AN: It's probably pretty obvious that I made up the Diamond Dogs in the story. I didn't think I knew enough about the ones from the movie to write effectively about them.
I don't own the Moulin Rouge.
~*~
Her head pounded and a faint ache had settled in the shoulder she rested on. She regretted her decision to nap on the sofa wholeheartedly and wished she could have found the strength to stagger away. Zidler had a few reasonably comfortable beds set up for some of the girls who absolutely refused to enter their bordellos, except when they had a customer. But she hadn't couldn't have made it to one of them then and couldn't now.
If she had opened her eyes, she would have seen that Birdie's absinthe was gone, but as it was, she could almost see it's burning presence beneath her eyelids. The only good it had done her was the pandemonium that now raged through her brain. Thoughts confused themselves and bounced about in her mind, making pain the only clear thing. It rose in a sharp crescendo at random points inside her skull. A soft moan finally signaled that she would get up.
She sank back down. As soon as she had opened her eyes, she had seen him there. His beautiful face made a ghastly apparition. Satine's blue eyes stared straight ahead, wide and frightened.
"Awake?" called Love from behind the couch. Her feet danced in a tight, then wide box.
Satine didn't let her mind do anything, and yet each motion was somehow planned deep within. "Shit," she said, just for the purpose of releasing the tension that exploded inside of her. She ran her fingers through her hair and stood up, watching the world fade to black, then back in.
"Go get some ice!" Love pointed to and icebox in the corner. "You'll feel better soon. We've got a show tonight."
Of course, there was always the next show to live for.
"Show me," implored the redhead, flexing her feet and pointing to Love's dancing slippers. She watched the other prostitute's nimble movements.
That's what she was now…
"Go see Zidler. You have your own part for the rest of it," Love said a few paces later, pushing her toward the door, "and aren't you going to get some ice?"
~*~
She ignored the daggers that carved into her tender body. She disregarded the lightning bolts of fever assaulted each move she made. They left her, but not soon enough, and not without being keenly felt.
Presently, Satine took on the self-assurance of one who had survived a storm. It had subsided, and with each passing moment, the memories became milder… it seemed it had never been bad in the first place. She twisted in circles and practiced winking under Harold's scrutinizing eye. When Lioness left to get some water, he showed her the dainty steps instead of waiting for her to return. She almost laughed—
But yet she couldn't. The day so far had seemed so serious. It would have been like wearing bright colors to your granny's funeral—a blatant disrespect. She danced soberly until Zidler sent her off and Birdie caught up to her.
"Let's go see the garden!" Mischievousness never seemed left Birdie's voice. It could dip from hateful to seductive and bounce up to joyful, but she always seemed lighthearted…
~*~
"Birdie!" shrilled the Diamond Dog of the same name. A sickly one-legged sparrow fluttered from a tree to perch lopsidedly on her finger.
"Doesn't she need a cage?" Satine marveled.
"No," said Birdie, gently caressing one threadbare wing. "She has one already."
Her eyes traveled the walls of the enclosed courtyard. Her voice became serious and solemn.
"Not of the usual sort, but… she definitely has one. Do you honestly think she could ever leave?
"No. There's no place she could go. But as long as she can live with this illusion of freedom, she'll be happy. Look at her pretty coop. She can fly and sing. The only thing she can't do is leave. Rather, she could, but who would accept her? How would she live?"
Birdie answered herself in a whisper: "She couldn't."
Satine was afraid to speak. The omnipresent playfulness was gone. Sadness made the young girl seem ancient. Unwrinkled eyes had seen too much of the world. The air was thick, broken only with a few notes the bird struggled to sing. Satine finally found words, speaking tenderly:
"What happened to her leg?"
"I cut it off," responded a somber voice, quickly as if to make it sound better. "When I found her, it was twisted in three places. It hurt so much that she couldn't fly, so she hopped and… I found her. I did it real quick." The voice was haunted now. "I didn't want it to hurt her anymore."
Satine tasted the suffocating salt of a tear in her mouth. She ran her hand across her face and lifted her chin. She tried changing the subject, hoping to restore Birdie to her cheerful self.
"So… what was your life like before you came here?"
The pastel girl lifted her face to squint to the vivid colors of the sky. Her cutting laugh escaped from her throat and her hand unknowingly pushed a lock of hair from her neck. Her finger smoothed an old scar that ran down her back beneath her shirt.
"We whores don't talk about that much, but who the hell cares—
"Once upon a time I was married to the meanest son of a bitch in the world…"
~*~