Author's Note: Let's just pretend that I didn't neglect this fic for a year, 'kay?
Er. Sorry about that.
This, tragically, isn't as funny as the previous chapters, and is also rather short, but ah well. Just to keep up the whole 'sucky' vibe, I didn't bother to proofread. Mwahaha.
I'm a rebel. Oh, yeah.
And no offense to the Nini/Satine writers. I had to poke fun a bit, because I honestly can't stand it. But please attempt to refrain from flaming me into oblivion because of it.
Chapter Four:
In Which The Answer Behind The Mystery of That Infamous Deleted Scene Is Revealed
This is going remarkably well, Christian thought happily as Your Song began to draw to a close. Their little sky-dancing, special-effects-a-plenty fest gave way to the Red Room again, and he sang out the last note, which happened to be the longest note in the history of the Moulin Rouge music universe.
"Woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo---"
Etcetera, etcetera.
Meanwhile, Satine got a manicure, the Titanic sank, Chicago came out and won eleven more Oscars than Moulin Rouge had, sixty-million people slashed Nini and Satine on Fanfiction.Net just for the hell of it, and J.K. Rowling wrote the sixth and seventh Harry Potter books, and threw in an eighth, just for good measure. She's a Star, naturally, was busy reading each book over . . . and over . . . and over, and having many emotional breakdowns, because that was just what Harry Potter did to her, and therefore, she wasn't around to stop Christian from the never-ending note of doom.
"-oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooo--"
"Eh ehm," Satine said pointedly, glaring at him and, at the very same time, managing to show off her newly sparkly red fingernails. How could one woman possess such skill, you ask?? Well, keep in mind that she is the Sparkling Diamond. The girl's got mad skillz, yo.
Er.
"Oooh," Christian said, eyeing Satine's fingernails in awe. "Shiiiiny."
She eyed him strangely. This was, in fact, because he was being strange. Go figure.
He then proceeded to throw in a charming, "—ooooooorld."
Then She's a Star decided to switch point of views, just for the hell of it. Much like one decides to write Nini/Satine, she imagines, but isn't quite sure, because she never has and hopefully never will.
Satine sighed dreamily and stared up into his twitchy, rodent-like eyes. (Swoon if you must, all you girls reading this out there.)
"I can't believe it," she sighed. "I'm in love. I'm in love with a . . ."
She frowned and mentally crossed out 'young' and 'handsome' on her One Hundred Flattering Adjectives Sure To Get a Courtesan Some Sparkly New Diamonds list. Um . . .
"Talented," she threw in helpfully.
He grinned winningly. The piano let out a few clanging, horrified notes of its own accord and promptly exploded.
Damn it. It was going to cost a fortune to replace that.
But she had more pressing issues on her mind at the moment.
No, definitely not alluring . . . or devilishly good looking . . . certainly not roguish . . . er . . .
She had just decided on 'resplendent' when the crazed, Harry Potter-overdosed (there are three new books in this warped dimension that is Moulin Madness, mind) authoress switched the point of view again.
SWITCH!
Hey there, buddy.
Christian groaned. Please, don't mess with me now. This is actually going well.
Exactly! And is that any fun to read about?
Yes! Yes, it's tons of fun. Fun, fun, fa-fun. Man, this is fun—
Wow. Revel in how thoroughly unconvinced I am. Now, Christian, I'm going to change things around a little—
No! Don't! I'll . . . I'll . . .
Christian didn't know why he was here, with this beautiful woman. Every fiber of his being told him where he really wanted to be – in the sultry, intoxicating presence of Harry Zidler himself. Oooh, how he lusted after that red-headed Father Christmas—
Ew! STOP.
Hehehe. Fine. But I swear it, that never gets old.
Don't do that.
Okay. I'll do this instead.
Wait—
But it was, tragically, too late. With a lot of swirly special effects, whooshing sounds, and a randomly placed cow, they were back in time – the opening chords to Your Song were resonating throughout the air . . .
Christian was a bit unnerved, but decided that it would be best just to go for it. After all, he could defy whatever evil plan She's a Star had in store for him. It wasn't as though she were the ruler of the universe, or anything!
. . . heh. Heh. Heh.
He nervously glanced at his reflection, outlined faintly in one of the windows, and was surprised to see that he did, in fact, look like himself again. Hallelujah! His beautiful, beautiful self was back! Why, that She's a Star was brilliant! And he felt a bit tempted to run over and kiss his reflection, but the 'twisted narcissist' comment from the previous chapter was still ringing in his head. Thanks to this, he found the strength to resist.
And now, he thought happily, to serenade the consumptive courtesan!
"My gift is my soooong," he started, gazing lovingly at Satine.
She smiled slightly back at him, looking surprised but radiant as always. Tragically, the white nightgown and bunny slippers had disappeared in favor of her classic black negligee. Christian allowed himself a moment of silence to mourn the loss of the bunny slippers before continuing.
"And this one's for . . ."
Wait. What was this madness? What was going on?? Instead of gazing with mingled fondness and disbelief at him, Satine was . . . laughing. Laughing.
Does she find this funny? Christian thought furiously. These words are coming from the very depths of my soul!
(Or Elton John's lyricist's, but who's counting?)
Satine continued to giggle hysterically, and looked as though she were attempting at the fondness-and-disbelief look but couldn't quite manage it.
Christian, however, thought of his favourite children's book, The Little Engine That Could, which would not be published for years and years and years but it wasn't like the Police were around to write Roxanne in 1899 either, and found the strength to carry on.
"You."
Ahhh. That was more like it. She was back to the mingled-awe-and-disbelief look. Good.
He took a few steps forward and smiled sweetly at her.
She smiled back. As a matter of fact, she was looking a bit more smiley than usual, considering she was a jaded courtesan who had yet to be shown the beauty of life by a certain penniless poet. But Christian was willing to be forgiving, just as long as she didn't start . . .
Laughing.
Again.
This was most distracting. How was he supposed to woo her properly when she wouldn't stop bursting into random fits of mirth?
Was he doing something wrong? He couldn't see what. After all, his singing was swoon-worthy and to-die-for as always, and he looked like himself, in all his unnaturally good-looking glory! Clearly, there was some dark, cruel, higher power causing her to act this way.
CoughTheAuthorCough.
"And you can tell everybody that this is your song . . ."
Okay. The smiling was stopping – NO! It was back! A huge, giddy-looking, indulgent grin that was so throwing off the romantic mood.
Damn you, She's a Star, Christian thought violently. Daaamn you.
He was inexplicably overcome with the sudden urge to find Zidler and begin purring 'Santa Baby' coquettishly at him.
Just kidding.
And the urge had subsided.
"It may be quite simple, but . . . now that it's done . . ."
She was still beaming, and if he didn't do something fast, the giggling would start again. He just knew it.
"I hope you don't mind," he sang in the most heartfelt and poignant voice that he could possibly manage, "I hope you don't mind . . ."
She was now positively shaking with laughter – her eyes were closed, and she was grinning ridiculously.
Well, damn it.
"How wonderful life is," he continued. This seemed to sober her up a bit, and that beautiful, script-abiding disbelief-and-fondness look had returned.
Oh no. She'd lost it. Completely lost it. The shaking with laughter was back, and she leaned over – he was afraid she might fall onto him, and he'd be smothered by six-plus-feet (in heels) of redheaded insanely giggling courtesan.
Sucks to be you, huh?
I hate you.
Hey, let's not get violent here. There's a simple solution to all of this.
Which is . . .? Christian asked silently, staring in dismay at Satine as she laughed insanely.
Dance.
You mean a slow, romantic waltz?
Uh-uh, baby. I want to see some groovy 70s moves.
What??
You heard me.
But I don't know any groovy 70s moves! This is 1899!
Minor detail. Just go with it.
Oookay . . .
And go with it he did. Smiling back at Satine, he moved his hands dramatically above him, as though envisioning his name in lights.
It was like magic! Her face immediately was swept blank, and when he chanced a glance back at her, that lovely expression was there. She was watching him intensely.
Fondness: check. Disbelief: check. Charming mingling of the two: check.
Excellent.
Christian turned and made his way toward the heart-shaped window, gazing poetically out of it.
"Sat on the roof, and I kicked off the moss . . ."
So far, so good. No giggling.
"Well, some of these verses, well, they . . . they got me quite cross."
He turned and began to walk back toward her; she was staring, transfixed. Completely under his spell.
Groovy 70s moves, he thought to himself. I'll have to remember that.
"But the sun's been kind," he sang earnestly, "while I wrote this song . . ."
She was still staring fixedly, not the faintest trace of laughter in sight.
"It's for people like you that keep it turned on . . ."
The music swelled majestically. Satine was gazing demurely downward, clearly overcome with the sudden rush of love she felt for him.
"So excuse me forgetting . . ."
DAMN. IT. She was smiling again. Sure, it could pass for a smile related to aforementioned rush of love, but smiling . . . smiling was dangerous . . .
She looked up at him, smiling uncontrollably, for a moment, before simply turning and walking away.
Why, he'd never been more insulted in his entire life! The sheer and utter nerve of her! Well, he'd show her what she was missing out on!
He spun around, facing the heart-shaped window, and proclaimed with a heart-melting grin, "But these things I do . . . you see—"
And she was back again, this time standing behind him and mouthing the words with flourish.
What the . . .?
It's cute, okay??
Okay . . .
And so the song progressed, Christian belting out the lyrics like there was no twenty-sixth of January (just because 'no tomorrow' is so overdone) while Satine mouthed the words with gusto and began to show off her own groovy 70s dance moves.
It was beautiful; stunning; a sight to behold. Never before had any romantic scene brought so many to tears at its beauty. It put the balcony scene from Romeo & Juliet, the make-out session at the head of the Titanic, and even Dr. Evil and Frau Farbissina's night of passion from Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me to shame.
If only it truly existed, and was located on the second Moulin Rouge DVD disk inside The Cutting Room, which revealed itself as a little red windmill when you moved the remote to the left and pressed enter.
Sigh.