Satine shifted uncomfortably in the back of the carriage, pulling a few ruffles from the hem of her dress out of her way as she stepped outside. After the driver helped her out, he climbed back into the driver's seat and nodded to her, silently signaling that he would wait for her. Returning the nod, Satine turned towards the grounds before her -- a graveyard, that was covered with snow. She exhaled, breath turning to white at contact with the cold air, and then began towards a certain tombstone.
The quote on the tombstone before her brought a vague, though distant smile to Satine's face, and there was a tinge of sadness to it. She lowered to her knees before the grave, then reached out so that her fingers could brush along the traces of his name.
"I'm so sorry," she said quietly, speaking as if Christian could hear her -- and in the depths of her heart, Satine really did believe that he was listening. "I'm sorry I lied, Christian, I'm sorry I said all those terrible things." Her voice began to quiver, so she dropped her head and fell silent for a moment's time. "I really do love you, Christian. I just wish you could've heard me say it one more time." Her expression grew pained, and her eyes fell shut to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall once more. Satine leaned forward, bare hands pressing into the cold snow, so that she could press red-painted lips to the cold marble before her. "Come what may," she breathed onto the stone, wishing that it were Christian, if only for one second.
Satine made her way back to the carriage and was assisted in by the driver. "Take me to the train station, please," she called to him, then reached to pull a slip of paper from her purse -- a train ticket to London.
"Satine! Satine!" Christian's wails were soon silenced when a guard came and knocked him across the face. They grabbed him by each arm and dragged him off, though he did not go easily. His kicks and cries of protest were futile, though, as Christian soon found himself flat on his face, outside the gates of the Moulin Rouge. Clambering to his feet, Christian turned to glance at the slowly turning windmill one more time. He opened his mouth to call out her name again, but realized that his efforts were useless -- even if she did hear him, she wouldn't respond. After all, it was just an act, wasn't it?
Christian hastily grabbed the wad of bills that the pawner had offered him for his typewriter. While he wasn't readily willing to give up his Underwood, he had unfinished business to attend to, and if all things turn out as he hoped they would, he wouldn't mind the loss of it at all. But somehow, Christian doubted that the night would end as he had originally planned.
At the doors to the Moulin Rouge, Christian could hear one of the numbers ending -- a song that he'd written, of course. Deciding that bursting through the front doors wouldn't be the best option, he quickly made his way to the back exit and slipped in. He wasn't greeted pleasantly, though; instead, he was greeted by a rather agitated Warner, who held a pistol in his right hand. Christian's steps froze.
"I've only come to repay my ... my debts," he said quickly, though Warner didn't seem to care, and moved not from the doorway. Seeing this, Christian continued. "The Duke can have Satine -- I've only come to pay her for her ... her services!" His voice rose in volume at the end, spite lacing his words. With that, Christian angrily pushed past Warner (which came as a shock to both, as Christian wasn't exactly equal in size to the other man) and burst into Satine's dressing room.
Only, she wasn't there. Not knowing what else to do, Christian turned back around and exited the dressing room the same way he came. A glimpse of red hair fueled his steps, causing Christian to almost begin to run towards Satine. Warner had perfect timing, though, and stepped out of a shadow quickly enough to cause Christian to run straight into him. The collision knocked him back a step or two, and he fell to the ground. The money he carried spilled across the floor, but he did not scramble to pick it up. The gun that Warner had pointed at his head was much too distracting.
Crawling backwards, Christian tried to disappear from Warner's sight, but he was unsuccessful. After backing into a wall, he fumbled around blindly for something -- anything -- that could distract the other long enough for him to get away and to Satine. Christian suddenly fell backwards, though a back door that had opened against the weight of Christian's back, and found himself outside, in an alleyway behind the Moulin Rouge.
"The train station, Miss Satine."
The driver's voice woke Satine from her light sleep. She sat up straight and tried to reposition a few curls that had fallen from the bun she wore during her sleep, but they were unruly and refused to be tamed. Satine gave up and then left the carriage, taking her back from the driver with a simple nod. "Thank you," she offered politely.
"Quite welcome, Miss Satine. Enjoy London."
Enjoy indeed. Satine still wasn't quite sure what she was going to do once she arrived in London, but she supposed that she could figure it out as soon as she got there.
Before long, Satine found herself on a train to London. She'd picked a window seat, and had resigned to staring out the window blankly, watching the trees and scenery as they passed.