A/N- This is my first Moulin Rouge fanfic, so please be kind and review! Okay, I've done two versions of this chapter, the other version is chapter three... (I don't mind constructive criticism, though no flames please!) Finally, thanks to alatariel-ancalimon for the great title... Also, CHEERS to Kirsti, my great friend, reader and music guru!
Disclaimer- The Moulin Rouge is not mine, but the genius' Baz Luhrmann... etc etc...
'Stop here boy,' hissed Harold, seizing Christian's wrist; forcing him to turn his back towards the audience. 'Damn it, Christian! What the hell do you think you're playing at?' He spat, slowly sinking his thick nails deeper into Christian's wrist.
'Don't stop me Harold,' replied Christian coolly, raising his hands and twisting them hard, locking Harold's fingers. 'It might hurt your pride if you do,' he smiled, bending each finger back a little further. Harold flinched.
'You don't know what you're doing,' muttered Harold, sweating with the effort of trying to break free; but Christian easily overpowered him again, forcing him into obedience.
Leaning in, Christian's voice was dangerously low as he whispered softly into Harold's ear, 'Don't worry about me Zidler, I know exactly what I'm doing,' and with a pat on the back Christian straightened, dumping the old man at his feet. Nodding politely with a threatening calm towards a bewildered Satine, he gestured for her to do something to fill in the tense silence.
Never knew I could feel like this...
'Goodbye Satine,' said Christian lightly, as he brushed Harold's sweaty hands off his knees. Satine's voice faltered for a second, the sound of money being crumpled by feet echoed throughout the hall as Christian strode off the stage and into the aisle. Throwing off his coat at the feet of the Duke, Christian smiled inwardly as people sat gawping stupidly at him like landed fish. She is nothing. Love is nothing; just a cruel game...
Looking over his shoulder he saw Zidler scrambling to his feet furiously gesturing to people backstage, but this was all lost to Christian as his gaze met Satine's. Come what may she mouthed, but Christian just shook his head. Suddenly, chaos broke out: Toulouse was there swinging on a rope like a monkey, bellowing something out with all his might. The dancers had taken up the Plan B dance moves and Warner had somehow managed to fall on top of Zidler - the audience was in hysterics.
The uproar on the stage was slowly dying down, taking the opportunity Christian reached forwards, pushed open a single door and slipped through. His coat was billowing around him like the flurry of flakes that had rushed to greet him; closing his eyes he rested his forehead and the palm of his hand flat against the door and closed it with a final click. Closing the door was strange, it was as if he had stepped into another world. The silence was overpowering. Turning, he tried to listen to the comforting whisper of the wind and allowed himself a grim smile.
The snow was falling gently.
A/N- Yeah, I know it's short - but shorts sweet, right? (haha) Next chapter is up!