[ She'd tried to forget Christian, to throw herself into her own world and focus all of her attention on the Duke. There was just one problem... He knew too much. He'd seen something or one of his men had caught wind of Christian and the Duke was now jealous. Jealous and possessive were never a good mix, at least not in her experience. It tended to be why she never crossed business with pleasure and why she so often neglected the pleasure alltogether. It made a mess and in a blissful and blinding moment of stupidity, she'd allowed it to blend into soft hues of beauty and joy.
God, she'd been so happy with Christian. It was so foolish... and now she had paid the full price. The Duke hadn't been kind with her tonight, hadn't tried to woo her or buy her love with gifts and diamonds-- No. No, he'd been cruel and by the time she made it back to the safety of her room, she was a bloody mess. Her dress was in shreds, the sound of the blood dripping down the curve of her throat and bosom to the floor echoing as she moved. He'd torn the necklace off of her, the intricate chain having bitten her skin far deeper than she'd have expected. She'd have a bruise on her cheek in the morning, along with lasting marks in a few other places she was sure.
She wasn't broken, though.
She could repair this, she could take a few days and heal up. Then, she could go back stronger and better than ever. She just needed to prove her loyalty, even if the very thought of seeing that man again made her stomach turn. She'd love a life with Christian, filled with laughter and no obligations. It'd be heaven and idealistic and she could adjust and learn to just exist with him. He could teach her so many things and she, in turn, could be herself around him and not a fabrication of an expectation.
She'd relinquished those dreams to nothing more than that-- dreams. She'd thought she'd done so well in keeping Christian out of her mind, but the Duke was far more intelligent than she'd given him credit for. While there were many things she hadn't been allowed to do tonight, he had allowed her the decency of her cloak before throwing her out of his suite-- all but calling her a common whore on the way out. She'd tried to keep it from also getting ruined by just carrying it with her, but she'd quickly realized how she looked. Pulling it closer around herself, she reaches for the doorknob - praying she can have a few moments alone.
Only she's not. He's here and she can feel her chest tighten at the sight. No, no, no... She'd told him to go. She'd told him she never wanted to see him again -- she'd wanted to protect him. Why couldn't he listen to her for once? She hadn't had as bad of a night as this in many years, not since she'd come under the protection of Harold and the Moulin Rouge... Not since she'd become a star in her own right. Letting her tousled hair fall into her face, she obscures what she can from view, turning her back to him as she closes the door and clings to the shadows around it. She does her best to keep her tone even and cold, though the pain and exhaustion can't seem to keep out of it. ]
I thought I'd told you not to be here when I returned.
[ If he knew what happened tonight, she's almost certain he'd want nothing to do with her, too. And she can't handle that heartbreak on top of everything else. ]
[ Staying away was not something Christian knew how to do. After all they'd been through, after everything that had happened, he wasn't about to walk away. No matter what she said. He'd known this day would come, no matter how much he tried to deny it, he dreaded it. But it made him cherish the time they did have all the more. It made every moment brighter and sweeter. It made him hope that he could some how defeat the ugly shadow that loomed over all they had.
He'd known she hadn't meant it, or at least he hoped she hadn't, when she told him to stay away. So he'd come to pay her a visit, with a small gift of his own. It was just a single flower, all he could afford. But it was a gesture. She should have returned from her time with the Duke and he would be there to remind her of all that mattered in the world. But she wasn't at her room.
Fearing the worst, he began asking anyone and everyone. No one had seen Satine since she'd left to go see the Duke.
Despair and jealousy clawed at him as scenario after scenario played out in his mind. First of her favoring the Duke and meaning it. Laughing over the foolish writer who thought he could woo her away from a fortune of gold and diamonds with words and love. Anguish tore at him at the very idea, his heart heavy in his chest. It couldn't be, but what power did he have to outshine wealth?
A sting in his palm brought him back to reality. The flower's petals fell to the floor, limp and crushed. A thorn had dug into his palm as the stem snapped in his grasp, a small trickle of blood moving toward his wrist. Scrubbing the tears from his eyes, he stared at the remains of the flower. Of what jealousy had done to it.
He had to believe in her. She loved him, in her heart of hearts. He'd seen it in her eyes. No wealth could steal that away, especially when in the hands of that monster. But that was when the darker visions passed through his mind. Of all the terrible things the Duke could be doing in this time.
He'd nearly given in to despair once more when he heard her approach. Her words were the only thing that kept him from wrapping his arms around her immediately. ]
I was worried that--
[ His mouth going dry, he reached a hand toward her. Hesitantly reaching for her hood. ]
[ Oh, but she had. Deep down to her core she knew he was both dangerous and in danger. She'd grown too attached to him, too dependent in a way. It was as if she needed to see him to remember why the sun rose in the morning and why her heart sang a different tune... Why she might've been willing to give love a chance.
Of everything she could've ever wanted for him, this moment wasn't it. She didn't want him to see the darker side of her life, those moments that weren't dripping with satin, diamonds, and champagne.
She stills as the air moves around her with his approach. Damn his stubbornness. Satine doesn't step away when he reaches for the hood, instead letting it pool around her shoulders - dark curls framing tear and blood-stained cheeks that once cooled the sting on her cheek. Thankfully her hair obscures some of the injuries to her neck from metal and nails.
Satine can't hold back a dark laugh, imagining Harold seeing her and his first response following the lines of charing the Duke more for this last... date. Her wellbeing would of course come up, but it wouldn't be at the forefront. No, it would be recovering any losses he might suffer while she heals up enough to cover any visible marks with makeup. The show must go on, after all.
Pulling the cloak tighter around herself, she licks her suddenly dry lips - finally facing the music and turning to look at him. She doesn't answer his question, instead hoping he'll let it go. ]
I just need a bath and rest. I'll be alright, Christian.
[ There are many pains a man may suffer, and some cut deeper than others. In Satine telling him to stay away, he'd thought he'd felt the deepest pain it was possible to feel, but he'd been wrong. So very wrong. The sight of that blood, without even seeing where it came from, cut him to his very core. It was a different sort of pain than when she'd pushed him away. Or when he thought she might choose the Duke over him. This was an ache that he could not cure himself, because it was not his pain alone. ]
...Satine...
[ There was no accusation in his tone. It was soft, anguished, desperate. But he thought not of what it meant for him, but what it meant for her. Not the way Zidler might, he didn't care how it would affect her performance or how she looked. She'd been hurt. Viciously. He wanted to hold her. To protect her. But he feared hurting her further. ]
You need...far more than rest. Please. Let me help you.
[ She wants to explain, to pour her soul into his waiting hands and let him bear the burden for a little while. But, that would be far more cruel than what she'd done to him so far.
Keeping her gaze on him, she slowly lets down the wall she'd so carefully built on her way back here. The words come out matter-of-fact, powering through it because dancing around the subject would do no good. He needed to be prepared should their paths ever cross. While she may hope he'll leave whilst he has a chance... Tonight proved quite the opposite. ]
He knows about us.
[ She ventures away from the door, keeping her back to him as she finally lets the cloak fall to the floor. She'd deal with the ruined clothing and bloodstains later... Later when she finally felt whole again. She dims the light next to her before finally attempting to peel off the shredded corset and dress without making too much of a fuss. It's easier to do it now than to wait any longer. Thankfully, she had expensive taste. A cheaper corset's boning might've broken with as rough of handling as this one endured. Everything else falls once the final eye hook is released, Satine leaving her shoes in the tattered pile of what was once a stunning outfit. She doesn't look at Christian, not sure she wants to see his reaction to the full view of her forming injuries. She'd managed to get out before he could inflict any lasting physical harm--
She has much to be grateful for.
Making her way to her dresser, she grabs a silk robe - wrapping it around herself. The cuts and bruises would heal with time. With a practiced grace, she wets a cloth and settles in front of her mirror - starting to wipe away the traces of her evening. It's easier said than done, giving a soft hiss of pain as she pulls her hair away from the now drying wound on her neck. Her breath becomes shallower and shallower as she stares at herself, at what she's become. How could someone as pure as Christian love her? Would this night only leave her more and more jaded? Would he still want her if he knew the full details of what happened tonight? A tear finally escapes, the washcloth dropping onto the surface of the vanity in front of her. While Christian never faulted her for it, she hated feeling weak and that is precisely what the Duke had brought out tonight. He'd reminded her of just how powerless she truly was, despite the status she'd worked so hard to earn. What if she'd have chosen love and run away with him, she'd have never been with the Duke tonight. But, from what she'd learned, he'd have never let her go. Another tear escapes, frustration and pain and grief rolling inside of her like a brewing storm. ]
That bastard.
[ She'd just wanted some happiness for herself with no expectations or contracts... Someone to love her despite her flaws and someone she could wholeheartedly love in return, was that so much to ask? ]
[ Closing the door behind them, Christian lingered there, not wanting to push. He could only imagine what she was going through, what she was feeling. Would the touch of any man just make it all worse? He wanted to help her out of her clothes, to do anything to ease the pain. As she undressed, he took a hesitant step forward, but stopped. His fingers twisted together, unsure of what to do.
He was so far out of his depth. His own emotions boiled inside him, and words failed him. Words were what he knew best, and he had none. He could entertain and distract, but comforting someone? He had no skill in that. What could he even do? At the very least, he averted his eyes as she dropped her dress.
The silence in the room only left his mind to wander. And she would not think him pure if she knew just where his thoughts went. With how much Toulouse and the others talked of knowing (or even being) criminals, it wouldn't be so difficult to get his hands on a weapon. A gun, even. He could put an end to the Duke once and for all, for hurting Satine. Even if it meant facing death himself, at least she would never be hurt in such a way again.
He moved a step closer as she began to tend herself in the mirror, coming back to reality himself. He wanted to help, but would she let him? Would she lash out? It wasn't until she dropped the cloth that he took the risk. He drops to his knee, picking up the cloth. ]
Here, let me...
[ It's all he says. Nearly a whisper, as his voice his too choked for more. He looks to her, eyebrows raised and holding the cloth. Asking her permission. Begging for it. He felt so useless, but it was all he could do. ]
[ She nods, her own voice falling silent. She doesn't move, instead allowing him to take control. Satine turns her body towards him, allowing him access to the most visible wounds. Letting him tend to her, her now idle hands run over her fabric covered thighs. She wasn't used to being cared for in such a way. Yes, those at the Moulin Rouge were kind to her and were her family, but she'd never let them see her like this. Not unless he had no other choice and needed the help. After a long moment, she finds a way to break the silence - a way of telling he he was right and she should've flown away with him. But, his music was too beautiful. She couldn't have just abandoned the show, could she? The world needed to hear what she'd heard, to fall in love with it and escape the dark troubles of the world for a few hours.
Her eyes close, words soft as they finally escape through dry lips. ]
I never should have gone tonight.
[ Not that she never should've gone at all, because she knew the truth. To remain in this place would have forced her to face him eventually. But if she'd known what he knew beforehand, there'd have been ways to ease his anger. To lighten the situation before the rage took on a physical manifestation. She shakes her head slightly, taking the washcloth from his hand to dip it in the bowl of reddening water. Her eyes follow her hands, taking her time to wring it out so it's not sopping wet. ]
[ Even with Cassie's threats, Christian wasn't put off. He meant everything word he said. Then again, he spent his days among criminals and thieves. With drunks and junkies. And even there he still saw the absolute best in people. He wasn't about to just walk way cause someone was a little bit different!
He'd raided some of the theater supplies on his way, and showed up with a grocery bag on his arm. Looking as upbeat as if he were going for a picnic in the park. ]
Cassie! Hey! I brought you some lighter fluid just in case! And....
[ He pulled a small box from his jacket pocket with a bright smile. ]
[ He's deluded. Absolutely gone. She's not sure if he's naive or just plain stupid but in all honesty, it's probably a mix of the both. She already has a sinking feeling that she's going to regret inviting him around.
In the time it's taken him to get to her place, she's already carried the piano outside, dusty glory and arse prints included. She's wheeling it easily towards the back of the building to burn it in the backyard when she hears his dreadfully cheery voice calling to her. It's grating.
Maybe she should throw him in the piano after all. She flashes him a fake smile before her expression returns to its deadpan. ]
Great. I'll set you on fire after the piano.
[ Maybe a little more lighter fluid wouldn't hurt. ]
[ His smile wavers, at her words. She didn't really mean it. She was just...like Nini, that's all. Life hadn't been kind to her, so she lashed out at everyone and everything. It wasn't her fault. ]
That's...not necessary...
[ He let out a small, nervous laugh as she took the items from him.
Before she could wash it away, he moved to the piano to have a quick look at the mark that had started this whole question. He was ignoring the fact that she really had managed to get this thing outside by herself. ]
That was definitely Santiago. How did he get on TOP of it, though? On the keyboard cover, I could understand...but up there, and without his pants? Honestly, I'm impressed.
[ Didn't she? Setting someone on fire isn't the worst thing she's ever done. It would be so easy: knock him down, douse him, torch him. Just like that. ]
If you say so.
[ Happy with where she finally leaves the piano and taking the lighter fluid and matches from him, she turns to grab a jerry can of fuel and starts dumping on piano. She's silent as she circles it, sloshing liquid against the wood, her face like stone.
This should hurt. It should hurt to be doing this. She shouldn't be doing it at all. But she's doing it, anyway. Keeping those little pieces of her heart closed. ]
Doesn't really matter, does it?
[ She doesn't care how he got on top of it. She make sure he'll never climb anything again if he tries it with anything else she owns. ]
[ He couldn't deny that a part of him cried out as she started dousing the thing. Maybe it had bad memories for her. Maybe someone evil had owned it. He didn't know her story. But as he watched the fuel slosh over the wood, something bubbled up inside him that he couldn't contain. ]
Wait!
[ He stepped toward her, looking almost timid. As if afraid she might lash out at him. ]
If I may...why don't we play it. One last time.
[ Then remembering just who he was talking to... ]
It's probably horribly out of tune. It will be like...death cries! And if nothing else it might annoy the neighbors.
[ If lost humanity counted as a bad memories, then she was haunted by it. She's never played since before she died. Barely let a single note of song leave her mouth either, in fact. There was so much of herself she'd lost and here she was, living once more, a joke, a shadow of herself.
He takes a step towards her, she takes one back. Her head lowers, shoulders raise, a low, rumbling sound resonating in her throat: a warning growl. Not too close.
Play it. Play the piano. It takes a second for her to react. Something angry twists in her stomach, something she doesn't want to feel - already exasperated from the first time he asked and he's bringing it up again so soon. Her face contorts into a scowl. Play it?! ]
I knew it was a fucking mistake letting you come here. [ Her teeth are bared. ] Why do you care? I didn't ask for you to care. I don't want you to care. Why is it so important to you? Just drop it.
[ That sound...for the first time since meeting her, fear trickled into his veins. He swallowed it down as best he could. She didn't mean it. She couldn't help it.
Music soothed the savage beast, right?
He stopped, hands held out, keeping his distance from her. ]
Just...thirty seconds...then I will help you burn it until the ivory itself turns to ash.
[ For a man so unaware of his own charm, he could seriously muster up some puppy dog eyes. Begging her with all his heart. ]
The entire club was in still mourning. Days had passed since the play's opening night. Since her death. Tomorrow was the funeral. It was hard to say whether or not Christian knew this fact, the way he seemed to have become a ghost. He'd barely spoken since that night, and when he did it was muttered, single-word responses. He barely even seemed to notice other people where there.
Toulouse and Santiago tried to keep him home, tried to cheer him up, but Christian kept returning to the club. Night or day, it didn't matter. They'd closed the doors until the funeral anyway. No one felt like dancing or partying. They still let him in. Some gave him a wide berth, or just a pat on the shoulder. Others, like Zidler, tried to talk to him. Gently trying to tell him to pick himself up and move on. But it didn't matter to him. It was as if the sun itself had vanished from the sky. The world was nothing but darkness, slowly freezing into oblivion.
He knelt on the stage where he'd held her in his arms. Had it only been a few days, or had it been years? A void had opened inside him so massive, it swallowed time itself. He felt numb. As if he'd always been numb. Had he ever felt anything, or had it just been her light giving him warmth? As he sat there, Babydoll came up to whisper something to him. It sounded urgent. He didn't care. He didn't really hear the words. Then she was gone.
The only reason he knew something had changed was that everything suddenly went incredibly quiet. The buzz of chatter going quiet as the grave. As Christian looked up, he very suddenly remembered what it was like to feel. Like a massive pyre suddenly burst into flame in his chest. A rage so white-hot it threatened to consume him alive.
The Duke strode into the club as if he still had any right to it.
With a wild cry of fury, Christian lurched to his feet and flew from the stage. Hands grabbed at him, voices cried out for him to stop. But nothing could old him back. His hands slammed into the Duke's chest, more or less ineffective. Christian's face was a mess, red and damn with tears. Several days' growth of stubble on his cheeks.
"It's your fault!" It wasn't quite a scream. He was too hoarse for that. "You did this! You ruined everything!" His voice started to crack, his words leaning toward incoherent.
It was a tragedy, certainly, but André himself wasn't overly bothered. The doors may have been closed temporarily, but Parisian audiences loved a gruesome tale, and they were clamouring for tickets. The show would go on, because André still owned the club and he still produced the production. It would be in the best interest of everyone.
So he opted to pay a stop to the Moulin Rouge. Less to pay his respects - though he was dressed smartly in black on black - and more to remind Zidler that, come the day after the funeral, they would open and they needed a new Satine. The quiet that surrounded his arrival meant nothing to him. The only thing that paused him as he took off his hat was Christian, the foolish man. Too caught up in dreams than reality. In fact, André almost seemed amused at Christian's tantrum, until at last he caught the American's hands by the wrist.
"Oh, yes, because there is no possible way she'd have died from consumption if I hadn't shown up." He could have rolled his eyes. Instead, he let Christian go with a rough push back. "Are all Americans this ignorant?"
Christian tried to rip his wrists free, but for all the strength he had at the moment he may as well have been hold in a vice. Pathetic, sputtering sounds escaped him as he attempted to find some manner of coherence to continue yelling in the Duke's face. But those words only seemed to cut deeper. Is that what he thought this was about? Just her death? For a moment Christian's face just twists further with frustration and fury, more tears flowing down his cheeks.
Only after another sob is he able to push words out. "You took her last days from me!" He pushed forward, just trying to get into the Duke's face. "YOU TOOK ALL I HAD!"
It was all he could manage. It felt like he was stuck somewhere between the numbness and a storm. He felt like he could write volumes on why he hated the Duke, but so few actual words came to hand. It was all raw emotion that he knew the shape of. Intimately. But translating it to anything that another person could possible understand was an insurmountable task.
Honestly, it was hard for André not to laugh. Christian was just as selfish as he was, though in an all together different way. And hadn't André once told Satine that she was spending too much of her time with the songwriter? Apparently it wasn't enough time.
"You took her last days from yourself." He said it dismissively, but he meant it. André had watched their little game from afar, he'd simply been waiting for the time to strike. And Christian had been the one to make the fatal error in the end, hadn't he? "Now run along, boy."
Those words cut him deeper than he'd thought possible. Because at his core he knew them to be true. If he'd just stayed quiet, if he hadn't lost his temper, the Duke wouldn't have found out. They could have had so much time together. His fingers pushed into his hair as he turned away, his teeth clenched together.
For a moment, he felt like he couldn't breathe. Choked between his hatred at the Duke and his hatred for himself. The world blurred before him, his fingers digging into his scalp. But then the Duke called him "boy." And before he could stop himself, he was twisting around.
"YOU!" He roared. "YOU DID THIS! NOT ME!" He was louder and more coherent than a few moments before. "I wanted her to do whatever she wanted! But you! You couldn't stand that she NEVER WANTED YOU!"
There were eyes on them, of course there were. Performers crowding the edges of the stage, as if to give the illusion that they're not watching by giving them some space. Some of them could only listen, gaze cast down while Christian threw his tantrum.
"Surely everyone here has something more important to be doing, hmm?" His voice left no room for disobedience. The people scattered, jumping a little as if they'd been electrocuted. "That includes you, Monsieur le Compositeur."
How long had it been? Time got so blurry sometimes. He'd sleep for days sometimes, waking only when the hunger got too be too much to ignore. He could go longer, now. He'd gotten used to it. Why couldn't he just give in and let the sun take him? Yet he went on. Year after year.
It hadn't been this bad, even the first time he'd lost her. It was to illness that time. Or so he thought. Then the illness found him, and she came to him. An angel in the night. They escaped the one who'd made her. They made a happy life for themselves in another country. But that evil monster found them after decades of happiness. That thing took its rage out on her first. Christian couldn't save her. First it was all rage. He didn't know what had happened until days later, the Duke's blood still on his hands. But even that bright fire faded, and he was left in darkness. Forever.
He had more than enough money for several lifetimes, but he didn't look it. The money didn't matter. It never did. He used it for a place to live. And to pay men and women for their blood. Way more than they sold their bodies for. Some of them were afraid of him, but he was never rough with them. He moved city to city, ever few years. Drifting. Miserable.
After all this time he still went to bars. The dingier ones now, as they didn't play their music so loud. The alcohol did nothing, but he still tried. Sometime after muttering something about missing real absinthe, he was shown the door. He didn't go far. He dropped onto a bench across the street, staring up at the sky. It was too clear. Why didn't it just rain? That would be more fitting.
It amuses her what a girl and a guitar can earn on a Saturday night. She's spent the best part of full days stood on street corners singing and finds it hard to earn much. The weekends usually mean she fairs better - more people around during the daytime. But on the off chance she decides to try a Friday or Saturday night, she seems to earn a lot more than any afternoon. It seems a bit wrong, asking drunks for cash, but it's not like she's forcing anyone to give up their money. People just seem more inclined to toss a few coins at her feet in return for a smile as she sings.
It's not always plain sailing. She's had some people steal from her case as she plays and there's not much she can really do about it. Some try to take her guitar - thinking they're some kind of rock-star. They're instances few and far between and at least for tonight, everything's going well.
She plays a selection of covers and her own songs, enough to keep her going for a few hours before she'll pack up and head home. This particular song is a little subdued: "Open up and let me in, show the bruises on your skin. Let the fires all burn, I can hear the silent shout in you."
Her fingers feel cold from playing but it's a clear enough night. Busking in the rain isn't the best of fun. By the time Cassie's finished, a man who's just passing with a group of friends, heading towards the next bar, stops and clocks the guitar. He grins madly, stepping towards her.
"Me next, me next!" he calls to her, "Give us a shot, then."
She laughs at first, she's dealt with this before. Nothing to worry about. "Sorry, but no." she tells him. "Go on, go catch up with your mates."
"Come on, just a little go, I'm really good." he insists. He reaches for the guitar, hands grabbing and trying to pull the instrument over her shoulder. Cassie steps back, getting a firm grasp on her guitar. A friend from the man's group calls back: "Leave it, mate!"
"Don't be weird, I just want to play you something." he says, yanking the guitar. Cassie's face hardens a little, determination and uncertainty in her face. She holds her hand up, pressing it against his chest to move him away, trying to separate them. "I said 'No'."
Hearing the girl sing pulled at Christian in a way he didn't quite understand. It had been so long since he'd sung anything himself that it felt like it had only been a dream. All of it was some strange dream he'd had before waking to this life. But hearing her sing, it did something to him. Like it unlocked something in him, just a little bit, but it also made something feel heavier. Like a weight inside his chest. He wanted her to stop, but at the same time, he wanted her to keep going.
He didn't realize that she'd stopped at first. Not until he heard raised voices. He lifted his head, looking to the source, and he feels something flicker inside him. He's not sure why, he's seen fights on the street before. Why should this be any different. But he was moving before he fully understood what he was doing or why.
His fingers wrapped around the man's wrist before he could reach for the guitar again. Because he wasn't fully aware of his actions, he didn't realize how fast he'd moved. To him, he'd simply strolled over to them and casually grabbed the man. But to everyone else, one moment he was on the bench, half a block away. Then the next he was holding the man's arm in an iron grip.
"I suggest you leave." He growled. That strange flicker surged up inside him. It mingled with his words, hitting the man with a power Christian had never fully understood himself. He was already trying to leave, even though Christian still held on to him.
She thought maybe one of the man's friends would come to pull him away, or maybe he'd give up and shuffle off with an unkind word spat her way. It's usually how it goes when it's happened in the past - if it even got this far, that is. But he's so insistent and it's hard to push back a grown-man, heavy with drink and determination. Maybe he'd finally get the message.
But he doesn't and he reaches for the guitar only for a hand to snatch his wrist so hard the man cries in surprise. Cassie steps back, eyes wide, her back pressing against the wall of the building. Her hands curl so tightly around her guitar her knuckles turn white.
Where had he come from? He'd grabbed the drunk's wrist so suddenly, out of nowhere. Had she maybe been so transfixed on the drunk that maybe she hadn't noticed anyone step in? She's not sure, her eyes flickering from the drunk to the man gripping onto his arm. He wants to go but the man keeps his hold. "Okay, okay. I'm--please, just get off me, man."
Cassie swallows thickly, she raises a hand, trying to be disarming. The guy's learned his lesson, he's spooked. She's spooked herself by this, in all honesty. But he can let go now, let him rejoin his mates.
"He understands." she says softly, her throat feels tight. "It's fine. He gets it. Let him go."
As the man started to panic, Christian could feel the pulse under his fingers. In every inch where their skin made contact, he could feel the blood in his veins. Hear his heart pounding. It started to drown everything out, whispering to him. Inviting him. He always pushed it too long. He was always afraid he would hurt someone when he fed, go too deep, take too much. But if he waited too long, he would turn feral. Attack someone like a beast. It was a fine line and he didn't like either side. But he couldn't feed on rats or animals. He'd tried. Others could do it. But the blood tasted wrong and soured his stomach.
The girl's voice cut through the sound of the beating heart in his hand and with great effort, he managed to pry his fingers lose. He was still staring at his empty hand as the man left. And only then did he realize he could hear the girl's heartbeat, too. Quieter, but still quickened. Like a hummingbird. Small and fragile. His gaze started to drift toward her, but he stopped himself, dropping his hand.
"I...didn't want him to hurt you," he said, finally.
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carisma_sensei
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Date: 2018-07-23 03:54 am (UTC)God, she'd been so happy with Christian. It was so foolish... and now she had paid the full price. The Duke hadn't been kind with her tonight, hadn't tried to woo her or buy her love with gifts and diamonds-- No. No, he'd been cruel and by the time she made it back to the safety of her room, she was a bloody mess. Her dress was in shreds, the sound of the blood dripping down the curve of her throat and bosom to the floor echoing as she moved. He'd torn the necklace off of her, the intricate chain having bitten her skin far deeper than she'd have expected. She'd have a bruise on her cheek in the morning, along with lasting marks in a few other places she was sure.
She wasn't broken, though.
She could repair this, she could take a few days and heal up. Then, she could go back stronger and better than ever. She just needed to prove her loyalty, even if the very thought of seeing that man again made her stomach turn. She'd love a life with Christian, filled with laughter and no obligations. It'd be heaven and idealistic and she could adjust and learn to just exist with him. He could teach her so many things and she, in turn, could be herself around him and not a fabrication of an expectation.
She'd relinquished those dreams to nothing more than that-- dreams. She'd thought she'd done so well in keeping Christian out of her mind, but the Duke was far more intelligent than she'd given him credit for. While there were many things she hadn't been allowed to do tonight, he had allowed her the decency of her cloak before throwing her out of his suite-- all but calling her a common whore on the way out. She'd tried to keep it from also getting ruined by just carrying it with her, but she'd quickly realized how she looked. Pulling it closer around herself, she reaches for the doorknob - praying she can have a few moments alone.
Only she's not. He's here and she can feel her chest tighten at the sight. No, no, no... She'd told him to go. She'd told him she never wanted to see him again -- she'd wanted to protect him. Why couldn't he listen to her for once? She hadn't had as bad of a night as this in many years, not since she'd come under the protection of Harold and the Moulin Rouge... Not since she'd become a star in her own right. Letting her tousled hair fall into her face, she obscures what she can from view, turning her back to him as she closes the door and clings to the shadows around it. She does her best to keep her tone even and cold, though the pain and exhaustion can't seem to keep out of it. ]
I thought I'd told you not to be here when I returned.
[ If he knew what happened tonight, she's almost certain he'd want nothing to do with her, too. And she can't handle that heartbreak on top of everything else. ]
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Date: 2018-07-23 04:20 am (UTC)He'd known she hadn't meant it, or at least he hoped she hadn't, when she told him to stay away. So he'd come to pay her a visit, with a small gift of his own. It was just a single flower, all he could afford. But it was a gesture. She should have returned from her time with the Duke and he would be there to remind her of all that mattered in the world. But she wasn't at her room.
Fearing the worst, he began asking anyone and everyone. No one had seen Satine since she'd left to go see the Duke.
Despair and jealousy clawed at him as scenario after scenario played out in his mind. First of her favoring the Duke and meaning it. Laughing over the foolish writer who thought he could woo her away from a fortune of gold and diamonds with words and love. Anguish tore at him at the very idea, his heart heavy in his chest. It couldn't be, but what power did he have to outshine wealth?
A sting in his palm brought him back to reality. The flower's petals fell to the floor, limp and crushed. A thorn had dug into his palm as the stem snapped in his grasp, a small trickle of blood moving toward his wrist. Scrubbing the tears from his eyes, he stared at the remains of the flower. Of what jealousy had done to it.
He had to believe in her. She loved him, in her heart of hearts. He'd seen it in her eyes. No wealth could steal that away, especially when in the hands of that monster. But that was when the darker visions passed through his mind. Of all the terrible things the Duke could be doing in this time.
He'd nearly given in to despair once more when he heard her approach. Her words were the only thing that kept him from wrapping his arms around her immediately. ]
I was worried that--
[ His mouth going dry, he reached a hand toward her. Hesitantly reaching for her hood. ]
Satine...what...what did he do?
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Date: 2018-07-23 10:40 pm (UTC)Of everything she could've ever wanted for him, this moment wasn't it. She didn't want him to see the darker side of her life, those moments that weren't dripping with satin, diamonds, and champagne.
She stills as the air moves around her with his approach. Damn his stubbornness. Satine doesn't step away when he reaches for the hood, instead letting it pool around her shoulders - dark curls framing tear and blood-stained cheeks that once cooled the sting on her cheek. Thankfully her hair obscures some of the injuries to her neck from metal and nails.
Satine can't hold back a dark laugh, imagining Harold seeing her and his first response following the lines of charing the Duke more for this last... date. Her wellbeing would of course come up, but it wouldn't be at the forefront. No, it would be recovering any losses he might suffer while she heals up enough to cover any visible marks with makeup. The show must go on, after all.
Pulling the cloak tighter around herself, she licks her suddenly dry lips - finally facing the music and turning to look at him. She doesn't answer his question, instead hoping he'll let it go. ]
I just need a bath and rest. I'll be alright, Christian.
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Date: 2018-07-24 03:23 am (UTC)...Satine...
[ There was no accusation in his tone. It was soft, anguished, desperate. But he thought not of what it meant for him, but what it meant for her. Not the way Zidler might, he didn't care how it would affect her performance or how she looked. She'd been hurt. Viciously. He wanted to hold her. To protect her. But he feared hurting her further. ]
You need...far more than rest. Please. Let me help you.
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Date: 2018-07-24 04:20 am (UTC)Keeping her gaze on him, she slowly lets down the wall she'd so carefully built on her way back here. The words come out matter-of-fact, powering through it because dancing around the subject would do no good. He needed to be prepared should their paths ever cross. While she may hope he'll leave whilst he has a chance... Tonight proved quite the opposite. ]
He knows about us.
[ She ventures away from the door, keeping her back to him as she finally lets the cloak fall to the floor. She'd deal with the ruined clothing and bloodstains later... Later when she finally felt whole again. She dims the light next to her before finally attempting to peel off the shredded corset and dress without making too much of a fuss. It's easier to do it now than to wait any longer. Thankfully, she had expensive taste. A cheaper corset's boning might've broken with as rough of handling as this one endured. Everything else falls once the final eye hook is released, Satine leaving her shoes in the tattered pile of what was once a stunning outfit. She doesn't look at Christian, not sure she wants to see his reaction to the full view of her forming injuries. She'd managed to get out before he could inflict any lasting physical harm--
She has much to be grateful for.
Making her way to her dresser, she grabs a silk robe - wrapping it around herself. The cuts and bruises would heal with time. With a practiced grace, she wets a cloth and settles in front of her mirror - starting to wipe away the traces of her evening. It's easier said than done, giving a soft hiss of pain as she pulls her hair away from the now drying wound on her neck. Her breath becomes shallower and shallower as she stares at herself, at what she's become. How could someone as pure as Christian love her? Would this night only leave her more and more jaded? Would he still want her if he knew the full details of what happened tonight? A tear finally escapes, the washcloth dropping onto the surface of the vanity in front of her. While Christian never faulted her for it, she hated feeling weak and that is precisely what the Duke had brought out tonight. He'd reminded her of just how powerless she truly was, despite the status she'd worked so hard to earn. What if she'd have chosen love and run away with him, she'd have never been with the Duke tonight. But, from what she'd learned, he'd have never let her go. Another tear escapes, frustration and pain and grief rolling inside of her like a brewing storm. ]
That bastard.
[ She'd just wanted some happiness for herself with no expectations or contracts... Someone to love her despite her flaws and someone she could wholeheartedly love in return, was that so much to ask? ]
no subject
Date: 2018-07-24 04:35 am (UTC)He was so far out of his depth. His own emotions boiled inside him, and words failed him. Words were what he knew best, and he had none. He could entertain and distract, but comforting someone? He had no skill in that. What could he even do? At the very least, he averted his eyes as she dropped her dress.
The silence in the room only left his mind to wander. And she would not think him pure if she knew just where his thoughts went. With how much Toulouse and the others talked of knowing (or even being) criminals, it wouldn't be so difficult to get his hands on a weapon. A gun, even. He could put an end to the Duke once and for all, for hurting Satine. Even if it meant facing death himself, at least she would never be hurt in such a way again.
He moved a step closer as she began to tend herself in the mirror, coming back to reality himself. He wanted to help, but would she let him? Would she lash out? It wasn't until she dropped the cloth that he took the risk. He drops to his knee, picking up the cloth. ]
Here, let me...
[ It's all he says. Nearly a whisper, as his voice his too choked for more. He looks to her, eyebrows raised and holding the cloth. Asking her permission. Begging for it. He felt so useless, but it was all he could do. ]
no subject
Date: 2018-07-25 03:50 am (UTC)Her eyes close, words soft as they finally escape through dry lips. ]
I never should have gone tonight.
[ Not that she never should've gone at all, because she knew the truth. To remain in this place would have forced her to face him eventually. But if she'd known what he knew beforehand, there'd have been ways to ease his anger. To lighten the situation before the rage took on a physical manifestation. She shakes her head slightly, taking the washcloth from his hand to dip it in the bowl of reddening water. Her eyes follow her hands, taking her time to wring it out so it's not sopping wet. ]
I'm sorry you have to see this.
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From:For @heolstor
Date: 2018-07-29 01:06 am (UTC)[ Even with Cassie's threats, Christian wasn't put off. He meant everything word he said. Then again, he spent his days among criminals and thieves. With drunks and junkies. And even there he still saw the absolute best in people. He wasn't about to just walk way cause someone was a little bit different!
He'd raided some of the theater supplies on his way, and showed up with a grocery bag on his arm. Looking as upbeat as if he were going for a picnic in the park. ]
Cassie! Hey! I brought you some lighter fluid just in case! And....
[ He pulled a small box from his jacket pocket with a bright smile. ]
...matches!
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 01:26 am (UTC)In the time it's taken him to get to her place, she's already carried the piano outside, dusty glory and arse prints included. She's wheeling it easily towards the back of the building to burn it in the backyard when she hears his dreadfully cheery voice calling to her. It's grating.
Maybe she should throw him in the piano after all. She flashes him a fake smile before her expression returns to its deadpan. ]
Great. I'll set you on fire after the piano.
[ Maybe a little more lighter fluid wouldn't hurt. ]
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 01:39 am (UTC)That's...not necessary...
[ He let out a small, nervous laugh as she took the items from him.
Before she could wash it away, he moved to the piano to have a quick look at the mark that had started this whole question. He was ignoring the fact that she really had managed to get this thing outside by herself. ]
That was definitely Santiago. How did he get on TOP of it, though? On the keyboard cover, I could understand...but up there, and without his pants? Honestly, I'm impressed.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 01:52 am (UTC)If you say so.
[ Happy with where she finally leaves the piano and taking the lighter fluid and matches from him, she turns to grab a jerry can of fuel and starts dumping on piano. She's silent as she circles it, sloshing liquid against the wood, her face like stone.
This should hurt. It should hurt to be doing this. She shouldn't be doing it at all. But she's doing it, anyway. Keeping those little pieces of her heart closed. ]
Doesn't really matter, does it?
[ She doesn't care how he got on top of it. She make sure he'll never climb anything again if he tries it with anything else she owns. ]
Burning it anyway.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 02:03 am (UTC)Wait!
[ He stepped toward her, looking almost timid. As if afraid she might lash out at him. ]
If I may...why don't we play it. One last time.
[ Then remembering just who he was talking to... ]
It's probably horribly out of tune. It will be like...death cries! And if nothing else it might annoy the neighbors.
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Date: 2018-07-29 02:23 am (UTC)He takes a step towards her, she takes one back. Her head lowers, shoulders raise, a low, rumbling sound resonating in her throat: a warning growl. Not too close.
Play it. Play the piano. It takes a second for her to react. Something angry twists in her stomach, something she doesn't want to feel - already exasperated from the first time he asked and he's bringing it up again so soon. Her face contorts into a scowl. Play it?! ]
I knew it was a fucking mistake letting you come here. [ Her teeth are bared. ] Why do you care? I didn't ask for you to care. I don't want you to care. Why is it so important to you? Just drop it.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-29 02:28 am (UTC)Music soothed the savage beast, right?
He stopped, hands held out, keeping his distance from her. ]
Just...thirty seconds...then I will help you burn it until the ivory itself turns to ash.
[ For a man so unaware of his own charm, he could seriously muster up some puppy dog eyes. Begging her with all his heart. ]
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From:For @monroth
Date: 2018-07-31 06:30 am (UTC)Toulouse and Santiago tried to keep him home, tried to cheer him up, but Christian kept returning to the club. Night or day, it didn't matter. They'd closed the doors until the funeral anyway. No one felt like dancing or partying. They still let him in. Some gave him a wide berth, or just a pat on the shoulder. Others, like Zidler, tried to talk to him. Gently trying to tell him to pick himself up and move on. But it didn't matter to him. It was as if the sun itself had vanished from the sky. The world was nothing but darkness, slowly freezing into oblivion.
He knelt on the stage where he'd held her in his arms. Had it only been a few days, or had it been years? A void had opened inside him so massive, it swallowed time itself. He felt numb. As if he'd always been numb. Had he ever felt anything, or had it just been her light giving him warmth? As he sat there, Babydoll came up to whisper something to him. It sounded urgent. He didn't care. He didn't really hear the words. Then she was gone.
The only reason he knew something had changed was that everything suddenly went incredibly quiet. The buzz of chatter going quiet as the grave. As Christian looked up, he very suddenly remembered what it was like to feel. Like a massive pyre suddenly burst into flame in his chest. A rage so white-hot it threatened to consume him alive.
The Duke strode into the club as if he still had any right to it.
With a wild cry of fury, Christian lurched to his feet and flew from the stage. Hands grabbed at him, voices cried out for him to stop. But nothing could old him back. His hands slammed into the Duke's chest, more or less ineffective. Christian's face was a mess, red and damn with tears. Several days' growth of stubble on his cheeks.
"It's your fault!" It wasn't quite a scream. He was too hoarse for that. "You did this! You ruined everything!" His voice started to crack, his words leaning toward incoherent.
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Date: 2018-07-31 07:26 pm (UTC)So he opted to pay a stop to the Moulin Rouge. Less to pay his respects - though he was dressed smartly in black on black - and more to remind Zidler that, come the day after the funeral, they would open and they needed a new Satine. The quiet that surrounded his arrival meant nothing to him. The only thing that paused him as he took off his hat was Christian, the foolish man. Too caught up in dreams than reality. In fact, André almost seemed amused at Christian's tantrum, until at last he caught the American's hands by the wrist.
"Oh, yes, because there is no possible way she'd have died from consumption if I hadn't shown up." He could have rolled his eyes. Instead, he let Christian go with a rough push back. "Are all Americans this ignorant?"
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Date: 2018-08-01 04:20 am (UTC)Only after another sob is he able to push words out. "You took her last days from me!" He pushed forward, just trying to get into the Duke's face. "YOU TOOK ALL I HAD!"
It was all he could manage. It felt like he was stuck somewhere between the numbness and a storm. He felt like he could write volumes on why he hated the Duke, but so few actual words came to hand. It was all raw emotion that he knew the shape of. Intimately. But translating it to anything that another person could possible understand was an insurmountable task.
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Date: 2018-08-01 07:18 pm (UTC)"You took her last days from yourself." He said it dismissively, but he meant it. André had watched their little game from afar, he'd simply been waiting for the time to strike. And Christian had been the one to make the fatal error in the end, hadn't he? "Now run along, boy."
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Date: 2018-08-02 03:46 am (UTC)For a moment, he felt like he couldn't breathe. Choked between his hatred at the Duke and his hatred for himself. The world blurred before him, his fingers digging into his scalp. But then the Duke called him "boy." And before he could stop himself, he was twisting around.
"YOU!" He roared. "YOU DID THIS! NOT ME!" He was louder and more coherent than a few moments before. "I wanted her to do whatever she wanted! But you! You couldn't stand that she NEVER WANTED YOU!"
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Date: 2018-08-03 05:35 pm (UTC)There were eyes on them, of course there were. Performers crowding the edges of the stage, as if to give the illusion that they're not watching by giving them some space. Some of them could only listen, gaze cast down while Christian threw his tantrum.
"Surely everyone here has something more important to be doing, hmm?" His voice left no room for disobedience. The people scattered, jumping a little as if they'd been electrocuted. "That includes you, Monsieur le Compositeur."
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From:For Cassie
Date: 2018-08-14 03:55 am (UTC)It hadn't been this bad, even the first time he'd lost her. It was to illness that time. Or so he thought. Then the illness found him, and she came to him. An angel in the night. They escaped the one who'd made her. They made a happy life for themselves in another country. But that evil monster found them after decades of happiness. That thing took its rage out on her first. Christian couldn't save her. First it was all rage. He didn't know what had happened until days later, the Duke's blood still on his hands. But even that bright fire faded, and he was left in darkness. Forever.
He had more than enough money for several lifetimes, but he didn't look it. The money didn't matter. It never did. He used it for a place to live. And to pay men and women for their blood. Way more than they sold their bodies for. Some of them were afraid of him, but he was never rough with them. He moved city to city, ever few years. Drifting. Miserable.
After all this time he still went to bars. The dingier ones now, as they didn't play their music so loud. The alcohol did nothing, but he still tried. Sometime after muttering something about missing real absinthe, he was shown the door. He didn't go far. He dropped onto a bench across the street, staring up at the sky. It was too clear. Why didn't it just rain? That would be more fitting.
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Date: 2018-08-14 03:28 pm (UTC)It's not always plain sailing. She's had some people steal from her case as she plays and there's not much she can really do about it. Some try to take her guitar - thinking they're some kind of rock-star. They're instances few and far between and at least for tonight, everything's going well.
She plays a selection of covers and her own songs, enough to keep her going for a few hours before she'll pack up and head home. This particular song is a little subdued: "Open up and let me in, show the bruises on your skin. Let the fires all burn, I can hear the silent shout in you."
Her fingers feel cold from playing but it's a clear enough night. Busking in the rain isn't the best of fun. By the time Cassie's finished, a man who's just passing with a group of friends, heading towards the next bar, stops and clocks the guitar. He grins madly, stepping towards her.
"Me next, me next!" he calls to her, "Give us a shot, then."
She laughs at first, she's dealt with this before. Nothing to worry about. "Sorry, but no." she tells him. "Go on, go catch up with your mates."
"Come on, just a little go, I'm really good." he insists. He reaches for the guitar, hands grabbing and trying to pull the instrument over her shoulder. Cassie steps back, getting a firm grasp on her guitar. A friend from the man's group calls back: "Leave it, mate!"
"Don't be weird, I just want to play you something." he says, yanking the guitar. Cassie's face hardens a little, determination and uncertainty in her face. She holds her hand up, pressing it against his chest to move him away, trying to separate them. "I said 'No'."
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Date: 2018-08-15 03:33 am (UTC)He didn't realize that she'd stopped at first. Not until he heard raised voices. He lifted his head, looking to the source, and he feels something flicker inside him. He's not sure why, he's seen fights on the street before. Why should this be any different. But he was moving before he fully understood what he was doing or why.
His fingers wrapped around the man's wrist before he could reach for the guitar again. Because he wasn't fully aware of his actions, he didn't realize how fast he'd moved. To him, he'd simply strolled over to them and casually grabbed the man. But to everyone else, one moment he was on the bench, half a block away. Then the next he was holding the man's arm in an iron grip.
"I suggest you leave." He growled. That strange flicker surged up inside him. It mingled with his words, hitting the man with a power Christian had never fully understood himself. He was already trying to leave, even though Christian still held on to him.
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Date: 2018-08-20 08:52 pm (UTC)But he doesn't and he reaches for the guitar only for a hand to snatch his wrist so hard the man cries in surprise. Cassie steps back, eyes wide, her back pressing against the wall of the building. Her hands curl so tightly around her guitar her knuckles turn white.
Where had he come from? He'd grabbed the drunk's wrist so suddenly, out of nowhere. Had she maybe been so transfixed on the drunk that maybe she hadn't noticed anyone step in? She's not sure, her eyes flickering from the drunk to the man gripping onto his arm. He wants to go but the man keeps his hold. "Okay, okay. I'm--please, just get off me, man."
Cassie swallows thickly, she raises a hand, trying to be disarming. The guy's learned his lesson, he's spooked. She's spooked herself by this, in all honesty. But he can let go now, let him rejoin his mates.
"He understands." she says softly, her throat feels tight. "It's fine. He gets it. Let him go."
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Date: 2018-08-25 04:41 am (UTC)The girl's voice cut through the sound of the beating heart in his hand and with great effort, he managed to pry his fingers lose. He was still staring at his empty hand as the man left. And only then did he realize he could hear the girl's heartbeat, too. Quieter, but still quickened. Like a hummingbird. Small and fragile. His gaze started to drift toward her, but he stopped himself, dropping his hand.
"I...didn't want him to hurt you," he said, finally.