Hey all, second story, and this time I'm aiming for chapters! This is going to be a relatively short piece based on the song Tango de Roxanne from Moulin Rouge. Disney owns the Newsies, Twentieth Century Fox owns Moulin Rouge...and on with the show!
Rain lashed violently against the roof of the Red Mill Tavern in the lower Boston. The rumble of the heavenly war drums rattled the windowpanes of the dive while a cruel whip of lightning split the roiling black sky in two. The tavern patrons huddled close to the fireplace opposite the windows, making light chatter and filling their blood with warm ale...all that is, except for the darkened form hunched over a corner table.
The stranger stared out at the storm, hazel eyes intense and focused on the tempest; the lightning briefly illuminated his brooding features under a down-tilted hat. His sensitive, high cheek boned face and sensuous mouth must have given him a very appealing look when he was younger, but years of anguish had hardened the handsome features. His face was that of one who had cut himself off from all emotion as though to forget terrible pain, but his haunted eyes told their own story.
The women of the Red Mill were at work as such women are wont to do. Some sat upon the bar, legs crossed, skirts hitched enticingly over their knees, some strolled the crowded room. Others had already found their men and sat instead upon them. One such woman on the knee of a handsome, black-bearded giant named Robert looked thoroughly bored. Her man had come into the tavern at nine, had hit the ale with hardy vigor and loud jokes, and was now dozing in his fireside chair.
Cautiously, so as not to disturb him, the buxom red-head rose. Her eyes roved the room and settled on the lone stranger at the windows. Smiling, she ambled across the room.
"You look right lonesome over here," she rested a hand on the stranger's broad shoulders. His eyes met hers with a coldness that sent an involuntary shiver up and down her spine. Slowly, his glance shifted to the hand that was still on him, he snorted as if disgusted by it and shrugged it off.
All better judgment told her to just walk away, but this man presented a challenge...and who didn't love a good challenge? "Come on now," she continued silkily, "Don't be like that. A handsome fellow like yourself has no business being alone..."
A deafening clap of thunder resounded over the city but did not quite drown out the roar of anger from across the room. The red-head's man was awake and flying across the room. He threw the girl aside, sending her skidding painfully over the wood floor, and yanked the stranger from his seat.
Most humans cowered before the massive specimen of a man, but this brooding outsider only jerked his coat lapels from Robert's grasp with an infuriating chuckle.
"You'd best tell me what's so funny, boy," snarled the taller man, "Nell's been my girl these past five years and I don't take kindly to no street scum laying his hands all over her."
The accused could easily have pointed out the many fallacies of this statement, the fact that "Nell" as it were had approached him. But he only laughed again, shaking his head as though amused by the other's stupidity.
"Never fall in love with a woman who sells herself," his voice was rough, as though it had rusted from disuse.
Robert squinted at him, "What's that?"
The stranger spoke louder, "Never fall in love with a woman who sells herself," he repeated, "It always ends bad." He gulped down the last swallow of his drink and crossed into the fire lit circle on the far side of the room. The shadows from the leaping flames played in the hallows and angels of his face as a brief flicker of pain creased his features. After a moment he seemed to regain control and he turned to face the curious onlookers.
"We have a story where I come from. It tells the story of a prostitute and the man who fell in love with her." He spun to face one side, "First, there is desire, then passion, then suspicion. Jealousy. Anger. Betrayal!" He spat the words as if they were poison, his head constantly snapping from one face to another, his voice becoming frenzied and tortured. "When love is for the highest bidder, there can be no trust, without trust there is no love." He faced Robert, eyes glittering with anguish, "Jealousy," he whispered darkly, "Yes, jealousy will drive you mad!"
The wind shrieked overhead and thunder shook the tankards on the tables. However no one so much as batted an eyelash. All attention was on the tall figure silhouetted against the blazing fire as he unfolded to them the story of Roxanne.
Well? What do you think? I'm quite pleased that I was able to do this chapter; I've been so busy with school ending and all. It may be a bit before the next update, I've got chem. To stress over and a dance recital that's gonna sap up all my energy, but I'll do my best. Teddy Grams to anyone who can tell me why the tavern is called the Red Mill...it should be obvious. Love you all, R&R ;)
Rain lashed violently against the roof of the Red Mill Tavern in the lower Boston. The rumble of the heavenly war drums rattled the windowpanes of the dive while a cruel whip of lightning split the roiling black sky in two. The tavern patrons huddled close to the fireplace opposite the windows, making light chatter and filling their blood with warm ale...all that is, except for the darkened form hunched over a corner table.
The stranger stared out at the storm, hazel eyes intense and focused on the tempest; the lightning briefly illuminated his brooding features under a down-tilted hat. His sensitive, high cheek boned face and sensuous mouth must have given him a very appealing look when he was younger, but years of anguish had hardened the handsome features. His face was that of one who had cut himself off from all emotion as though to forget terrible pain, but his haunted eyes told their own story.
The women of the Red Mill were at work as such women are wont to do. Some sat upon the bar, legs crossed, skirts hitched enticingly over their knees, some strolled the crowded room. Others had already found their men and sat instead upon them. One such woman on the knee of a handsome, black-bearded giant named Robert looked thoroughly bored. Her man had come into the tavern at nine, had hit the ale with hardy vigor and loud jokes, and was now dozing in his fireside chair.
Cautiously, so as not to disturb him, the buxom red-head rose. Her eyes roved the room and settled on the lone stranger at the windows. Smiling, she ambled across the room.
"You look right lonesome over here," she rested a hand on the stranger's broad shoulders. His eyes met hers with a coldness that sent an involuntary shiver up and down her spine. Slowly, his glance shifted to the hand that was still on him, he snorted as if disgusted by it and shrugged it off.
All better judgment told her to just walk away, but this man presented a challenge...and who didn't love a good challenge? "Come on now," she continued silkily, "Don't be like that. A handsome fellow like yourself has no business being alone..."
A deafening clap of thunder resounded over the city but did not quite drown out the roar of anger from across the room. The red-head's man was awake and flying across the room. He threw the girl aside, sending her skidding painfully over the wood floor, and yanked the stranger from his seat.
Most humans cowered before the massive specimen of a man, but this brooding outsider only jerked his coat lapels from Robert's grasp with an infuriating chuckle.
"You'd best tell me what's so funny, boy," snarled the taller man, "Nell's been my girl these past five years and I don't take kindly to no street scum laying his hands all over her."
The accused could easily have pointed out the many fallacies of this statement, the fact that "Nell" as it were had approached him. But he only laughed again, shaking his head as though amused by the other's stupidity.
"Never fall in love with a woman who sells herself," his voice was rough, as though it had rusted from disuse.
Robert squinted at him, "What's that?"
The stranger spoke louder, "Never fall in love with a woman who sells herself," he repeated, "It always ends bad." He gulped down the last swallow of his drink and crossed into the fire lit circle on the far side of the room. The shadows from the leaping flames played in the hallows and angels of his face as a brief flicker of pain creased his features. After a moment he seemed to regain control and he turned to face the curious onlookers.
"We have a story where I come from. It tells the story of a prostitute and the man who fell in love with her." He spun to face one side, "First, there is desire, then passion, then suspicion. Jealousy. Anger. Betrayal!" He spat the words as if they were poison, his head constantly snapping from one face to another, his voice becoming frenzied and tortured. "When love is for the highest bidder, there can be no trust, without trust there is no love." He faced Robert, eyes glittering with anguish, "Jealousy," he whispered darkly, "Yes, jealousy will drive you mad!"
The wind shrieked overhead and thunder shook the tankards on the tables. However no one so much as batted an eyelash. All attention was on the tall figure silhouetted against the blazing fire as he unfolded to them the story of Roxanne.
Well? What do you think? I'm quite pleased that I was able to do this chapter; I've been so busy with school ending and all. It may be a bit before the next update, I've got chem. To stress over and a dance recital that's gonna sap up all my energy, but I'll do my best. Teddy Grams to anyone who can tell me why the tavern is called the Red Mill...it should be obvious. Love you all, R&R ;)