Hello and welcome to the Moulin Rouge, UsUk edition. If you haven't seen the movie Moulin Rouge then I am forced to question the meaning of your life and strongly suggest that you go watch it right now. This first chapter will be a little weird in terms of how I'm telling it and I don't know how long it will continue like this but here's how it's gonna go. "Things italicized and in quotes are either singing or Alfred's father's words." Things just italicized and NOT in quotes is Alfred's narration and what he's typing on the typewriter. And normal font is my narration.

I hope you enjoy this first chapter!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or Moulin Rouge.

Welcome to the Moulin Rouge

Paris, 1900

"There was a boy . . . A very strange enchanted boy . . . They say he wandered very far . . . very far . . . over land and sea . . . A little shy and sad of eye . . . but very wise was he . . . And then one day . . ."

The world was dark. The skies were grey. The life seemed to have been sucked out of everything and everyone.

Inside his run down apartment sat a man on the floor in a fetal position, surrounded by the darkness of the room and discarded papers. In his hand he held a bottle of the devil's nectar.

"A magic day . . . he passed my way . . ."

He slowly looked up at the typewriter on his desk, more bottles and papers set around it.

"And while we spoke of many things . . . fools and kings . . . this he said to me . . ."

He picked himself up from his spot on the floor and walked to his desk, never taking his eyes off the typewriter. He sat down. And began to type.

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return."

Remembering the line he once wrote himself brought tears to his eyes. But this was nothing new. He cried a lot these days.

The Moulin Rouge. A nightclub. A dance hall and a bordello. Ruled over by Francis Bonnefoy. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures, where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The most beautiful of all these was the man I loved.

Arthur.

A courtesan. He sold his love to men. They called him "the Sparkling Diamond", and he was the star of the Moulin Rouge.

He stopped typing and looked out his window. He had a small balcony where he often stood just looking across the way. Just across from his window could be seen the Moulin Rouge.

The man I loved...

is...

...dead.

I first came to Paris one year ago. It was 1899, the summer of love. I knew nothing of the Moulin Rouge, Francis Bonnefoy, or Arthur. The world had been swept up in the bohemian revolution, and I had traveled from America to be a part of it.

Stepping off the train in Paris was young Alfred F. Jones. Golden blonde hair like fields of wheat, bright blue eyes that shone like the summer sky, and thin glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Though how ironic. An American coming to Europe for opportunity. Haha.

On the hill near Paris was the village of Montmartre. It was not, as my father had said-

"A village of sin!"

But the center of the bohemian world. Musicians, painters, writers. They were known as 'the children of the revolution.'

It was much sunnier then. Music could always be heard, laughter and chatter always nearby. There was life everywhere.

Alfred stepped into his new and clean apartment, one bag in hand. He looked out his window at the world, at his new home.

Yes, I had come to live a penniless existence. I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom, and that which I believed in above all things-love.

He sat down at his desk, clear of anything but his brand new, never before used typewriter. He was ready to start.

"Always this ridiculous obsession with love!"

There was only one problem-I'd never been in love.

Luckily, right at that moment, an unconscious Spaniard fell through my roof.

Alfred jumped up from his seat and yelped in bewilderment at his surprise guest. The poor unconscious man was hung upside down by a rope tied to his ankle.

He was quickly joined by an albino dressed as a nun.

Without even knocking, an albino man came bursting in through his door, swinging a cane around.

"Guten tag! I am the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt. Sorry for the interuption."

"What?"

"We were just upstairs rehearsing a play."

"What?"

Alfred was still trying to take in the fact someone just broke through his roof five minutes after moving in. He certainly won't be bored here.

A play, something very modern called Spectacular Spectacular.

"And it's set in Switzerland," said the man, apparently named Gilbert.

Unfortunately, the unconscious Spaniard suffered from a sickness called narcolepsy.

"Perfectly fine one moment, then suddenly unconscious the next," Gilbert explained.

Then came a voice from above, "How is he?"

Alfred and his new albino friend looked up at the hole in the ceiling to see three more men looking in on them. The one who spoke was a man with dark hair, glasses, and a beauty mark near the corner of his mouth. On either side of him were two blonde men, both of them with green eyes. One had bangs and a neutral expression on his face, while the other's hair was parted down the middle. This one was trying to hold in his laughter at the situation.

Seeing the Spaniard still wasn't awake, the man with the glasses spoke again. "Wonderful. Now Antonio is unconscious again. Therefore, the scenario will not be finished in time to present to the financier tomorrow."

The blonde with the neutral expression spoke next. "Roderich is right, Gilbert. I still have to finish the music."

"Well Vash, we'll just have to find someone to read the part."

The other blonde was the one to speak up this time. "Like, where are we going to find someone to read the role of a young, totally sensitive Swiss poet/goat herder?"

Before Vash could volunteer, everyone else quickly looked at their nearly forgotten host.

Before I knew it, I was upstairs, standing in for the unconscious Spaniard.

Alfred stood on a ladder made to look like a mountain, dressed as a goat herder, trying to block out Gilbert's awful singing. And to be honest the music wasn't very good either. The whole thing was just kind of a mess.

"The hills animate with the euphonious symphonies of descant."

"Stop! Stop stop stop stop," Roderich, who was apparently the writer and director of their play, waved his arms around, getting everyone to stop what they were doing.

"Stop that insufferable droning, it's drowning out my words! Can we please just stick to a little decorative piano?"

There seemed to be artistic differences over Roderich's lyrics to Vash's songs.

"Like, I don't think a nun would, like, say that about a hill," said the other blonde, Feliks, Alfred later came to find out.

Vash suggested, "What if he sings, 'The hills are vital, intoning the descant'?"

"The hills quake and shake," Gilbert tried.

"No no no no, The hills-"

Everyone looked over when suddenly the Spaniard on the bed in the corner sat up, awake long enough to give his suggestion. "The hills are incarnate with symphonic melodies!" And just like that he was unconscious again. So the others just turned away and continued their bickering.

Alfred had his own idea too, but every time he tried to say something, his voice was drowned out by the many other voices in the room. He waved his arms about, trying to get someone's attention.

"The hills-"

"Are chanting the eternal mantra."

"Frank is living in my foot."

"The hills are-"

"No no..."

Alfred couldn't take it anymore. So instead of arguing, he sang.

"The hills are alive with the sound of music."

Suddenly the room was quiet. Everyone had frozen, taking in what they had just heard. It had even caused Antonio to wake up. He jumped out of bed and stomped over, gaining everyone's attention.

"The hills are alive with the sound of music...I love it!"

Finally everyone was regaining their senses.

"The hills are alive-"

"With the sound-"

"Of music!"

Vash turned to Alfred, for once a look of shock and maybe some happiness showing on his face.

"It fits perfectly."

"With songs they have sung for a thousand years," Alfred continued.

The only one who didn't seem impressed or thrilled in any way was Roderich.

"Roddy, you two should write the show together," Gilbert suggested.

"I beg your pardon?"

But Gilbert's suggestion that Roderich and I write the show together was not what Roderich wanted to hear.

"Goodbye!" Roderich shouted on his way out before slamming the door behind him.

The others brushed it off fairly easily. As Alfred stepped off the ladder, Gilbert addressed him as he drank something green from a glass.

"Here's to your first job in Paris."

"But Gilbert, Francis will, like, never agree. No offense, but have you ever, like, written something like this before?"

"No," Alfred admitted.

Antonio shouted, "Ah! The boy has natural talent!" He extended his arms out dramatically, accidentally putting his hand on the American's crotch. "I like him!" Alfred gasped at the sudden touch to such a place and tensed up.

Realizing where his hand was, the Spaniard quickly lowered his hands and laughed awkwardly. "Heh...nothing funny, I just like talent."

"The hills are alive with the sound of music. See, you guys, with Alfred we can write the truly bohemian revolutionary show that we've always dreamt of," said Gilbert.

Vash argued, "But how will we convince Francis?"

But Gilbert had a plan.

"Arthur."

They would dress me in the Spaniard's best suit and pass me off as a famous American writer. Once Arthur heard my modern poetry, he would be astounded and insist to Francis that I write Spectacular Spectacular. The only problem was, I kept hearing my father's voice in my head.

"You'll end up wasting your life at the Moulin Rouge with a cancan dancer!"

Alfred rushed to escape to the hole in the floor, a ladder placed there to lead back down to his own room.

"No, I can't write the show for the Moulin Rouge!"

Before he could get very far down the ladder, the others had followed him and stopped him at the top of the ladder.

"Why not?"

"I don't even know if I am a true bohemian revolutionary."

They looked taken aback, almost insulted that he thought he wasn't one of them.

Gilbert questioned, "Do you believe in beauty?"

"Yes."

Antonio, "Freedom?"

"Yes, of course."

Vash, "Truth?"

"Yes."

Feliks, "Love?"

Alfred looked at Feliks. "Love? Love...Above all things, I believe in love. Love is like oxygen. Love is a many-splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we belong, all you need is love!"

By the end of his mini speech he was grinning a thousand watt smile, speaking of his passion for something he himself had never felt. Everyone else above him were also smiling now, even Vash had the tiniest of smiles.

"See, you can't fool us," Gilbert laughed. "You're the voice of the children of the revolution!"

"We can't be fooled," the others said in unison.

They pulled the American out of the hole in the floor, Gilbert holding up a glass.

"Let's drink to the new writer of the world's first bohemian revolutionary show!"

The Spaniard kissed Alfred in the moment of excitement and passion. "Mwah!"

It was the perfect plan. I was to audition for Arthur, and I would taste my first glass of...absinthe.

Passed around was a tray of flaming green drinks. Everyone seemed excited and eager to drink, and Alfred wasn't one to be a party pooper. But he didn't know at the time of the hallucinogenic properties of absinthe. So with his first drink, the show began.

On the bottle of the green spirit drink was a picture of a fairy, a girl with long brunette hair, green eyes, and pink flowers in her hair. After their first drink, she came alive, flying right off the bottle.

"I'm the green fairy~"

Alfred was amazed at what he saw. And judging by the others' reaction, they could see her, too.

She sang, "The hills are alive with the sound of music."

They all laughed and enjoyed the little dance the fairy was putting on for them. They stood out on the balcony of the building, just above the sign that read L'amour. They danced and sang along with the fairy as she wrote the words in the air with green fairy dust.

"Yeah. Freedom, beauty, truth, and love."

"The hills are alive,"

"No, you won't fool the children,"

"With the sound of music."

"Of the revolution."

"The revolution is here!"

We were off to the Moulin Rouge. And I was to perform my poetry for Arthur.

I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! Not all the chapters are going to be this long probably.

Trivia: Absinthe is not actually a hallucinogenic drink, but it was portrayed as one in the movie so I decided to keep it the same. Also, the green fairy is because absinthe is commonly referred to as "la fée verte" which means "the green fairy".

Thank you for reading, please leave reviews, I hope to see you again soon!