Disclaimer: I know own anything. Except maybe Simon. You know, those
people.
A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! Sorry it took so long to post this. I've been working on it for a long time not knowing how to end it. Lol. There's more to come. The plot will unravel more.
The Road of Fate
Chapter 3 - Say Goodbye to Innocence
By: Kattydid
"He really said that? With no stuttering?" Simon laughed.
"Yes, all of it."
"I believe it." He slowly shook his head. "I just can't believe he went to you without me. He never came to me. I always had to go to him to get him to come out. I think he had a crush on you."
"That wouldn't have been bad. I liked him too." Satine smiled at the memories of Hue.
"Are you kidding? How long has this been going on? The one time when I'm not there and my 2 best friends fall in love. I don't want to know what would have happened if Hue was still here!"
Satine tapped him jokingly. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by it!"
"I know. It still isn't registering though. You sure it was Hue?"
"Oh stop it, It was Hue."
How it would've been nice to stay in this moment. Satine still had her friend. They were still young, and they didn't have to go their separate ways. Was this the summer of love? No, it was just those lazy summer days stealing away the cold winter thoughts. Life was so delicate. These were the times when the heart races at the thought of an old friend.
As they sat in the park, in the grass, they were blinded by the sunset, having to look at their shadows on the ground. Some moments, they remained speechless, knowing that soon they'd have to grow up and do what they're supposed to. They soon had to let fate take its toll on their lives.
The warm summer breeze blazed through carrying the hint of music being played in front of the absinthe-bar not too far away. The song was La Boheme. It was probably meant for lovers, by the soft melancholic tune, but Satine could close her eyes and dance to it in her mind.
"We were some, which awaited glory
And although pauper, with the hollow belly
We did not cease believing"
Satine looked to the bluebirds that chirped so heavenly, as if in tune to the song that was being played.
"And when some choose bar
Against a good hot meal"
Satine noticed that the closest social gathering, Bar Absinthe, had been packed with those who helped play the tune, which depicted them so broadly.
"We recite with some group around a stove
To forget the winter"
It was these Boho's who had stuck together, huddled at times, as if it was winter, in the dead summer sun.
"The Bohemian, the Bohemian
That wanted to say that you are beautiful"
Everyday there was someone caressing the cheek of another soul. The beauty was brought out in everyone, the inner, and the outer. If there was no beauty, these Boho's could make it with their artistic minds.
"The Bohemian, the Bohemian
And we all have genius
...
To spend some sleepless night
Improve the drawing"
Yes, these creative wonders, painters, musicians, writers... They all spent their days merry, loving the life. Showing their talents before letting themselves a night of sleep.
"And that one who can like the life
The Bohemian, the Bohemian
That wanted to say he has twenty years"
Who knows if they'll be living on this day in twenty years from now? Who knows their fate?
"The Bohemian, the Bohemian
And we always live to make a turn
...
Neither the walls nor the streets
Which saw my youth
On top of a staircase
I seek the workshop
Of which nothing more remains
In its new Montmartre decoration seems sad
And the lilacs died"
Satine was looking in the direction of the hill to the deceased, that could not be seen. So many generations have come and gone, only staying true to their Bohemian heart to be buried on that hill.
"The Bohemian one, the Bohemian one
One was young and was insane
The Bohemian one, Bohemian
That has nothing more to say"
Satine was always touched by the tune that carried its' hymn like an anthem. Simon loved the song as well, but it never touched him. He wasn't Bohemian at heart, yet.
This music brought tears to Satine's eyes most of the time, if it wasn't for the strange paperboy riding a bicycle past them screaming a determined "Moley, moley, moley, moley, moley, moleey!" as he crashed into a tree.
Yes, this was Satine's childhood. Filled with the good and the tragic, and the just plain odd. But she was a Bohemian, and everything was beautiful.
^*\\|//*^~-.,.-~¤~-.,.-~^*\\|//*^
It was easy to say that you could cry over what you had, but not when you were too busy to have memories. Satine was moving on, slowly. She was supposedly going to be bigger and better, and still in Montmartre.
"Come along my little sunbeam!" Harold called as Satine had just finished packing her small bag of belongings.
Marie was distraught. "Now will you tell us where we're going?"
"Alright. You know that old windmill-"
"Oh no. I don't want to own one of those mangy old things."
"No," Harold emphasized himself. "The wind mill..."
"Oh, Ugh, Harold-No!" Marie spat in disgust, as Satine watched in pure confusion. "We are not taking in any wind mill! Especially not that one that Joseph painted red."
"Oh, Marie. You know this was what we-I wanted! Besides, if we're going to move, we have to buy a windmill, they're the only things unoccupied in all of Montmartre anymore!" He paused. He thought Marie knew how much he wanted this.
"Fine. But for God's sake let's not make it a madhouse. We have Satine. The place that you want, Harold, isn't for a growing girl."
"It's not like she has to be exposed!"
Marie's eyes narrowed. "Fine. Come along Satine, we're going to the Moulin Rouge."
^*\\|//*^~-.,.-~¤~-.,.-~^*\\|//*^
The Moulin Rouge was the failed windmill. Once just one of the many windmills in Montmartre, then turned into the only painted in the brightest red. (Harold's close friend, Joseph tried making it a masterpiece.)
"Wow, it's pretty!" Satine said as she walked inside the entrance. The floorboards creaked loudly under her feet. The dust fell upon her face from the barracks as she let out a cough. "But old..."
"Don't worry my Rosebud! We'll get it cleaned and fixed up in no time!"
Marie looked at Satine, annoyed. "He's going to go overboard with that, I'm telling you." Satine laughed at this.
It was certainly enormous, something Satine always wanted-a big home. She used to try imagining the one her mother and father were going to buy, in her dreams of course. Every time she pictured it, it was even more marvelous than the last. She had a lovely bedroom of her own. It was when she saw the whole estate of the red windmill that she knew just how long Harold had been scrapping for it all, with a lot of money to spare.
Yes, he was going to do everything with it. It was going to be fabulous for those of the rich or even poor culture, for a man or a woman to let go of the rules of daily life. It was to forget their worries, and the wars at hand and those to come. The Moulin Rouge would be a haven for the restless.
The days passed quickly as the hours came and gone. Each is re-entering a time warp of working for a self-less matter, as Harold simply watched in himself, a daze, that his beloved fantasy was becoming a reality. That was the selfishness of the matter. Who owned the hour and who had the day wrapped around his finger. It was Idealism vs. Realism, forgotten in the quarrels of the realist... War.
"Symbolic!" Harold would scream often. Everything stood for something the estate containted. The windmill-for Montmartre, the color red-Bohemian beauty, his little Satine's hair, so red. The large fake elephant with its opium room stood in the garden probably for the circus brought out in it all. The essential Bohemian decor-the love for art by the martyrs. The fanciful look-the want for growth and prosperity. Costumes and dancing- Leave your worries behind. Absinthe and drinking-Vive le vie!
Those who worked on the place worked and worked, not knowing what Harold was going to add next. One day it would be more paint, golden finishes, and artists. By the new day, exotic clowns were hired, electricians, builders, but never designers. That was Harry's job. Satine and Marie simply watched new things and people arrive each day.
It wasn't until the dancers were hired, that Marie slowly began seeing Harold's horrible motive.
"Harold, I will not have this! You cannot make this a cabaret!"
Harold pretended to look surprised. "What, Marie, darling, you thing this is a cabaret?"
"Oh, Stop it. A cabaret among other things," she was seeing that her Harold, the once softy old romantic at heart, turned into a firey, all-for- one businessman. "Have you once stopped to think about Satine?"
"Satine. I... Oh yes! She's very helpful."
Marie saw the gaze-effect in his eyes. "Stop it, right now! She's practically your daughter, and all you do is take advantage of her to work for you! Now I'm willing to work with you, make costumes, whatever you need, but you cannot do this to Satine. She has a future ahead of her. Her mother was just like Satine at this age, and she made a future for herself. Satine can't very well go out into the world and do what she wants if you keep her trapped here!"
"Oh, but Marie! She has everything here! She can do what she wants!"
"No, Harold. She can't. She doesn't want to be a can-can dancer." Little did she know that these words would dance across Harold's obsessed mind. Sparks were flying now. Satine, a can-can dancer. She could dance. She'd rise above the rest.
Marie saw, however, that the future of her Satine was doomed. Satine would do anything for Harold, and Harold would do anything for his precious red windmill.
^*\\|//*^~-.,.-~¤~-.,.-~^*\\|//*^
It took another year for the Moulin Rouge to be completed. Lights shown as bright as the sun at night when it was finally opened.
Satine always remained with Marie, making costumes and altering them for the dancers, contortionists, everyone else who worked under Harold's reign. She was a wonderful seamstress, and it was always the same. Harold always wanted her to leave Marie to the costume work and come out to where the men were. He wanted them all to see how lovely Satine was, and of course they would request her services. She was growing into a woman now. The slow rise to the top.
But years went by, into Satine's later teenage years. She was oblivious to the outside world. The only people she talked to, were infact the dancers. Nini was older than her. She taught her to smoke, to put makeup on, among other things. Nini never had anything against the young Satine. She would never be a dancer, she was just a pretty face, like all the rest.
Satine also became friends with Toulouse Lautrec. He always told her how beautiful she was, and Satine just smiled. Only he thought she was beautiful. Though, no other men had ever seen her. That never crossed her mind. She felt ugly and trapped.
^*\\|//*^~-.,.-~¤~-.,.-~^*\\|//*^
"Thatine. You know how I would wove to paint a portwait of you."
"Oh, Toulouse, that's very sweet, but no. You do enough painting for Harold."
"But justh for you. Or stho I can prove to my friendsth what a pretty diamont i know."
Satine disregarded the issue and was helping Marie by modeling some new costumes. Baby Doll soon came in and gave Satine a hat, and helped her with some makeup, just for fun. Toulouse caught a glimse, then hobbled off to create his masterpiece. He was going to do a portrait of this angel. A marvelous painting of a sparkling diamond named Satine.
^*\\|//*^~-.,.-~¤~-.,.-~^*\\|//*^
One morning, in the winter of 1898, Satine walked through the streets of Montmartre to the shops, just to get out. And of course she'd seen some old faces roaming around. But it wasn't until Simon found her that she spoke.
"Hello! Satine?"
Satine recognized the familiar voice and blurted out his name as she turned around to see him."Simon!" He was the same. Incredibly the same. Just so much older, he was now a man. " It's been so long."
"Yes, it has," To him, his little female friend had certainly become a woman. Her hair was still long, tied into a bun on top of her head, covered by a hat. Her brilliant red curls shown through, there was no hiding such lovely locks. Her eyes were the same big blue ones they always were. And was she wearing a corset with that dress of hers? "Where on earth have you been all this time?"
"Oh, just a fancy little place called the Moulin Rouge," she laughed breathlessly, with a hint of annoyance by the words.
Simon was instantly terrified. "You work...there?"
Satine laughed again. "What? Harold owns it. Of course I work there."
"Satine. Honestly, I thought you'd do something else."
"Well, what can you do? I'm not really making money, but I have money. Just a bit. Harold needs me."
"Good luck, Satine." Simon didn't know her anymore. Satine was the determined redhead. The one who wouldn't let anyone tell her what to do.
She then noticed there was something wrong, something she had said. "Simon," She looked into his eyes, almost occupied by tears. How different. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing Satine, just be careful with that job. You're letting the males dominate you."
"Oh no! No, Simon. I'm not that at all! I make dresses!"
He lifted his head in a mix of relief and confusion. 'But she's so beautiful...' he thought. "You're a seamstress?"
"Yes!" There was that striking smile of hers again. "Now what is it you've been up to Simon Beatty?"
"Oh, um. Just working in the local bar. I know it's not much, but I tell some of these old crankers when they should start slowing down. I'm trying to make up some money to someday get a restaurant."
"I know. I remember. You can do it, Simon. And I'll come see you," But then, Satine suddenly thought of Hue, he'd promised that he'd come back. "Have you been in contact with Hue, lately?"
"Sadly, no."
"Oh..."
So they talked for the rest of Simon's break. Satine had to return to Harold to do some fitting for dancers anyway. It was getting late.
The sun was setting, the street lights were coming on. A sign that the Moulin party was about to begin. She walked slowly back to the shackles of the red palace. Once she got there, Harold had opened early. Anxious men in suits were occupying the only entrance. She'd have to wait.
"Why hello there, Sugar. You come here for a good night, Darlin'?"
"Um, no. Would you just let me through?"
"Seedling!" It was Harold. He showed up beside her, happy to see that the male population was noticing her. "Look at you, where have you been?"
"Out. I'm going back to help Marie."
"NO! She doesn't need help!"
"Do you need me to do anything, Harold?"
"Here, come inside, and I want you to dance for a man. We, uh, have a lack of dancers tonight."
"Alright Harold, but I don't have a costume!"
"Yes you do! I had Chocolat fetch me that black one Toulouse likes on you."
She didn't have the slightest clue what he was talking about. No one by the dancers had seen her in costume of any sort. "Alright. Where is it?"
"Right here!" He pulled the skimpy black corsette from no where it seemed. "Just dress in one of the rooms, there's no need to go all the way up to one of those dressing rooms. We need you now, Satine!"
'Here goes nothing' she thought as she took the costume from Harold, ignoring the various catcalls coming from behind.
A/N: Well, I had to end it somewhere! This was the "How the Moulin Rouge started" sort of chap. It just kept dragging on, didn't it? I'm sorry! Wordy! I'll post more up soon. Maybe some more action?? Please review if you had the guts to read this far! You guys rock!
A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! Sorry it took so long to post this. I've been working on it for a long time not knowing how to end it. Lol. There's more to come. The plot will unravel more.
The Road of Fate
Chapter 3 - Say Goodbye to Innocence
By: Kattydid
"He really said that? With no stuttering?" Simon laughed.
"Yes, all of it."
"I believe it." He slowly shook his head. "I just can't believe he went to you without me. He never came to me. I always had to go to him to get him to come out. I think he had a crush on you."
"That wouldn't have been bad. I liked him too." Satine smiled at the memories of Hue.
"Are you kidding? How long has this been going on? The one time when I'm not there and my 2 best friends fall in love. I don't want to know what would have happened if Hue was still here!"
Satine tapped him jokingly. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by it!"
"I know. It still isn't registering though. You sure it was Hue?"
"Oh stop it, It was Hue."
How it would've been nice to stay in this moment. Satine still had her friend. They were still young, and they didn't have to go their separate ways. Was this the summer of love? No, it was just those lazy summer days stealing away the cold winter thoughts. Life was so delicate. These were the times when the heart races at the thought of an old friend.
As they sat in the park, in the grass, they were blinded by the sunset, having to look at their shadows on the ground. Some moments, they remained speechless, knowing that soon they'd have to grow up and do what they're supposed to. They soon had to let fate take its toll on their lives.
The warm summer breeze blazed through carrying the hint of music being played in front of the absinthe-bar not too far away. The song was La Boheme. It was probably meant for lovers, by the soft melancholic tune, but Satine could close her eyes and dance to it in her mind.
"We were some, which awaited glory
And although pauper, with the hollow belly
We did not cease believing"
Satine looked to the bluebirds that chirped so heavenly, as if in tune to the song that was being played.
"And when some choose bar
Against a good hot meal"
Satine noticed that the closest social gathering, Bar Absinthe, had been packed with those who helped play the tune, which depicted them so broadly.
"We recite with some group around a stove
To forget the winter"
It was these Boho's who had stuck together, huddled at times, as if it was winter, in the dead summer sun.
"The Bohemian, the Bohemian
That wanted to say that you are beautiful"
Everyday there was someone caressing the cheek of another soul. The beauty was brought out in everyone, the inner, and the outer. If there was no beauty, these Boho's could make it with their artistic minds.
"The Bohemian, the Bohemian
And we all have genius
...
To spend some sleepless night
Improve the drawing"
Yes, these creative wonders, painters, musicians, writers... They all spent their days merry, loving the life. Showing their talents before letting themselves a night of sleep.
"And that one who can like the life
The Bohemian, the Bohemian
That wanted to say he has twenty years"
Who knows if they'll be living on this day in twenty years from now? Who knows their fate?
"The Bohemian, the Bohemian
And we always live to make a turn
...
Neither the walls nor the streets
Which saw my youth
On top of a staircase
I seek the workshop
Of which nothing more remains
In its new Montmartre decoration seems sad
And the lilacs died"
Satine was looking in the direction of the hill to the deceased, that could not be seen. So many generations have come and gone, only staying true to their Bohemian heart to be buried on that hill.
"The Bohemian one, the Bohemian one
One was young and was insane
The Bohemian one, Bohemian
That has nothing more to say"
Satine was always touched by the tune that carried its' hymn like an anthem. Simon loved the song as well, but it never touched him. He wasn't Bohemian at heart, yet.
This music brought tears to Satine's eyes most of the time, if it wasn't for the strange paperboy riding a bicycle past them screaming a determined "Moley, moley, moley, moley, moley, moleey!" as he crashed into a tree.
Yes, this was Satine's childhood. Filled with the good and the tragic, and the just plain odd. But she was a Bohemian, and everything was beautiful.
^*\\|//*^~-.,.-~¤~-.,.-~^*\\|//*^
It was easy to say that you could cry over what you had, but not when you were too busy to have memories. Satine was moving on, slowly. She was supposedly going to be bigger and better, and still in Montmartre.
"Come along my little sunbeam!" Harold called as Satine had just finished packing her small bag of belongings.
Marie was distraught. "Now will you tell us where we're going?"
"Alright. You know that old windmill-"
"Oh no. I don't want to own one of those mangy old things."
"No," Harold emphasized himself. "The wind mill..."
"Oh, Ugh, Harold-No!" Marie spat in disgust, as Satine watched in pure confusion. "We are not taking in any wind mill! Especially not that one that Joseph painted red."
"Oh, Marie. You know this was what we-I wanted! Besides, if we're going to move, we have to buy a windmill, they're the only things unoccupied in all of Montmartre anymore!" He paused. He thought Marie knew how much he wanted this.
"Fine. But for God's sake let's not make it a madhouse. We have Satine. The place that you want, Harold, isn't for a growing girl."
"It's not like she has to be exposed!"
Marie's eyes narrowed. "Fine. Come along Satine, we're going to the Moulin Rouge."
^*\\|//*^~-.,.-~¤~-.,.-~^*\\|//*^
The Moulin Rouge was the failed windmill. Once just one of the many windmills in Montmartre, then turned into the only painted in the brightest red. (Harold's close friend, Joseph tried making it a masterpiece.)
"Wow, it's pretty!" Satine said as she walked inside the entrance. The floorboards creaked loudly under her feet. The dust fell upon her face from the barracks as she let out a cough. "But old..."
"Don't worry my Rosebud! We'll get it cleaned and fixed up in no time!"
Marie looked at Satine, annoyed. "He's going to go overboard with that, I'm telling you." Satine laughed at this.
It was certainly enormous, something Satine always wanted-a big home. She used to try imagining the one her mother and father were going to buy, in her dreams of course. Every time she pictured it, it was even more marvelous than the last. She had a lovely bedroom of her own. It was when she saw the whole estate of the red windmill that she knew just how long Harold had been scrapping for it all, with a lot of money to spare.
Yes, he was going to do everything with it. It was going to be fabulous for those of the rich or even poor culture, for a man or a woman to let go of the rules of daily life. It was to forget their worries, and the wars at hand and those to come. The Moulin Rouge would be a haven for the restless.
The days passed quickly as the hours came and gone. Each is re-entering a time warp of working for a self-less matter, as Harold simply watched in himself, a daze, that his beloved fantasy was becoming a reality. That was the selfishness of the matter. Who owned the hour and who had the day wrapped around his finger. It was Idealism vs. Realism, forgotten in the quarrels of the realist... War.
"Symbolic!" Harold would scream often. Everything stood for something the estate containted. The windmill-for Montmartre, the color red-Bohemian beauty, his little Satine's hair, so red. The large fake elephant with its opium room stood in the garden probably for the circus brought out in it all. The essential Bohemian decor-the love for art by the martyrs. The fanciful look-the want for growth and prosperity. Costumes and dancing- Leave your worries behind. Absinthe and drinking-Vive le vie!
Those who worked on the place worked and worked, not knowing what Harold was going to add next. One day it would be more paint, golden finishes, and artists. By the new day, exotic clowns were hired, electricians, builders, but never designers. That was Harry's job. Satine and Marie simply watched new things and people arrive each day.
It wasn't until the dancers were hired, that Marie slowly began seeing Harold's horrible motive.
"Harold, I will not have this! You cannot make this a cabaret!"
Harold pretended to look surprised. "What, Marie, darling, you thing this is a cabaret?"
"Oh, Stop it. A cabaret among other things," she was seeing that her Harold, the once softy old romantic at heart, turned into a firey, all-for- one businessman. "Have you once stopped to think about Satine?"
"Satine. I... Oh yes! She's very helpful."
Marie saw the gaze-effect in his eyes. "Stop it, right now! She's practically your daughter, and all you do is take advantage of her to work for you! Now I'm willing to work with you, make costumes, whatever you need, but you cannot do this to Satine. She has a future ahead of her. Her mother was just like Satine at this age, and she made a future for herself. Satine can't very well go out into the world and do what she wants if you keep her trapped here!"
"Oh, but Marie! She has everything here! She can do what she wants!"
"No, Harold. She can't. She doesn't want to be a can-can dancer." Little did she know that these words would dance across Harold's obsessed mind. Sparks were flying now. Satine, a can-can dancer. She could dance. She'd rise above the rest.
Marie saw, however, that the future of her Satine was doomed. Satine would do anything for Harold, and Harold would do anything for his precious red windmill.
^*\\|//*^~-.,.-~¤~-.,.-~^*\\|//*^
It took another year for the Moulin Rouge to be completed. Lights shown as bright as the sun at night when it was finally opened.
Satine always remained with Marie, making costumes and altering them for the dancers, contortionists, everyone else who worked under Harold's reign. She was a wonderful seamstress, and it was always the same. Harold always wanted her to leave Marie to the costume work and come out to where the men were. He wanted them all to see how lovely Satine was, and of course they would request her services. She was growing into a woman now. The slow rise to the top.
But years went by, into Satine's later teenage years. She was oblivious to the outside world. The only people she talked to, were infact the dancers. Nini was older than her. She taught her to smoke, to put makeup on, among other things. Nini never had anything against the young Satine. She would never be a dancer, she was just a pretty face, like all the rest.
Satine also became friends with Toulouse Lautrec. He always told her how beautiful she was, and Satine just smiled. Only he thought she was beautiful. Though, no other men had ever seen her. That never crossed her mind. She felt ugly and trapped.
^*\\|//*^~-.,.-~¤~-.,.-~^*\\|//*^
"Thatine. You know how I would wove to paint a portwait of you."
"Oh, Toulouse, that's very sweet, but no. You do enough painting for Harold."
"But justh for you. Or stho I can prove to my friendsth what a pretty diamont i know."
Satine disregarded the issue and was helping Marie by modeling some new costumes. Baby Doll soon came in and gave Satine a hat, and helped her with some makeup, just for fun. Toulouse caught a glimse, then hobbled off to create his masterpiece. He was going to do a portrait of this angel. A marvelous painting of a sparkling diamond named Satine.
^*\\|//*^~-.,.-~¤~-.,.-~^*\\|//*^
One morning, in the winter of 1898, Satine walked through the streets of Montmartre to the shops, just to get out. And of course she'd seen some old faces roaming around. But it wasn't until Simon found her that she spoke.
"Hello! Satine?"
Satine recognized the familiar voice and blurted out his name as she turned around to see him."Simon!" He was the same. Incredibly the same. Just so much older, he was now a man. " It's been so long."
"Yes, it has," To him, his little female friend had certainly become a woman. Her hair was still long, tied into a bun on top of her head, covered by a hat. Her brilliant red curls shown through, there was no hiding such lovely locks. Her eyes were the same big blue ones they always were. And was she wearing a corset with that dress of hers? "Where on earth have you been all this time?"
"Oh, just a fancy little place called the Moulin Rouge," she laughed breathlessly, with a hint of annoyance by the words.
Simon was instantly terrified. "You work...there?"
Satine laughed again. "What? Harold owns it. Of course I work there."
"Satine. Honestly, I thought you'd do something else."
"Well, what can you do? I'm not really making money, but I have money. Just a bit. Harold needs me."
"Good luck, Satine." Simon didn't know her anymore. Satine was the determined redhead. The one who wouldn't let anyone tell her what to do.
She then noticed there was something wrong, something she had said. "Simon," She looked into his eyes, almost occupied by tears. How different. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing Satine, just be careful with that job. You're letting the males dominate you."
"Oh no! No, Simon. I'm not that at all! I make dresses!"
He lifted his head in a mix of relief and confusion. 'But she's so beautiful...' he thought. "You're a seamstress?"
"Yes!" There was that striking smile of hers again. "Now what is it you've been up to Simon Beatty?"
"Oh, um. Just working in the local bar. I know it's not much, but I tell some of these old crankers when they should start slowing down. I'm trying to make up some money to someday get a restaurant."
"I know. I remember. You can do it, Simon. And I'll come see you," But then, Satine suddenly thought of Hue, he'd promised that he'd come back. "Have you been in contact with Hue, lately?"
"Sadly, no."
"Oh..."
So they talked for the rest of Simon's break. Satine had to return to Harold to do some fitting for dancers anyway. It was getting late.
The sun was setting, the street lights were coming on. A sign that the Moulin party was about to begin. She walked slowly back to the shackles of the red palace. Once she got there, Harold had opened early. Anxious men in suits were occupying the only entrance. She'd have to wait.
"Why hello there, Sugar. You come here for a good night, Darlin'?"
"Um, no. Would you just let me through?"
"Seedling!" It was Harold. He showed up beside her, happy to see that the male population was noticing her. "Look at you, where have you been?"
"Out. I'm going back to help Marie."
"NO! She doesn't need help!"
"Do you need me to do anything, Harold?"
"Here, come inside, and I want you to dance for a man. We, uh, have a lack of dancers tonight."
"Alright Harold, but I don't have a costume!"
"Yes you do! I had Chocolat fetch me that black one Toulouse likes on you."
She didn't have the slightest clue what he was talking about. No one by the dancers had seen her in costume of any sort. "Alright. Where is it?"
"Right here!" He pulled the skimpy black corsette from no where it seemed. "Just dress in one of the rooms, there's no need to go all the way up to one of those dressing rooms. We need you now, Satine!"
'Here goes nothing' she thought as she took the costume from Harold, ignoring the various catcalls coming from behind.
A/N: Well, I had to end it somewhere! This was the "How the Moulin Rouge started" sort of chap. It just kept dragging on, didn't it? I'm sorry! Wordy! I'll post more up soon. Maybe some more action?? Please review if you had the guts to read this far! You guys rock!