A/N: Hey! I'm back after a long hiatus/dry spell. Life got in the way and I forgot how good it feels to write, how therapeutic it was for me. I've come back to resharpen and hone my writing skills so that I can focus on my own works but not without practicing with fanfiction first. I have a few ideas for some one shots but I would need to a solid plot in order to commit to a multi chapter story, so we'll just see what comes from my noggin.
This particular one shot it based of the Roxanne dance sequence and when I was watching the film I saw a redheaded extra that Christian seems to focus on for a bit and the redhead's seduction it edited in a way that Christian seems to be thinking of Satine's dinner with the Duke is going the same way the redhead's passionate affair is. This is what that scene inspired. Keep in mind that it's not meant to be grounded in reality, to show the unstable mindset of my nameless dancer.
This was on my previous account that I outgrew, SewWierdSeamstress, so I'm just moving this to the new account.
I'd like to thank xWinterRosex for the review and follow. It was very encouraging! And more stories are coming.
FYI I own nothing really.
Leave a review down in the doobly doo!
Was it possible for a woman to be too beautiful?
To be too talented?
To be too charming?
It would seem so, the red haired dancer. No, she wasn't Satine, the 'Sparkling Diamond' and star of the Moulin Rouge. But rather she was a tall, pale, blue eyed member of the chorus of the new show, 'Spectacular, Spectacular'. It was those physical traits that made Zidler draw a connection to the resemblance between her and Satine.
As a true business man, he capitalized on the discovery and even made the lowly dancer dye her dirty blonde locks a bright cherry red. It was his idea to make her resemble Satine as much as possible, so that she would appeal to clientele that couldn't or wouldn't meet the lovely fee for Satine's services.
She couldn't help but wonder what it was that Satine did exactly to keep men coming back for more. She had even briefly entertained the idea of what it would be like to be in those men's shoes. She could imagine that Satine made their experiences very sensual and filled with worldly conversation and banter. Satine could read a man well enough to know what it was that he most wanted to hear and be what he most wanted her to be. Ready to put on the act at a moment's notice. And that's why she made the big money.
The dancer, however didn't particularly care to put on airs and add frills to the ritual. Lovemaking was very basic, wasn't it? Why put up a charade?
But then again, it wasn't she that was the 'Sparkling Diamond', star of the Moulin Rouge. There must have been something she had been doing wrong, or rather, what she was not doing that lead to her considerably lesser success.
To be perfectly honest, the only reason why she was even able to stay here was because she could dance, quite well actually. It would seem that her dancing abilities were the only thing that was exceptional about her. For she had none of the charm, beauty, or charisma that Satine or most of the other girls had to recommend her. She was an able body and she had to eat, that's why she was there, as Zidler reminded her cheerfully when she looked down. Which was often. In fact, when a client preferred the 'wilting flower' type, it was her that Zidler recommended. Once it was clear it he wouldn't be able to afford Satine's company.
The Poor Man's Satine. That was what she come to be known as throughout Montmartre and. She didn't have strong conversational skills or was able to flirt and tantalize. Frankly, she didn't care to, she didn't care to know anything to know about these well to do gentlemen that came to pretend that they had her love or whatever else it was they wanted. She was a body. An empty vessel for men to fill with their frustrations, loneliness, and disappointed hopes and she would have none it. That sometimes would leave the men with the sting of rejection but she looked a lot like Satine, and really that was all that mattered to most men that came to her bed.
"You get what you pay for, right?" they would say.
She took that as confirmation that she didn't have to try hard. The girls always got paid up front anyway, Zidler made sure of it. This was how it had been since she arrived. Things had gone on in this manner for the past four years. Never was she asked anything about herself. No one knew and nor did that care. She brought in enough to earn her keep. Who was she really? What was her story? They never asked. And what's more, she was being to realize that perhaps she wouldn't be able to tell if someone were to ask.
With every bottle of absinthe that was drained of its contents each night, the dancer found it more and more difficult to recall details of her life before she came to the Moulin Rouge. When she realized this, she retreated further into her sorrow and would drink more. Even still, no one noticed the dancer as she literally was wasting away before their eyes, she was there but they could not see, like a silent phantom.
They could not understand the hollowness inside her nor would they be able to stop and see it. The world kept moving and spinning around her as she drifted without focus or reason. She was not really there.
But when Zidler announced that a Duke who invest in the Moulin Rouge's conversion to a theater, she became invigorated. She allowed herself to dream as she hadn't done since she was a child as old long forgotten dreams came back in a stir.
Perhaps she would become a professional dancer, a prima ballerina to lead the corps. Perhaps a handsome Vicomte or Marquis would see her in the show, fall madly in love with her, come backstage after the show, drop to one knee and ask for her hand as his form of greeting. Perhaps she would accept and he would tell her that he was so hypnotized by her grace that he could see no other woman than her. Perhaps.
These dreams from childhood seemed silly now but there was a small part of her that held onto them and hoped that something would come and save her from this life after this show.
Her days these past weeks were devoted to perfecting every move of every dance she performed in the show. She had become less attached to the bottle. She let the hope she carried inside to able to make her bloom. So much so that people even granted her a second look now and then
Now it was the night before the show was to open. All the dancers and stagehands laid about knowing that their star was now dining with the jealous Duke that held all of their fates in the grip of his tiny fist. Satine would sleep with him tonight if she wasn't selfish and actually realized that so many depended on her to make sure the show would go on.
As usual she was sitting alone, lost in thought and in the promise of her dreams, when the Argentinean drew her out with a shout.
"…it always ends bad!" that roguish voice echoed throughout the hall.
He had been addressing that writer. Christian was his name, wasn't it? she wondered. Even she had heard about the dalliance between him and Satine. Though she knew that she had no reason to have well wishes for Satine, who had always treated her with insincere politeness, the dancer felt bad for the obviously doomed affair. The dancer was surprised that it had taken the Duke until today to realize what was going on. It would seem that the power of deduction didn't come with money and a title. It took that nasty, unpleasant Nini to drop that information on him to make him realize that he was being duped and make him demand that the ending be changed.
Actually, in thinking of Nini, the dancer realized that the Argentinean was now dancing with Nini and he was now addressing the entire hall.
"We have a dance! In the brothels of Buenos Aries. Tells the story. Of a prostitute…" He motioned to the spiteful woman as she cackled at the whistles and catcalls that where directed at her. Nini made her way to the dance floor to meet the man's challenge.
"…and a man... who falls in love...with her." The Argentinean looked to Christian. The dancer now realized that the man was teaching this boy a lesson in the harsh cruelty of the world. Or rather, their world.
And so the dance began.
"First there is desire. Then... passion! Then... suspicion! Jealousy! Anger! Betrayal! Where love is for the highest bidder, there can be no trust! Without trust, there is no love! Jealousy. Yes, jealousy... Will drive you... mad!
The Argentinean roughly handled Nini across the floor during his speech. The dancer couldn't help but wonder if maybe they had had an affair that ended in tragedy like Satine and Christian's would. He released Nini from his grip and commence with his song.
All stood to join the throng while the dancer remained exactly where she was but it was not long until she found herself being drawn in to watch more closely.
It was as if he had cast a spell had upon the entire hall. The sound of his voice… it drew all the bodies to the floor, performers and stagehands alike. Couples formed naturally as a group of men surrounded Nini in their own graceful sphere of heated sensuality.
The dancer remained on the sideline to watch but as of yet not a single soul approached her to be her partner, as she was sure no one noticed that she was there. As she turned her back to take her leave, she felt a presence from behind. She turned to see a stagehand that she was sure she had seen before during rehearsals but she couldn't be quite sure if she actually had. She didn't care to make the distinction among most people that she saw, they were faceless for the most part, to be frank.
But now she was looking clearly and she could see that this young man had a sweet face, not unlike that writer, and captivating eyes, which like the Argentinean's voice, drew her in. There was something in those dark eyes which made her understand that he saw her, as she was right now and not some act he wanted to believe in. It was both disarming and hypnotic. The next thing she knew was that they were now on the dance floor in each others arms without having exchanged a single word between them.
All moved throughout the hall so wrapped in the heated gazes of their partners and taking turns switching who took the lead, bending and spinning until they eventually became one. A large entity of passionate surrender to the final complete dominance of the male partners.
Perhaps is what she was waiting for, this young man with the strong hands that knew how to touch her in the way she needed and made her blossom and open for him like a flower, offering everything. It was his for the taking. Perhaps this young man with the penetrating eyes was the one to take her from all this. Finally there was someone that saw her as herself, he wouldn't want to change her either. Finally there was someone that made her feel alive and thank God that she was. And she was nothing but thankful that she felt this way.
Though it wasn't until later, in the darkness of his flat and in the midst of their passion did he prove her wrong with the smallest of sounds that would break her heart.
Once the name escaped his lips as they brushed against the skin of her throat, it was only then did she begin to weep as she had wanted to do for years. But not for the reasons one would think. She may have angrily interrupted their tryst to correct him, only she couldn't because now she didn't know what the correct name would have been anyway.
xWinterRosex and I had the same correct feeling to leave this as a one shot, really it more of a writing exercise for me to get back in the habit. Reviews and constructive criticism will be much appreciated and definitely taken into consideration. Thank you! It's good to be back...