Hi peoples! Heh, this is the first Moulin Rouge fanfic I have ever tried to write. I know there have been stories about them coming back years later, reincarnated, but I want to write one of my own. I just hope it'll come out alright. --;; Low self-confidence, but I'm gonna write it anyway.
Disclaimer: I don't own Moulin Rouge or any of the characters. Though I'd love to own Ewan/Christian…..
I Will Always Return
Prologue
Warnings: References to drinking and suicide
&Paris 1900&
Christian had sat down for more than a week at his typewriter, writing furiously the story that Satine had asked him write before she died. It was a painful journey, the writing of that novel. There were many times that Christian stopped, wracked with sobs that he drowned away with absinthe. Everyone, for the first few months after the tragedy during Spectacular, Spectacular, had come by to try and get him to come out of his flat, to DO something, anything to get him away from the absinthe. But he always fought them off, sometimes very violently, one time that cost Toulousea few black eyes and a horrible split lip. The attempts after that incident came fewer and fewer, until it was only Toulouse who came by. He had learned to not upset Christian, for fear of getting another beating, so the only thing he did was bring food. Sometimes he'd stay for a few hours, drinking with Christian. Otherwise, Christian was alone, alone with his painful memories of Satine.
Then one not so very special day, as he sat and finished his manuscript, he pulled out his gun and set it beside him on the table.
"… a story about a place, a story about the people. But above all things, a story about love. A love that will live forever. The end."
As Christian finished, he closed his eyes and allowed the tears to fall. He hated reliving that awful night and the end of novel just brought it back all the more strongly. He slowly got up and looked around the room, at all of the pages that lined the walls. He slowly went around the room, reading them and putting the papers in order, taking the final page from the typewriter and putting them into a folder. He laid it in plain sight and picked up the gun. He did as Satine had asked of him, at least, part of his promise. The other half…he couldn't do. He was dying inside and he needed to be away from the pain.
He once again looked around the room, then turned to the window and looked one last time upon the giant windmill that was once the entrance to the Moulin Rouge. His eyes lingered on the place, then he turned away and picked up the pistol. He looked at it, running his fingers over the smooth, cold metal. Then he closed his eyes and brought it to his temple….
BANG
Well, that's the prologue. I know it was angsty. I meant it to be. Anywho, the first chapter will be out when I get it written. Until then, ja ne!