The Shadow Star
Summary: Satine leaves with Christian, but they are worried about what the Duke will do to the Moulin Rouge after they're gone. Satine becomes 'The Shadow Star', a nameless singer at various locations around Europe. The Duke, along with a group of young men called the Star's Searchers, try to follow her without success. Then a motherly innkeeper actually does. Please read and review despite the terrible summary!
Disclaimer: Ahem. May I have your attention please?
*stands at podium and shuffles papers*
This story is based off the Moulin Rouge, which I do not own.
*shuffles more papers*
It was inspired by elements of Bloody Jack and Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist neither of which I own and knowledge of which you do not need to understand this story.
*shuffles papers again*
There are some OC's which I do own – although they're probably subconsciously based on characters from random books that I don't own. Thank you.
*sits down after acknowledging enthusiastic applause*
Prologue: The Plan
"Unless you do his ending and sleep with him tomorrow night, the Duke will have Christian killed." Satine gasped, then quickly brushed away the tears that had threatened to fall from her eyes. She was leaving anyway, with Christian, so why should this startling revelation upset her?
She turned back to Harold. "He can't scare us." She said flatly, though it wasn't true – she was thoroughly frightened, but she'd never let him know that.
"He's a powerful man – you know he can do it." She pulled off the robe and threw it to the ground angrily, not wanting to believe him. "What are you doing?"
"I don't need you anymore!" she yelled. "All my life you've made me believe I was only worth what someone would pay for me! But Christian loves me. He loves me, Harold. He loves me! And that is worth everything. We're going away from you, away from the Duke, away from the Moulin Rouge! Goodbye, Harold." She settled Christian's coat around her shoulders, wishing her last words could've been said less coldly. But she couldn't take them back now, nor could she bring herself to say anything else. She turned, and walked out the door.
Five minutes later, she was back in Christian's arms, now unable to stop the tears from streaming down her face as she told him about the Duke's threat of murder. As she'd expected, he wasn't unduly worried. "It's okay, Satine." He whispered, hugging her tightly. "We can go where he can't find us. It will be all right."
Satine smiled as he wiped away her tears for the second time that night and nodded. "I – I know, I just – I needed to hear you say it." She paused, then said. "I've been thinking though – if we disappear, what will happen here? The Duke still holds the deeds to the Moulin Rouge. He can and will do anything he wants to here. What about the Diamond Dogs and the Bohemians? Toulouse and Nini and Mome Fromage? The girls are like sisters to me, Christian, I can't let them be turned onto the streets or – or –" She couldn't bring herself to consider anything worse.
Christian nodded. "You're right, but is there anything we can do about it?"
"Yes," Satine said slowly. "We can keep his attention on us." Her eyes were suddenly shining with mischief. "As long as he thinks there's a chance of catching us, then he won't do anything here – at least, I hope he won't."
Satine just smiled and said. "I have a plan."
Mistress Thresher – innkeeper of the Blue Jewel – sighed at the girl in front of her. "Look dearie, if you want to perform here, you've got to give me a name."
"I don't have a name."
"Don't be silly. Everyone's got a name – what's yours?" Mistress Thresher asked impatiently. This girl was wasting her time.
The girl shook her head forcefully. "I haven't one. I promise you, your business will never have been better if I sing here." Mistress Thresher looked the nameless girl up and down. She was pretty enough, perhaps even beautiful. Long, shiny red hair – that alone could bring in customers. Her accent placed her in a high class, but her dress was rather plain and it was clear from the dirt that streaked it that she'd been sleeping on the ground. "If you don't let me sing here, I can always go somewhere else – somewhere that they don't care about names – and they can get the extra business."
Somewhere else – a brothel, probably. Where else wouldn't care about names? Mistress Thresher didn't particularly like brothels and didn't want this girl to end up in one. "All right, you can sing here. How much I'll pay you depends on how many customers you bring in."
"Merci, Madam." So the girl was French, or had at least spent time in France. She gave Mistress Thresher a dazzling smile and curtsied. "I should change, shouldn't I?" Without waiting for an answer, she dashed away. Hopefully whatever she changed into was cleaner than what she'd been wearing.
A few hours later, Mistress Thresher no longer cared that the girl didn't have a name or what she was wearing (a red, silken evening gown). She could sing like an angel. Within fifteen minutes of the beginning of her performance, the common room of the Blue Jewel was completely full. Now her show was over, and girl curtsied once more, shook her head as the crowd demanded an encore, and made her way over to Mistress Thresher.
"Well, Madam Thresher?" she asked sweetly.
"Dearie –" Mistress Thresher began, somewhat flustered. "Would you like a job singing here?"
Something flickered in the girl's eyes. Was it sadness? Surprise? Excitement? Mistress Thresher couldn't decide which. Perhaps it was all three. It was gone as quickly as it had come. "No, thank you, Madam. I must . . . continue my travels. However, if you would . . ."
"Oh, the money. Of course." Mistress Thresher paid her much more than she had planned to at the beginning of the evening. Still, she believed the girl deserved it. As the girl turned to leave, Mistress Thresher called after her. "I hope you know that you have talent, dearie. Much more talent than most of us could ever dream of. Please, don't waste it." Not in a brothel, she added silently to herself.
The girl smiled the same dazzling smile she'd given before. "I know. I won't waste it, I promise." Then she was gone.
One of the many customers that had come to hear her called Mistress Thresher over. "Who was that? What was her name? And when will she be singing here again?"
Mistress Thresher shook her head sadly. "I don't know her name – she said she didn't have one. She's left – and I think she's gone for good." She sighed sadly, then smiled. "Well, I think from now on I will tell people that if ever a nameless, redheaded girl asks them to let her sing somewhere that they should not only accept, but beg her to do so!" He laughed, then bid her good night and left.
Christian bid the innkeeper good night and left the inn. A few minutes later, he caught up with Satine. "Well?" she asked, eyes shining.
He grinned. "This just might work."