared at her.
"It's her again."
Chantal heard one dancer whisper to another.
"What is going on?" she
heard a voice demanding, before she saw Christian emerge the
shadows. He had obviously been there supervising the rehearsal of
his play. As soon as he saw her he looked started.
"I'm sorry –
Christian, may I please speak with you?" Chantal asked,
biting her lip and furrowing her brow. "In private?"
Christian regarded her warily.
"Alright. Follow me." With that he disappeared behind a
door, and Chantal hurried to follow him, the stares of the cast
boring into her shoulders. Christian led her up several flights
of stairs and through a door onto the roof.
"Christian, I'm sorry
for intruding." Chantal apologized.
"It's alright. You're
Chantal, aren't you?" He asked, giving her a small
smile.
"Yes."
"I'm sorry about last
night. I just" Christian trailed off.
"Thought I was Satine?"
She asked, casting her eyes to the ground.
"I don't know. I guess I
have been just refusing to believe she was dead, and when you
walked through that doorI thought you were her."
Christian said, running a hand through his hair.
"Do I really resemble her
that much?" Chantal asked, watching his movements around the
roof.
"You could be her sister."
Came the quiet reply.
Chantal moved towards him and
placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. He looked startled for a
moment, but allowed her hand to stay upon his shoulder.
"Tell me about her."
Chantal asked quietly.
"She looked very much like
you. She was the star of the Moulin Rouge – Harold Zidler's
Sparking diamond," Christian began, staring out at the
distant Eiffel Tower. "She was a woman whose dream was to
become a real actress. But what she didn't know"
Christian choked on the words for a moment. "Was that she
was dying."
"Of what?"
"Of consumption."
Christian replied. "She didn't tell me until she died
in my arms."
A lengthy silence followed his
statement. Clearing her throat, Chantal broke the silence.
"Christian, I honestly have
no idea why you fascinate me so. Perhaps it is because you were
willing to give your heart, soul, and love to a woman, in
exchange for love back," Chantal continued, removing her
hand from his shoulder and walking to the other side of the roof.
"My fiancé would never do that. He lavishes everything
money can buy on me. Except for the one thing that I consider
most valuable – his love."
"Fiancé?" Christian
turned to look at her.
"Lord Worchester."
"From England?"
Christian questioned.
"The one and only."
Chantal replied bitterly.
"You're from just
outside of London then," Christian remarked, slightly
surprised. "I used to live in London."
Chantal stifled a smile. "I
can tell," At Christian's questioning look, she replied
simply. "Because of your accent."
"Ah, yes." Christian
affirmed, stretching his arms out slightly to fix the cuffs of
his button down white shirt.
Chantal sighed. "In that
circumstance, she was very lucky to have been loved by someone
like you. All my fiancé does is send me expensive gifts and
nothing of his love." She turned to look at him, the two
staring at each other from opposite sides of the roof.
"Like that locket?"
Chantal's hand flew to her
throat. "No. This is the only thing I have left of my mother.
She died when I was 12. I loved her dearly."
"I'm sorry."
Chantal was silent for a moment.
"I think I should let you go down and finish your rehearsal."
Christian was startled. "I
nearly forgot about that."
"You should, you know. I'm
sure they're there waiting."
"Yes. Thank you. It feels as
if I've been holding everything in for so long. And talking
to you, and looking at you," Christian paused, a little
warmth coming to his blue-green-gray eyes, "It's as if
I'm telling all of this to her. How much I loved her, and
all that."
"And I'm glad I got a
chance to tell the seemingly one man in this world that loved and
received love in return." Chantal smiled.
"Perhaps I'll see you
again?" Christian asked. "I feelcomfortable with
you. Perhaps it's because you resemble her so much."
"I think you will. I don't
live too far from her, and I prefer this to my Chateau."
Chantal nodded. Christian strode across the rooftop in a few long
strides, took Chantal's hand, and began to lead her to the
door where they could return to the stage. Chantal was surprised
by this action, and her senses seemed heighteningly aware of the
warm hand on her own.
"You would've angered my
father," Christian turned back and smiled wryly at her.
"He called this the underworld. The world of sins. And yet,
you enjoy it more than your own home."
"I revel in brilliant
colours, Christian. I live for all the truths of the Bohemian
revolution: truth, love, freedom, beauty," Chantal stated
simply. "And most of all"
"Love" They spoke in
unison and their gazes locked for a moment. Chantal could still
feel the warmness of his hand upon hers, and his touched seemed
to send her skin tingling.
What is this? She wondered.
I've never felt anything like this. I feel, so, perfect
around him. As they entered the stage again, the dancers were
indeed waiting for them to return. She felt his hand slip off her
own as he moved to begin directing the dancers again.
Before he could make it very far
though, she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. As he
turned, Chantal asked quietly, "May I stay? I'd like to
see how this works. And perhaps I could add a little input if you
don't mind."
Christian looked surprised at her
offer but accepted graciously. "Thank you." He smiled
at her, and for the first time, she really saw some of the
sadness lift off his face. She smiled back, glad that fate had
destined her to meet Christian.
******
Preview for LPC2- Chantal immerses
herself into working at the Moulin Rouge, spending most of her
time there with the dancers and Christian, when her fiancé comes
to pay her a visitand the outcome isn't what you think
it is! ;) Oh yes, I'm an evil evil fanfiction author who
tens to write weird stories and have twisty plots.
A.N. and thank you's:
I was just fiddling with the idea
of a Satine look-a-like walking into Christian's life. I'm
not going to reveal where this might be going, but it probably
won't end up the way you think it will. :)I'm not the
type of person to write a typical story
Thank you's to:
All my Moulin Rouge Whores at
fanforum:
Liz-hehehere is the thing
that I was monopolizing Christian for all that time
Kate-more MR for you. ;)
karabehr
BarelyPink
LimeWarp
Cora
Trey, the Moulin Rouge Man Whore
noah blue
bistyboo1974
misery chic
Behrdogz
kookio
Maria G
AussieFehrFan
RebeccaSHF
And, our Honorary Diamond Dog:
SmittenMitten
Plu- Ok, so you're more of a
Roswell and HP person, but I have to thank you anyway, because
you are one of the dearest people I know online.
Rhysenn- same. Always enjoy your
storiesOne of my dear favorite people
And all the rest of you that were
lamenting over the lack of Moulin Rouge fanfictions on FFN. Here's
something for ya! ;)
Tawana/arkenjil/kare-bear/Sylvia
Aston/Baby J/Dani-yelly-hayou KNEW I would do this someday
Arkenjil-hmmmy X fanfics up
on FFNpossibility. I'm thinking. :)I liked X16, didn't
you?
And to the most fabulous people on
the screen: Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman for making this all
possible. For bringing a love like Christian and Satine's to
the bright light of the silver screen.
And thank you to Christian, who
has been my muse all this time. :)
