canon is moulin rouge. will probably remain homeless :c

[foolishaboutlove]

Well, Mademoiselle Mundane, I really don't think there's any point in... in discussing this. There's so much to do! So many words! Words that will just fester and build up inside, until--! Until...!

[He stops, suddenly looking flustered.] Well, I believe you know perfectly well what I mean.

Comments

[simulatedmedic]

Do try to calm down, sir. Getting flustered is only going to make matters worse.

[foolishaboutlove]

I'm not trying--

I'm simply trying to make a point.

[simulatedmedic]

In my experience, the point is always ignored or misinterpreted.

[foolishaboutlove]

Perhaps it needs to be approached differently?

[simulatedmedic]

My extended programming has me skilled in a variety of different techniques for this, believe me that it is all pointless.

[foolishaboutlove]

If you cannot believe in anything, what is the point of living?

[simulatedmedic]

Oh, I didn't say not to believe in something, just not what you were before your mundane brought you here.

I, for example, believe that this is an oppertune time to expand my program.

[lungissues]

[She'll just quirk her eyebrow like so.]

Until what, Christian?

[foolishaboutlove]

[Oh, he's still blushing from the force attempted to be placed behind those words, but his entire being lights up at the sight of her. ]

Until something amazingly terrifying happens. And the best thing about the future is, you'll never know what.

[lungissues]

[Then all is well, hmm?]

Amazingly terrifying, you say? Is that...different from terrifyingly amazing?

[foolishaboutlove]

[Of course!]

It all depends on how you look at it, I suppose.

[lungissues]

[Oh, goodie. No tears this time!]

If you have so many words, my dear writer, perhaps you should get to your typewriter before something like that happens, hmm?

[foolishaboutlove]

Oh, but I don't need to!

Not while you're here.

[lungissues]

But you can't write on me, Christian. Your words are magical; you must share them with the world!

[Oh yes, she's being a bit silly.]

[foolishaboutlove]

[ But he takes this oh so seriously. ] I cannot write until the story is finished, Satine. And who knows how many years that could take?

[lungissues]

[The most serious of business is going on right now, how dare she!]

But we have to have an ending soon, Christian! If you keep putting it off, Harold very well may just find another writer to finish it.

[foolishaboutlove]

[ Those words feel like a blow to the stomach, but he doesn't flinch, or stagger. ]

If he does, so what? [ There's a brief shrug, trying to place confidence with that defiance. ] The play doesn't matter to me - you are what matters to me.

[lungissues]

[...oh, she really didn't want to start an argument.]

The play matters to me, Christian.

[foolishaboutlove]

[ He could never argue with her. Unless it involves the Duke, something he doesn't even realize how much he can get riled up about. ]

Then I will finish it. If that's what you want me to do, then I will do it.

[lungissues]

[...she'll try not to bring up the fact of the matter that she's died.]

Then we'll have our great opening and sneak off after it all. Start a new life somewhere else.

[foolishaboutlove]

[That would kill him.]

Yes. Yes, we will! [He gathers her up in his arms, pressing a fierce kiss to her lips.] And we will be happy, even if where we live may be quite small, we'll get by... [He's rambling.]

[lungissues]

[And that's a damn good reason to keep it secret!

She lets out a high pitched sound as her leave the floor, smiling as soon as his lips press against hers, and bringing her hands up to feel his cheeks, ear, his hair...]

Mmm, Christian, do you see now why we must have an ending as soon as possible? Because when the play ends we can finally begin.

[foolishaboutlove]

Yes. [He drops his gaze away from hers, thinking furiously now. But he keeps his arms around her, because she is his muse, his lifeline.]

The ending... it needs to be happy. Leave the tragedy to Shakespeare. [His mind keeps working, working, working, lips moving silently as he pieces words together in his head.]

[lungissues]

[She can handle this. This constant touching, continuous nearness to him. Her darling writer.]

I'm sure you will think of something absolutely wonderful, Christian. You always do.

[foolishaboutlove]

[He mumbles something, before flashing her a quick, shy smile. Because he can still be very shy with her.]

It wasn't until... all of this that I could finally start thinking.

[lungissues]

[And it still makes him all that much sweeter.]

All what? All...me?

[foolishaboutlove]

Yes. [The single word comes out breathlessly, as it always does when it comes to her.]

[lungissues]

[Oh, the way he says it...the way he said everything in her last moment, the way he looks right now, she could never tell him what has passed.]

I'm very flattered, Christian, as I always am. Perhaps we can think of a proper ending.

Together.

just need to get this out there, but your Satine is absolutely lovely <3

[foolishaboutlove]

[ He beams at her with that wide, gentle smile. ]

I couldn't imagine anything better.

oh gosh, thank you! i feel the same of your christian :>

[lungissues]

[With that smile, how could she have ever gone through with telling him it was a lie? And how could he ever dare to believe it?

My whore - even though it was a misunderstanding, it still hurt, but there was nothing to change those words now.]

Then we should get started right away!

[foolishaboutlove]

Yes. [ And with that, he lapses back into the thoughtful, fervent writer. Afterall, this isn't just the end of a play - it will be their ending. And that is something of dear importance to him. ]

What do you-- [He starts to ask, looking up at her, before his words fail him. As always, her beauty stumps him, leaving him clueless and breathless. ]

[lungissues]

[She tilts her head just so, inclining an eyebrow.]

I think...the Courtesan must choose the Sitar Player...and I think, if it can be done, they should have a secret song for each other. One that either can sing and the other will know that, no matter what, they are loved and love.

[foolishaboutlove]

And that no one - not even the evil maharajah - could ever come between them. [He smiles softly, taking one of her hands in his, intertwining their fingers gently.]

That sounds perfect.