Title: "I'm Sorry Mama"
Summary: This is Satine's childhood. I know a lot of people do that but here's my stab at it!
Disclaimer: Okay, in the movie = not mine. Not in the movie = mine
Reviews: PLEASE! PLEASE!
July 16th, 1879
Nice, France
"Satine, get up." A sharp voice interrupted her fitful and rare sleep. For a while, yet it seemed like a moment, Satine had been secure in the land between consciousness and unconsciousness, dancing between realities. But as she popped an eye open, the reality came like a harsh backhand. She was crunched up on a ball in the corner of the carriage, her hair discombobulated and her dress wrinkled, and her body aching and sore. She yawned and a hand reached in. "Now, you lazy brat!" was a dismal scold. Even Marguerite was too weary to flood Satine with insults or derogatory statements as she stepped out and felt her knees unclench.
"Here we are!" Philip said cheerily, but his attempt was shot down by
Marguerite's blood chilling stare and Satine's teary gaze. He smiled and took Marguerite into his arms.
"My.sweet. This is our home now! And this is your and little Satine's
homecoming!" Marguerite jerked away.
"Grow up." She stormed by. Satine's palms burned as she held on the pulley of her trunk that the servant handed her. Philip turned to her and smiled his toothy, sickening smile.
"Well, Satine." He paused after he said her name, "this is home. Lot better than the old place, no?" He was leaning in her face, his hot, sour breath assaulting her nose. She looked people in the eye as much as she could, unlike most kids her age, and she did just that to Philip. He had cold, dark eyes. But they seemed gleeful today. As she stared in the dark swirls, she felt the world closing around her and the sudden feeling that she was trapped made her pressed her mouth into a tight smile.
"Yes, much better."
With that one lie, she felt someone walk on her grave.
He put his big hand on her shoulder and held it.
"I'll make sure you're happy, here, and you'll be part of the family."
As he headed into the house, Satine felt this family wasn't one she wanted to be part of.
~*~
".through the bounty of Christ, our Lord, Amen." Philip concluded solemnly as the three of them sat at a rather large and gaudy dining room table. Satine shifted in the ridiculous garment her mother had chosen, for it had netting underneath and it irritated her legs.
"Satine, sit still." Marguerite snapped. Satine rolled her eyes and slammed her knees together, so as they wouldn't rub. She then rubbed her neck. Her mother had twisted and yanked her hair up as well, and put a Queen Elizabeth-esque headdress on it. This caused another glare from Marguerite.
"Can't you for the love of God."Marguerite seethed, but was cut off.
"It was a tough ride, Marguerite." Philip instructed. He then turned to Satine. "And chérie, you ought not to upset your Mama. You have quite I rebellious streak. Are you uncomfortable here?" Marguerite stabbed the lamb
on the plate. Satine shifted ever so slightly and she didn't react. Phew.
"No, monsieur Pinchot." He laughed.
"Well, chérie, you must not. First, stop calling me monsieur Pinchot. "What about Papa?" Satine was sure her complexion rivaled broccoli. Marguerite glared, and Satine was about to agree but she couldn't get her own Papa's face out of her mind.
"I'll call you Father. But not Papa." She stated, the strongest she ever felt.
He seemed to mull it over. "All right. And your mother and I have been contemplating another way to make you feel comfortable. Marguerite?" Satine, brow furrowed, turned to her mother.
Marguerite swallowed a mouthful of meat, took a gulp of wine, and in a simple statement said, "We're changing your name."
"It rained today."
"It's three o'clock."
"We're changing your name."
Satine sputtered, "Excusé moi?"
Marguerite was about to begin a tirade when Philip stepped in.
"To make you more of a family member, we decided that my family name will be your name. Genevieve Francesca Danielle Pinchot." He spoke proudly, his thin chest puffing out. Satine stared blankly.
"But Satine Isabeau is my name. Satine Isabeau DuBois!" she said, her
voice increasingly softer.
"Jesus, that's a whore's name! Your name might as well be Mary Magdalene! Your Father has told you your name! Who do you think you are to question him!" Marguerite couldn't hold it anymore. She jumped up and grabbed Satine's plate and threw it on the floor. Satine threw herself back
against the chair and cowered. Philip ran and restrained his wife.
"Genevieve, you shall go to your room without dinner." He told her as he calmed Marguerite. Satine didn't react until her eyes met her mother's own. With that she jumped down, those eyes burning in her head.
Early July 17th, 1879
Nice, France
The Pinchot residence (Satine was far from calling it home) was massive, and that made for quite a silent night. Thank God for that.
After the episode at dinner, Satine had run straight to her room and curled under the covers, forced herself to sleep. It didn't take much-her small body was begging for it. When she woke, she took in her surroundings and then even surprised herself.
She had thrown the covers from her body, jumped from the bed, stripped her frock off and was bare down her to her underclothes, and then savagely ripped and snapped and tore the holds in her hair until it was loose. She had silently done so, and then commenced to completely and thoroughly trashing her bedroom. After her fit, she had collapsed in tears on the floor.
Now her hair was ripped and knotted around her shoulders, but it was free. She was freezing, but as least she felt. She sat on the window sill, still in her underclothes, and stared outside. Sleep hadn't come. It was afraid, she had decided.
As she stared at the marshy woods behind the house and the rising, orange- red-pink colored shy, she decided she would not remain in this house. Those marshes were inviting her out there, and the urge to go was overwhelming. At Villeneuve there hadn't been marshes like that, only small patches of forest, mostly city.
Lost in reverie, she hadn't heard the lurching of the wooden floors outside her bedroom as an intruder lurked, watching, planning.
Mid-Afternoon July 17th, 1879
Nice, France
"Don't forget a shawl, Mademoiselle Pinchot." A stuff-shirt, bifocal- wearing butler warned Satine as he wrapped a ridiculously fancy shawl around her frock. When she playing in Villeneuve, she had worn an old, slightly tattered shawl. And people had seen her in that. She was almost positive no one would be seeing her in this silk piece.
But she took it anyway, wrapped it around herself tightly, thanked the man, and started out to the marsh. It was a good 50 meters from the back entrance to the edge, and the whole way her steps were echoed with a squish
squidge. Her boots stuck in the mud and were only removed with effort and a
sickening suction sound. When she finally hit the woods, she found it easily avoided by jumping from rock to rock, log to log, or such.
Her spirits seemed to lift as the minutes passed and she strolled through the thick wood. The suffocating feeling that something was sitting on her chest was lifting, and she knew she had found an escape. Marguerite wouldn't be caught dead out here. She wouldn't make it through the muck.
As the image of Marguerite wrestling through this tangle of brush, mud, rocks, logs, and huge tightly packed trees entertained her briefly, she didn't realize until she tripped and fell she had come upon an opening with a pond
inside. She picked her now soiled self up and her eyes caught the reflection. She kneeled mesmerized, at the twinkling water. It was moving, it seemed, and glowing with life, not like a pond on a dreary day. She watched as frogs hopped about, lily pads floating freely about and water bugs doing their dance. She had never seen anything so beautiful.
On impulse, she took the now soiled shawl and ran to the edge. She dipped it in the water and a good lot of the dirt was loosened and removed.
As she sunk it deeper, up to her elbows was wet. She looked about, smiled, and then slipped in.
Her father, a long time ago, at a fishing trip in Etampés, had taught her to swim and as she paddled on her back across the cleansing water with her eyes closed and the fantasy upon her, the memory of the skill flooded back.
How long she had trolled about in the pond was uncertain, for the only reason she ceased was that she heard rustling and footsteps on the other side of the pond. She quickly snapped her head up and looked at the gently wavering brush. It wasn't windy. She had had a visitor.
So as not to loose them, she raced to the shore and despite the bitter cold nipping at her, she followed the hesitant and then quick footfalls.
"Hey!" she called several times, but to no avail. She saw the small retreating back of someone, and as she got closer and she saw them more frequently between bounds between brushes, she recognized the gait to be that of a boy's.
Finally, her lungs hot and her throat dry, she slowed, and soon he was out of sight. She followed slowly after that. Finally, as she came closer to where he'd ducked from sight, she realized there was another opening.
Across the 30 meter stretch of slightly rolling land was a mammoth mansion, much like the Pinchot house. She watched for a long while through the bushes. Looks like we have neighbors.
Late Evening July 17th, 1879
Nice, France
With her mind preoccupied by her new neighbors and Marguerite sequestered in her room with Philip in attendance, Satine's dinner ran smoothly and she voluntarily retired to her room afterward, seating herself on the window sill, thinking about her visitor she had nicknamed Mystérieux. Maybe he's my age. she thought wistfully, resting her chin on her curled knees. The service had fixed her room and supplied her with a small silk night gown. She however has salvaged her old one and though it seemed a bit small, she had it on.
We could play together in the marsh.maybe he's as lonely as me. Though she missed Villeneuve and her father and her old life, the prospect of a new playmate was inviting. And engrossing. So engrossing in fact she didn't hear the door open, or the intruder come in until he was above her.
"Genevieve." Philip said softly, nearly a rasp. She jumped and initially it was fear in her eyes. But she switched it, honing her skills in that area, and smiled her tight "Philip" smile.
"Bon soir, Father." She greeted. He didn't respond, the carnal in his
eyes too obvious. She got up and he put a hand on her shoulder. She froze, her body and mind terrified.
"It is a good evening, my chérie." He whispered, his hands going to her hair and entangling them within it. "And about to improve.Did anyone ever tell you that you have gorgeous hair?"
July 18th, 1879
Nice, France
"Mademoiselle Pinchot, there is no more hot water!" a voice shouted from outside the bedroom door. Satine didn't hear. Eventually, the voice wandered away. She was wrapped up in herself, her knees drawn to her chest, her arms squeezing them, and her head upright, her eyes focused a thousand yards away. Her toes were the only moving limb, underneath her as she sat in the basin, and they only moved to poke about the locks of hair that coated the bottom of the basin. She had cut a good deal of it off and had then filled the basin with water. Now she sat, immodestly, in the basin, not hearing. Not seeing. Not even feeling the cold of the chilled water. She didn't feel her lips even form the words, or her voice put them to music.
It's over, and I'm overwhelmed
I'm emptied out like a dusty shelf
You've buried me, and I'm covered in shame
So clever but I tripped somehow
I never guessed it would be you to knock me down
I am, just a bit, undone
Displaced and burned like fire.
Shame on me this time
I should have known
I must choose
Between suspicion and naïveté
This is what you wanted anyway
To shame me.
I should cry.she thought stoically. He can't take that too, right.?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Author's Note: Okay, can't say I didn't warn you! It's dark! I hope you got the inference.I don't think I need to spell it out for you.Anyway, I'm sorry it
took sooooooo long but you know, school and all. Please review! Even if you
hate it, review! Open for flames! *cringe* And if you loved it *fingers crossed* definitely review! Ooh yeah, also sorry about the weird formatting.my computer is fritzy! Thanks! -K- Oh yeah, and I kinda melted together two songs, both called "Shame on Me"
The first few lines were by Sister Hazel and the rest were by Face to Face. Sorry!
Summary: This is Satine's childhood. I know a lot of people do that but here's my stab at it!
Disclaimer: Okay, in the movie = not mine. Not in the movie = mine
Reviews: PLEASE! PLEASE!
July 16th, 1879
Nice, France
"Satine, get up." A sharp voice interrupted her fitful and rare sleep. For a while, yet it seemed like a moment, Satine had been secure in the land between consciousness and unconsciousness, dancing between realities. But as she popped an eye open, the reality came like a harsh backhand. She was crunched up on a ball in the corner of the carriage, her hair discombobulated and her dress wrinkled, and her body aching and sore. She yawned and a hand reached in. "Now, you lazy brat!" was a dismal scold. Even Marguerite was too weary to flood Satine with insults or derogatory statements as she stepped out and felt her knees unclench.
"Here we are!" Philip said cheerily, but his attempt was shot down by
Marguerite's blood chilling stare and Satine's teary gaze. He smiled and took Marguerite into his arms.
"My.sweet. This is our home now! And this is your and little Satine's
homecoming!" Marguerite jerked away.
"Grow up." She stormed by. Satine's palms burned as she held on the pulley of her trunk that the servant handed her. Philip turned to her and smiled his toothy, sickening smile.
"Well, Satine." He paused after he said her name, "this is home. Lot better than the old place, no?" He was leaning in her face, his hot, sour breath assaulting her nose. She looked people in the eye as much as she could, unlike most kids her age, and she did just that to Philip. He had cold, dark eyes. But they seemed gleeful today. As she stared in the dark swirls, she felt the world closing around her and the sudden feeling that she was trapped made her pressed her mouth into a tight smile.
"Yes, much better."
With that one lie, she felt someone walk on her grave.
He put his big hand on her shoulder and held it.
"I'll make sure you're happy, here, and you'll be part of the family."
As he headed into the house, Satine felt this family wasn't one she wanted to be part of.
~*~
".through the bounty of Christ, our Lord, Amen." Philip concluded solemnly as the three of them sat at a rather large and gaudy dining room table. Satine shifted in the ridiculous garment her mother had chosen, for it had netting underneath and it irritated her legs.
"Satine, sit still." Marguerite snapped. Satine rolled her eyes and slammed her knees together, so as they wouldn't rub. She then rubbed her neck. Her mother had twisted and yanked her hair up as well, and put a Queen Elizabeth-esque headdress on it. This caused another glare from Marguerite.
"Can't you for the love of God."Marguerite seethed, but was cut off.
"It was a tough ride, Marguerite." Philip instructed. He then turned to Satine. "And chérie, you ought not to upset your Mama. You have quite I rebellious streak. Are you uncomfortable here?" Marguerite stabbed the lamb
on the plate. Satine shifted ever so slightly and she didn't react. Phew.
"No, monsieur Pinchot." He laughed.
"Well, chérie, you must not. First, stop calling me monsieur Pinchot. "What about Papa?" Satine was sure her complexion rivaled broccoli. Marguerite glared, and Satine was about to agree but she couldn't get her own Papa's face out of her mind.
"I'll call you Father. But not Papa." She stated, the strongest she ever felt.
He seemed to mull it over. "All right. And your mother and I have been contemplating another way to make you feel comfortable. Marguerite?" Satine, brow furrowed, turned to her mother.
Marguerite swallowed a mouthful of meat, took a gulp of wine, and in a simple statement said, "We're changing your name."
"It rained today."
"It's three o'clock."
"We're changing your name."
Satine sputtered, "Excusé moi?"
Marguerite was about to begin a tirade when Philip stepped in.
"To make you more of a family member, we decided that my family name will be your name. Genevieve Francesca Danielle Pinchot." He spoke proudly, his thin chest puffing out. Satine stared blankly.
"But Satine Isabeau is my name. Satine Isabeau DuBois!" she said, her
voice increasingly softer.
"Jesus, that's a whore's name! Your name might as well be Mary Magdalene! Your Father has told you your name! Who do you think you are to question him!" Marguerite couldn't hold it anymore. She jumped up and grabbed Satine's plate and threw it on the floor. Satine threw herself back
against the chair and cowered. Philip ran and restrained his wife.
"Genevieve, you shall go to your room without dinner." He told her as he calmed Marguerite. Satine didn't react until her eyes met her mother's own. With that she jumped down, those eyes burning in her head.
Early July 17th, 1879
Nice, France
The Pinchot residence (Satine was far from calling it home) was massive, and that made for quite a silent night. Thank God for that.
After the episode at dinner, Satine had run straight to her room and curled under the covers, forced herself to sleep. It didn't take much-her small body was begging for it. When she woke, she took in her surroundings and then even surprised herself.
She had thrown the covers from her body, jumped from the bed, stripped her frock off and was bare down her to her underclothes, and then savagely ripped and snapped and tore the holds in her hair until it was loose. She had silently done so, and then commenced to completely and thoroughly trashing her bedroom. After her fit, she had collapsed in tears on the floor.
Now her hair was ripped and knotted around her shoulders, but it was free. She was freezing, but as least she felt. She sat on the window sill, still in her underclothes, and stared outside. Sleep hadn't come. It was afraid, she had decided.
As she stared at the marshy woods behind the house and the rising, orange- red-pink colored shy, she decided she would not remain in this house. Those marshes were inviting her out there, and the urge to go was overwhelming. At Villeneuve there hadn't been marshes like that, only small patches of forest, mostly city.
Lost in reverie, she hadn't heard the lurching of the wooden floors outside her bedroom as an intruder lurked, watching, planning.
Mid-Afternoon July 17th, 1879
Nice, France
"Don't forget a shawl, Mademoiselle Pinchot." A stuff-shirt, bifocal- wearing butler warned Satine as he wrapped a ridiculously fancy shawl around her frock. When she playing in Villeneuve, she had worn an old, slightly tattered shawl. And people had seen her in that. She was almost positive no one would be seeing her in this silk piece.
But she took it anyway, wrapped it around herself tightly, thanked the man, and started out to the marsh. It was a good 50 meters from the back entrance to the edge, and the whole way her steps were echoed with a squish
squidge. Her boots stuck in the mud and were only removed with effort and a
sickening suction sound. When she finally hit the woods, she found it easily avoided by jumping from rock to rock, log to log, or such.
Her spirits seemed to lift as the minutes passed and she strolled through the thick wood. The suffocating feeling that something was sitting on her chest was lifting, and she knew she had found an escape. Marguerite wouldn't be caught dead out here. She wouldn't make it through the muck.
As the image of Marguerite wrestling through this tangle of brush, mud, rocks, logs, and huge tightly packed trees entertained her briefly, she didn't realize until she tripped and fell she had come upon an opening with a pond
inside. She picked her now soiled self up and her eyes caught the reflection. She kneeled mesmerized, at the twinkling water. It was moving, it seemed, and glowing with life, not like a pond on a dreary day. She watched as frogs hopped about, lily pads floating freely about and water bugs doing their dance. She had never seen anything so beautiful.
On impulse, she took the now soiled shawl and ran to the edge. She dipped it in the water and a good lot of the dirt was loosened and removed.
As she sunk it deeper, up to her elbows was wet. She looked about, smiled, and then slipped in.
Her father, a long time ago, at a fishing trip in Etampés, had taught her to swim and as she paddled on her back across the cleansing water with her eyes closed and the fantasy upon her, the memory of the skill flooded back.
How long she had trolled about in the pond was uncertain, for the only reason she ceased was that she heard rustling and footsteps on the other side of the pond. She quickly snapped her head up and looked at the gently wavering brush. It wasn't windy. She had had a visitor.
So as not to loose them, she raced to the shore and despite the bitter cold nipping at her, she followed the hesitant and then quick footfalls.
"Hey!" she called several times, but to no avail. She saw the small retreating back of someone, and as she got closer and she saw them more frequently between bounds between brushes, she recognized the gait to be that of a boy's.
Finally, her lungs hot and her throat dry, she slowed, and soon he was out of sight. She followed slowly after that. Finally, as she came closer to where he'd ducked from sight, she realized there was another opening.
Across the 30 meter stretch of slightly rolling land was a mammoth mansion, much like the Pinchot house. She watched for a long while through the bushes. Looks like we have neighbors.
Late Evening July 17th, 1879
Nice, France
With her mind preoccupied by her new neighbors and Marguerite sequestered in her room with Philip in attendance, Satine's dinner ran smoothly and she voluntarily retired to her room afterward, seating herself on the window sill, thinking about her visitor she had nicknamed Mystérieux. Maybe he's my age. she thought wistfully, resting her chin on her curled knees. The service had fixed her room and supplied her with a small silk night gown. She however has salvaged her old one and though it seemed a bit small, she had it on.
We could play together in the marsh.maybe he's as lonely as me. Though she missed Villeneuve and her father and her old life, the prospect of a new playmate was inviting. And engrossing. So engrossing in fact she didn't hear the door open, or the intruder come in until he was above her.
"Genevieve." Philip said softly, nearly a rasp. She jumped and initially it was fear in her eyes. But she switched it, honing her skills in that area, and smiled her tight "Philip" smile.
"Bon soir, Father." She greeted. He didn't respond, the carnal in his
eyes too obvious. She got up and he put a hand on her shoulder. She froze, her body and mind terrified.
"It is a good evening, my chérie." He whispered, his hands going to her hair and entangling them within it. "And about to improve.Did anyone ever tell you that you have gorgeous hair?"
July 18th, 1879
Nice, France
"Mademoiselle Pinchot, there is no more hot water!" a voice shouted from outside the bedroom door. Satine didn't hear. Eventually, the voice wandered away. She was wrapped up in herself, her knees drawn to her chest, her arms squeezing them, and her head upright, her eyes focused a thousand yards away. Her toes were the only moving limb, underneath her as she sat in the basin, and they only moved to poke about the locks of hair that coated the bottom of the basin. She had cut a good deal of it off and had then filled the basin with water. Now she sat, immodestly, in the basin, not hearing. Not seeing. Not even feeling the cold of the chilled water. She didn't feel her lips even form the words, or her voice put them to music.
It's over, and I'm overwhelmed
I'm emptied out like a dusty shelf
You've buried me, and I'm covered in shame
So clever but I tripped somehow
I never guessed it would be you to knock me down
I am, just a bit, undone
Displaced and burned like fire.
Shame on me this time
I should have known
I must choose
Between suspicion and naïveté
This is what you wanted anyway
To shame me.
I should cry.she thought stoically. He can't take that too, right.?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Author's Note: Okay, can't say I didn't warn you! It's dark! I hope you got the inference.I don't think I need to spell it out for you.Anyway, I'm sorry it
took sooooooo long but you know, school and all. Please review! Even if you
hate it, review! Open for flames! *cringe* And if you loved it *fingers crossed* definitely review! Ooh yeah, also sorry about the weird formatting.my computer is fritzy! Thanks! -K- Oh yeah, and I kinda melted together two songs, both called "Shame on Me"
The first few lines were by Sister Hazel and the rest were by Face to Face. Sorry!