Author: DJRocky99

Description: I'm a sarcastic, cynical, occasionally humorous person who enjoys making fun of other things…Moulin Rouge was good, but not good enough to escape my wrath…

Disclaimer: Sadly, all Moulin Rouge characters are still owned by Baz.

Chapter Two: The Talented Mr. Christian

Shout out: Rosemarie! It's nice to see that someone missed me, hehe. It's lovely to see you again. I'm glad that the story is a *little* more pulled together…and fear not, the infamous muffin-boy dialogue will be included. (But shhh! It's a secret, hehe.)

Rewind: When we last left off, Christian had just learned of a little production affectionately known as, "Horrific Horrific!"

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[Toulouse]: It's a play called, "Horrific Horrific!" Unfortunately, it is time for a lunch break, and we have yet to complete writing the play, which must be presented to the financiers at one o'clock, and our lead role, played by the Narcoleptic, is currently asleep next to a cross-dresser with purple hair.

[Audrey]: I'm not a cross-dresser!

[Toulouse]: And I'm not a midget. Oops. Damn it.

[Djrocky99]: Toulouse would have dropped to his knees, had he not already been on them. Run-on sentences can really take the air out of a man.

[Christian]: I don't like your tone of voice, you little non-midget! You don't honestly think that I'm going to play the part of a sensitive Swiss poet named Goatherd do you?

[Toulouse]: Who mentioned anything about poets named Goatherd?

[Christian, turning beet-red]: Um...

[Toulouse, taking charge]: No matter! If you don't help us out, I'll wake up the Narcoleptic and let him tell you just how TALENTED he thinks you are.

[Djrocky99]: At that, Toulouse shot an ungainly and rather unmanly glance at Christian's…er…talent. Realizing he was out of options, Christian consented.

[Christian, in a higher-than-normal voice]: Well, shall we get to it, then?

[Djrocky99]: As can be expected with any cheesy love parody, Toulouse misinterpreted the meaning behind Christian's previous remark. Turning an even brighter shade of beet-red, Christian turned to leave.

[Toulouse, enthusiastically]: Oh, you fine specimen of manhood!

[Christian, irritated]: Come on, you . Let's go upstairs already.

[Toulouse, grinning and giggling like a schoolgirl]: So, it's back to my place then, is it? Hehehe!

[Djrocky99]: Christian trembled with nervousness at the thought of being alone in a room with a midget dressed as a nun. He thought to himself:

[Christian, to self]: Damn it! Dr. Wisenheimer swore this would never happen. And to think I wasted $4000 an hour on that woman…

[Djrocky99]: No wonder he's penniless…anyway, happened it had. When the pair arrived upstairs in Toulouse's garret (French for "painted cardboard box"), they were greeted by a group of people. Many people, in fact: Audrey, the Narcoleptic, Sadie (a musician), and the Doctor (a hobo). This brought great relief to poor Christian, who was still dazed and confused from watching a Holy Midget fall through his roof. Well, he was relieved, until it dawned on him that maybe they were ALL going to tell how impressed they were with his talent.

In an attempt to take everyone's mind off of his amazing talent, Christian decided now would be as good a time as any to burst into song.

[Christian, at the top of his lungs]: The hilllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllls are aliveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee with the sound of muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuusic!

[Djrocky99]: All of the Bohemians stopped what they were doing, covered their ears, and stared up at him. He grinned that patented dorky boyish grin at them. Deciding that the multitude of shattered glass was a good sign, he continued.

[Christian, even more off-key]: With songs they've sung for a thousand yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaars!

[Djrocky99]: Ugh; again with the grin.

[Christian]: So, what do you think? Not bad for a Scotsman, huh?

[Bohemians, in unison]: We thought you were from London!

[Christian, sheepishly]: Yes, of course I'm from London. I'm…just keeping you guys on your toes.

[Djrocky99]: The Bohemians rolled their eyes. Now, Audrey had spent the entire length of this scene trying to do something…ANYTHING…with his hair.

[Audrey, frustrated]: Oi vey, this is ridiculous! I need a drink!

[Djrocky99]: He/she threw the curling iron aside, right into the lap of the unsuspecting (and still unconscious) Narcoleptic. It sat there…and sat there…eventually burning a hole in his pants. This didn't bother him, for whatever reason. Suddenly, Toulouse had a bright idea.

[Toulouse]: Hey, I have a bright idea! Christian, you and Audrey should write the show together!

[Djrocky99]: Christian gave Audrey a funny look, and asked if he was really the writer of the show.

[Audrey, with an arrogant tone]: Yes, of course I am, can't you tell?

[Christian, under his breath]: No.

[Audrey]: What was that?

[Djrocky99]: Christian, who was completely terrified of this grown man who pranced around looking and acting like a woman, denied saying anything at all.

[Audrey]: Hey, we're out of absinthe. I'm going to run next door to the "5 and Dime" and pick a bottle or two up.

[Christian]: This is 1899! In a small village in France! There's NO SUCH THING!

[Audrey, muffled from behind the door]: Ooooops.

[Toulouse]: Sigh. We do have absinthe…but I'm glad we got rid of that freak!

[Christian, to himself]: Hello, this is Toulouse. Hey…kettle? Yeah. You're black.

[Toulouse, continuing]: Well, with Audrey gone, it looks like you're our writer now hot shot.

[Sadie]: But how will we convince Zidler? You know how much he was looking forward to working with the cross dresser…don't you?

[Bohemians, in unison]: It's kind of obvious.

[Djrocky99]: Suddenly, Toulouse had ANOTHER bright idea. He's on a roll…there's no stopping him…hehe.

[Toulouse]: I've got it! We'll dress Christian up as a woman, thus transforming him into a cross dresser, and Zidler will be sure to love him! Literally!

[Christian]: Oh well that's just dandy. First a midget, inappropriately dressed as a nun, falls through the ceiling; okay, I can cope with that. Then, a Narcoleptic Argentinean who isn't from Argentina and probably doesn't have narcolepsy either broke down my door and tangoed over it with a cross dresser named Audrey; okay, that's an extra session of therapy I'll need. But now you're saying that you want to dress me up as a woman and send me to meet a man who LIKES that sort of thing?!

[Djrocky99]: The Bohemians glanced at each other and then turned back to Christian.

[Bohemians, in unison]: Yeah, basically.

[Djrocky99]: For the second time in a half an hour, Christian stared blankly at Toulouse.

[Christian, with a shaky voice]: Well, if that's the case…I can't do it. I can't write the play for the Moulin Rouge or Harry Zidler and I most certainly cannot dress up like a woman. Hell, I'm not even sure I'm a Revolutionary after all.

[Djrocky99]: Each Bohemian's respective jaw hit the floor.

[Doctor]: What do you mean, maybe not "a Revolutionary after all"? Do you believe in freedom, beauty, truth, and of course, love?

[Christian]: Yes, yes, yes, and duh! Love is like…helium! Both love and helium do really strange things to my voice! Love is a many splintered thing! Once you get it under your skin, it's tough to get out.

[Toulouse]: See, you can't fool us much! You're the voice of the children of the Revolution!

[Christian]: Yeah, right okay. So…what's this absinthe stuff all about?

[Toulouse]: Christian, my lad, after your first sip, you'll never want to eat, drink, dream, or remember anything else.

[Djrocky99]: Christian found this very appealing, considering the events he'd faced so far. A small voice in the back of his head told him it was too early to be drinking. But then, his mind took over and told his conscience to shut the hell up. Toulouse pulled out shot glasses for each Bohemian…including one for the snoozing Narcoleptic. He threw it in his face.

The Narcoleptic awoke with a snort.

[Christian]: Two, please!

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A/N: My apologies to the cast and crew…but that's the price that must be paid for entertainment! Review, if you would! =)