Chapter One
"There was a virgin A very strange and desperate virgin Even older than me At twenty five Also known as a DV Then one day One magic day he passed my way He spoke to me of many things Whores and rings And then one day he said to me The greatest thing you'll ever do Is have sex that won't cost you"
Christian raised his unshaven head (he had to conceal that arse-chin somehow, didn't he?!) off his arms and began to type. He spoke aloud the words as he wrote them. "The Moulin Rouge."
" A nightclub." He thought about this. "A whorehouse. Ruled over by a scary dude in a bad moustache and too much makeup." He paused again. "A kingdom of hot sex, where the dirty old men came to feel up the young and slutty prostitutes." He sighed and picked a little at the large spot in the centre of his forehead before continuing. "The most beautiful of all these was the one I paid. Satine. A crazy crack whore, she sold hot sex to men. They called her." He wiped a tear from his eye. ".the Diamond Geezer." Smiling in remembrance, he typed, "And she was the star of the Moulin Rouge. The crazy crack whore I loved is." Weeping, he looked out of the window. ".dead."
~*~*~*~
"I first came to Paris one year ago. It was 1899, the summer of love. I mean 1967. I mean." Christian became increasingly confused. "I knew nothing of sex, whores, or incidentally Harold Zidler. The world had been swept up in the Bohemian revolution and I had travelled from London to be an expert in sex. I mean.a part of it."
Christian looked at the green fairy ruefully. She smiled at him. "You go on love. Don't mind me." She swigged some more Absinthe.
"There was a village on a hill called Montmartre. It was as my father had said, 'A village of SIN!' but I had to go anyway. He scared the crap outta me."
Christian was sure there was something not quite right about this. He thought being truthful was all very well, but you should be allowed to be a little bit of a liar. Call it artistic licence. He looked again at the green fairy. She nodded encouragingly. "Quite right, love."
"Yes," Christian continued, getting into his stride. "I had come to live a penniless existence. I had come to write about Truth, Beauty, Freedom, Love, and that which I believed in above all things, concealer. But there was a problem - I had never been in love - DV, remember?" Christian smiled in remembrance at the good times.
"Luckily, at that point an unconscious Argentinean named Argy fell through my roof. He was quickly joined by a man on his knees with a pair of tights on his head."
Christian let himself be taken slowly back to the good old days, when he was a virgin with a visible chin-arse and no concealer.
~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~
"How do you do?" smiled the dwarf. "My name is." Christian heard a lot of gobbledygook. The only word he heard clearly was Toulouse. "I'm terribly sorry about all this. We're just upstairs taking part in a live sex show.um. I mean, rehearsing a play."
"What?" Christian looked naively confused.
He learnt from the dwarf it was a play, surprisingly enough, and it was called Craptacular Craptacular.
"It's set in Sheffield," lisped Toulouse annoyingly, waggling his tights with enthusiasm.
He also learnt that Argy suffered from narcolepsy.
"Fine one minute then - crashing through the floor the next!" Toulouse flirted grotesquely.
Suddenly, three terrifying faces appeared through the large hole in Christian's ceiling.
"How is he?" asked the middle one. Christian was about to reply "Fine, no thanks to you," when he realised it wasn't aimed at him.
"Oh, wonderful, so the narcoleptic Argentinean is unconscious and therefore the scenario will not be finished in time to present to the financier tomorrow!" The middle apparition explained everything that had happened in the plot so far and also prepared the rest of the movie.
And THAT, kids, is a useful character.
"Yes, Toulouse, I still have to finish the music," whispered a softly- spoken bald dude whose head was shaped oddly like a light bulb.
"We'll just have to find someone to read the part," Toulouse smiled toothily, scaring the hell outta Christian.
"And where in heaven's name are we going to find someone to read the part of a young sensitive Sheffieldian poet fork manufacturer?" cried Audrey, deaf to Christian's increasingly frantic cries of "Pick me! Pick me!" Upstairs, they began.
"The factories animate with euphonious symphonies of knife melodies!" pranced Toulouse, tunelessly.
"Stop that insufferable droning!" shrieked Audrey, voicing Christian's thoughts with scary accuracy.
Everyone began arguing over the words. Christian felt incredibly small. No one would listen to his brilliant idea!
"Well," he said to himself, "my personal motto is - when in doubt, SING!"
So he burst into song, raising his angelic DV face to the heavens. "There's a worm at the bottom of the garden, and his name is Wiggly Woo!" The Bohemians fell silent in awe.
Argy was the first to speak. Leaping up, he cried, "There's a worm at the bottom of the garden.I love it!"
Christian smiled at the praise. "And he wiggles all night and day!" he sang, leaning off the ladder gesticulating. A little too far.CRASH!
He got up hurriedly, and, rubbing his bruised nose, climbed back onto the ladder hoping no-one had noticed.
"Mmm, candy floss," mumbled Toulouse. (A/N: I don't actually know what he says here, but that is what it sounds like!) "You should write the show with Audrey."
"Excuse me?!" s/he said. Then. "Goodbye!" s/he slammed the door as s/he left.
"PMS," explained Toulouse. "Have some green crap," he added, raising his glass.
"Zidler won't agree," whispered Bulbhead. "Have you ever written anything like this before?"
"No!" Christian said. Singing for praise was one thing, but a whole show?!
"He has talent!" Argy walked over and put his hand on a VERY inappropriate place. "I like him." He realised exactly where his hand was. "Nothing funny, I just like talent."
Christian sighed with relief as Argy removed his hand, though actually it did not feel too bad.
~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~
"Hmm." Christian paused as he re-read the last few lines. He was sure he was alienating female readers with the part about it feeling OK. He added two more words. "DV, remember."
Much better.
"Toulouse even had a plan for convincing Zidler. I should be passed off as an English writer and perform my poetry for Satine."
"But I kept hearing my father's voice in my head: 'You'll end up wasting your life at the Moulin Rouge with a crazy crack whore!"
~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~
"I can't write the show for the Moulin Rouge!" Christian dived for safety, clinging tightly onto the ladder. He no longer trusted ladders.
"Why not?" asked the Bohemians, crowding him. He panicked.
"I.I don't even know if I am a true Bohemian revolutionary. I mean.look at my spot.tis unconcealered!" he confessed.
There was general alarm.
"It can be overlooked, if.Do you believe in beauty?" Toulouse demanded.
"Phwoar.yeah!" Christian replied nervously.
"Freedom?"
"Well, duh!"
"Truth?"
"Except white lies."
"Love?"
"Love!" Christian's DV face smiled, DV-ishly. "Above all things I believe in love. Love is like mummy oranges and daddy oranges having baby tangerines! Love is a many-clothed thing - unless your lover is naked, of course. Love lifts us up where we belong, kinda like pot.all you need is love!" He paused. "And pot."
Toulouse grinned. "We'll get you some concealer."
~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~
The green fairy hiccupped, disgruntled. "You left me out!"
"Sorry, m'dear," Christian apologised, downing a glass of Pastiche. "It's only PG-13."
A/N: Well?! Whaddya think of the first chapter?! It probably will stick closer to the actual plot in some points than in others. But I'm especially proud of the songs *g* Also, if you know any Alex's with bad hair, please mention it in a review. I really want to see if my theory fits.
"There was a virgin A very strange and desperate virgin Even older than me At twenty five Also known as a DV Then one day One magic day he passed my way He spoke to me of many things Whores and rings And then one day he said to me The greatest thing you'll ever do Is have sex that won't cost you"
Christian raised his unshaven head (he had to conceal that arse-chin somehow, didn't he?!) off his arms and began to type. He spoke aloud the words as he wrote them. "The Moulin Rouge."
" A nightclub." He thought about this. "A whorehouse. Ruled over by a scary dude in a bad moustache and too much makeup." He paused again. "A kingdom of hot sex, where the dirty old men came to feel up the young and slutty prostitutes." He sighed and picked a little at the large spot in the centre of his forehead before continuing. "The most beautiful of all these was the one I paid. Satine. A crazy crack whore, she sold hot sex to men. They called her." He wiped a tear from his eye. ".the Diamond Geezer." Smiling in remembrance, he typed, "And she was the star of the Moulin Rouge. The crazy crack whore I loved is." Weeping, he looked out of the window. ".dead."
~*~*~*~
"I first came to Paris one year ago. It was 1899, the summer of love. I mean 1967. I mean." Christian became increasingly confused. "I knew nothing of sex, whores, or incidentally Harold Zidler. The world had been swept up in the Bohemian revolution and I had travelled from London to be an expert in sex. I mean.a part of it."
Christian looked at the green fairy ruefully. She smiled at him. "You go on love. Don't mind me." She swigged some more Absinthe.
"There was a village on a hill called Montmartre. It was as my father had said, 'A village of SIN!' but I had to go anyway. He scared the crap outta me."
Christian was sure there was something not quite right about this. He thought being truthful was all very well, but you should be allowed to be a little bit of a liar. Call it artistic licence. He looked again at the green fairy. She nodded encouragingly. "Quite right, love."
"Yes," Christian continued, getting into his stride. "I had come to live a penniless existence. I had come to write about Truth, Beauty, Freedom, Love, and that which I believed in above all things, concealer. But there was a problem - I had never been in love - DV, remember?" Christian smiled in remembrance at the good times.
"Luckily, at that point an unconscious Argentinean named Argy fell through my roof. He was quickly joined by a man on his knees with a pair of tights on his head."
Christian let himself be taken slowly back to the good old days, when he was a virgin with a visible chin-arse and no concealer.
~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~
"How do you do?" smiled the dwarf. "My name is." Christian heard a lot of gobbledygook. The only word he heard clearly was Toulouse. "I'm terribly sorry about all this. We're just upstairs taking part in a live sex show.um. I mean, rehearsing a play."
"What?" Christian looked naively confused.
He learnt from the dwarf it was a play, surprisingly enough, and it was called Craptacular Craptacular.
"It's set in Sheffield," lisped Toulouse annoyingly, waggling his tights with enthusiasm.
He also learnt that Argy suffered from narcolepsy.
"Fine one minute then - crashing through the floor the next!" Toulouse flirted grotesquely.
Suddenly, three terrifying faces appeared through the large hole in Christian's ceiling.
"How is he?" asked the middle one. Christian was about to reply "Fine, no thanks to you," when he realised it wasn't aimed at him.
"Oh, wonderful, so the narcoleptic Argentinean is unconscious and therefore the scenario will not be finished in time to present to the financier tomorrow!" The middle apparition explained everything that had happened in the plot so far and also prepared the rest of the movie.
And THAT, kids, is a useful character.
"Yes, Toulouse, I still have to finish the music," whispered a softly- spoken bald dude whose head was shaped oddly like a light bulb.
"We'll just have to find someone to read the part," Toulouse smiled toothily, scaring the hell outta Christian.
"And where in heaven's name are we going to find someone to read the part of a young sensitive Sheffieldian poet fork manufacturer?" cried Audrey, deaf to Christian's increasingly frantic cries of "Pick me! Pick me!" Upstairs, they began.
"The factories animate with euphonious symphonies of knife melodies!" pranced Toulouse, tunelessly.
"Stop that insufferable droning!" shrieked Audrey, voicing Christian's thoughts with scary accuracy.
Everyone began arguing over the words. Christian felt incredibly small. No one would listen to his brilliant idea!
"Well," he said to himself, "my personal motto is - when in doubt, SING!"
So he burst into song, raising his angelic DV face to the heavens. "There's a worm at the bottom of the garden, and his name is Wiggly Woo!" The Bohemians fell silent in awe.
Argy was the first to speak. Leaping up, he cried, "There's a worm at the bottom of the garden.I love it!"
Christian smiled at the praise. "And he wiggles all night and day!" he sang, leaning off the ladder gesticulating. A little too far.CRASH!
He got up hurriedly, and, rubbing his bruised nose, climbed back onto the ladder hoping no-one had noticed.
"Mmm, candy floss," mumbled Toulouse. (A/N: I don't actually know what he says here, but that is what it sounds like!) "You should write the show with Audrey."
"Excuse me?!" s/he said. Then. "Goodbye!" s/he slammed the door as s/he left.
"PMS," explained Toulouse. "Have some green crap," he added, raising his glass.
"Zidler won't agree," whispered Bulbhead. "Have you ever written anything like this before?"
"No!" Christian said. Singing for praise was one thing, but a whole show?!
"He has talent!" Argy walked over and put his hand on a VERY inappropriate place. "I like him." He realised exactly where his hand was. "Nothing funny, I just like talent."
Christian sighed with relief as Argy removed his hand, though actually it did not feel too bad.
~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~
"Hmm." Christian paused as he re-read the last few lines. He was sure he was alienating female readers with the part about it feeling OK. He added two more words. "DV, remember."
Much better.
"Toulouse even had a plan for convincing Zidler. I should be passed off as an English writer and perform my poetry for Satine."
"But I kept hearing my father's voice in my head: 'You'll end up wasting your life at the Moulin Rouge with a crazy crack whore!"
~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~
"I can't write the show for the Moulin Rouge!" Christian dived for safety, clinging tightly onto the ladder. He no longer trusted ladders.
"Why not?" asked the Bohemians, crowding him. He panicked.
"I.I don't even know if I am a true Bohemian revolutionary. I mean.look at my spot.tis unconcealered!" he confessed.
There was general alarm.
"It can be overlooked, if.Do you believe in beauty?" Toulouse demanded.
"Phwoar.yeah!" Christian replied nervously.
"Freedom?"
"Well, duh!"
"Truth?"
"Except white lies."
"Love?"
"Love!" Christian's DV face smiled, DV-ishly. "Above all things I believe in love. Love is like mummy oranges and daddy oranges having baby tangerines! Love is a many-clothed thing - unless your lover is naked, of course. Love lifts us up where we belong, kinda like pot.all you need is love!" He paused. "And pot."
Toulouse grinned. "We'll get you some concealer."
~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~
The green fairy hiccupped, disgruntled. "You left me out!"
"Sorry, m'dear," Christian apologised, downing a glass of Pastiche. "It's only PG-13."
A/N: Well?! Whaddya think of the first chapter?! It probably will stick closer to the actual plot in some points than in others. But I'm especially proud of the songs *g* Also, if you know any Alex's with bad hair, please mention it in a review. I really want to see if my theory fits.