nina morgan

Cute girls wear bows in their hair, but only the cutest girl has it tied back in a single ribbon that's long enough to touch her back. No other girl could ever make the room light up, a smile on everyone's face, the center of the universe with everyone pulled in. I'm the sun to Daddy's world, and it shows every time someone else catches a shine. The game is on, and I always win even when I lose.

I'm the cutest girl without my ribbon; I'm the most wanted with it in someone else's hands; the enemy thinks they caught our flag; all they have is that ribbon. Stupid move. I've taken so much more from them. I'm the winner; I'm the trophy to bring back home; the pedestal misses me. I miss it back.

NinaxBirdie

Nina's mentality is not off-putting to Birdie. At their core they have similar philosophies: get as much money as possible even if it maims people. Their ruthlessness may not be public knowledge, but it doesn't make it any less potent. Though Nina can be unstable when it comes to her mental health, Birdie somehow is able to crack her code, upgrade her software, be able to align her better than any psychiatrist ever could. Nina needs that stability, one that doesn't water down her goals to fleece Carolina Papen or anyone else who might become an easy mark. Nina would even be willing to gift Birdie with new fashion accessories, thanks to the funds she's been able to get her hands on, but their fondness for each other will never eclipse their own self-interests.

If push came to shove, Nina would kill Birdie and vice versa. The only difference the two might have would be that Nina would actually grieve her loss, perhaps even having a tear roll down her cheek.

But that's a cynic's view. An optimistic ending is a partnership that allows them both to profit in a quid-pro-quo relationship that Nina might hold more adoration than Birdie, in spite of her high-strung emotions at times that seem like it could threaten everything.

In a long-term setting, Nina meeting her father in prison to tell him his work with Lina goes not as expected. Her disillusionment with her childhood hero results in his death that only Birdie's connections can manage. Though Nina wanted it, she swings into equal parts gratitude and regret, depending on the day. She will become broken and threaten to destroy Dmitri Molotov in retribution.

her name rings out hollow, it’s never done much good to her. there’s only a select few voices that have been able to sound out the syllables with any semblance of grace. the woman in front of her is not one of them, adding it as though that will help her in her agenda to keep lina from the set. lina who she has already heard of, been warned about. in notes of difficult, lazy, hard to manage. lina in tones of casual dismay, and nina— not at all. 

“just because cal is willing—” her voice cuts harsh, ready to advocate on behalf of someone who isn’t even there to hear, wouldn’t even think to stop. she’s already known cal long enough to know that he would say yes, and that he doesn’t need to. there’s no lack to make up for if lina just does her job. “doesn’t mean he should.” finally she spits the other half of the sentence out, ground as though it’s already been too trying of a conversation. she’s had some practice, pretending to have the authority on a set. “if you need help getting her, just ask.”

I don't need HELP. Her spine tingles. She feels her shadow growing twice its size, roaring to life, a lion's head made up of index fingers and thumbs against a lightbulb that could burn you. She doesn't need HELP. You need help, Nina! No she doesn't! No she DOESN'T! Steam flows through her nose, slow and steady. She doesn't need help. Thank you. The shadow crumbles; the skeleton retreats. She is the vision of what Nina Morgan is meant to be.

"I'm sorry," she starts in the calmness. "I don't know what else you want me to say beyond what I've already told you." She is not irritated; she is not mean; she is not even condescending. "She won't come. If you want to try to bring her against her will, I can't stop you. I can only say that you might cause her cancellation if you do."

there have been plenty of ideas that she’s brought on to a film set that haven’t been good. she’s shown up in all variety of intoxicated, thrown out every off the-wall idea that could possibly create a shot that would stick in a viewer’s mind. she has time and time again hit moments of imminent collapse. the lead actor missing a shooting day is not an option to her. 

“i can handle a scene.” there’s nothing that’s been said that moves her from this idea. even if lina shows up to set pitching a fit, she will be there and they will get the scene. “do you want to get her or should i?”

"You can't do that." She can. She will. Lina will eventually be dragged in front of a camera today, but Nina puts a good faith effort in delaying what the future holds. "She's my client. Respect what I’m telling you is in her best interest." The cinematographer is taken in. A quick glance to a ring. She reminds her of her mother. Younger. Much younger. But there's a tie there that keeps her in her place, standing tall, teeth biting the inside of her cheek. "Claudia," she adds too late, but it cements who she is, where she is.

"There are other scenes you can film. I've seen how flexible Cal Remington is with the schedule. Use him today."

she comes to set early, stays late, hardly ever leaves. there is no moment spent during production that doesn’t have a question of the set she’s not on lurking in the back of her mind. it’s happened less with gone girl than she expected, as though with each production that she’s tagged wife onto, it turns out that there’s something worth returning home to. there is a home to return to. one of the two. lina’s caretaker hasn’t registered as someone that she needed to take much inventory of. there was little sway nina morgan had seemed to hold over their production, and so she’d been filtered out. until this moment, where she was on the set about to start shifting vanity pieces that have been set with the kind of precision that notices millimeters of shifting. 

“no.” she shuts down the question of trying to reschedule or shift around production before it can be offered up by the smile that’s sent her way. “she’s not. we’ll send a car.”

Claudia Marshall is predictable. Loyal to few. She would do anything for her pictures and the one to make them happen. Nina Carnegie wonders what life would have been like had her father had someone like that as a wife instead of the one he did have. He would have been a free man; she would have had a happy family. Life is not as predictable sometimes; she'll take it where she can get it.

"That wouldn't be a good idea." The response comes when the air is clear, free from the sharp edges that have spawned from the other girl's mouth. Nina Morgan is trusted agent. She is acting in the best interest of her client. Life may not be predictable sometimes, but there are moments that are inevitable. She knows what will happen. She knows how it will play out. "It would cause a scene.--One that shouldn't be on film."

There used to be tiny fingerprints embedded in blue eyeshadow. It co-existed with that all too familiar and all too fleeting period of girlhood that emulates mothers. It's sickening to remember those one-off moments. Her stomach cinches before the palette clicks closed, a prop returned to its original place on set. This is not her bedroom. This is not Carolina's bedroom either. It's no one's. An empty, open box that will be exposed by lights and cameras until Nina's head lifts, catching the reflection in the vanity set.

"Oh, you scared me," she lets out with a found breath, always on-hand, turning to face Claudia. She knows all about big fish in small ponds, always swimming, swimming, swimming. "Lina told me to grab something she left behind." There's an extension of a small smile, a shadow of apology, while her hair is brushed back from her forehead. "You won't like this, but she won't be able to make it in today. She's sick."

she wondered if they really did think of her as just contract, she found it hard to think so. all her time in hollywood was predicated on the  idea that she could spend money. her last name was an investment that people could use. now, it was something else. a selling point maybe, but she wasn’t sure. who could be, and why bother trying. notes were irrelevant. 

“you’re strange.” she knew that nina was only saying that she would be there because she was paid to, through some nebulous tie she was going to have to endure whatever lina said she wanted, but wasn’t that always the issue. lina didn’t want anything. still, nina offered. “i’m bored listening to them.” and it was about her. but there were certain precautions that were supposed to be taken now. the irons warned, her own parents insisted, and she was left waiting for her glass of wine. the sigh that escapes her betrays an eternity of exhaustion, far more than it should be possible for a papen to have accrued. “just don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

Little girl in her little uniform, waiting her turn on the swings. Tailored in sea-storm gray with a badge from Mercy Middle embroidered on her chest like the trustfund babies that littered the field. She was almost one of them. She blended in. She was one of them. As much a chameleon as her father. Nina Carnegie. You're weird. You're odd. You're strange.

Humble young woman in her Bergdorf and Goodman turtleneck, waiting her turn on this new playground. Nina Morgan. She contorts her muscles in a way to smile. The body is a puppet with strings pulled by the new-self. The napkin in her lap stains from the edge of a cuticle being ripped off beneath the table.The new-self isn’t much better than the old.

"Who says you need to listen?" Wine flows into their glasses. Her peripheral vision tells her this. Her direct focus tells her that Carolina Papen wants nothing to do with these meetings. Her clean hand wraps around the stem of her glass, keeping it there. If she says yes, she'll drink. If she says no, she won't. "Those meetings are pro forma. I don’t mind going as your proxy.--Wouldn’t you like that?"

she is neither problem or solution. she simply is by virtue of being, the spark of life that might have possessed so many in her position has faded, leaving this shell which watches the wine be swapped without a flicker of emotion. she doubts it is the kind of detail that many people would notice, but it makes all of the difference when in suitable company. besides, any time she does not have to talk to the waiter, sommelier, bartender, or hostess, is considered a win. there is so much small talk in daily interactions, the thought of them presses on her heavily. she only has so much to say, the words seem to evaporate from her mind before she has the chance to grasp them. 

“to take notes?” it escapes as a sigh, as though the mere idea has already taken some toll on her. it wouldn’t be the worst idea to have someone along to deflect all the small talk, get to the point of all these long meetings and navigate the boundaries of her new contract. there seems to be something complicated about it that she cannot understand, and no one is able to elaborate. the department on her side, as everything else has so often tried to fall. “you don’t want to do that.”

she knows that nina’s title is something other than assistant, and that friend is far too broad a suggestion, but she’s never quite grasped what the official relationship should be. there were always so many other people trying to help guide her, all of them with a different label and none of them ending up sitting across from her at this table. “it’s not even production meetings— hardly worth remembering.”

DON'T TELL ME WHAT I WANT TO DO. "Not that," she almost breathes, releases her words into the air like a string of menthol. There is no room for her to be a secretary. She will make her own observations, but it will not be for the sake of remembering inconsequential details. Even Lina is aligned with her view, even if it's not framed in the same way. She knows what she wants. She has always known. She knows. She knows. "They need to be the ones taking notes."

Her muscles uncurl in her shoulders, smoothing down the blades while the corner of her napkin is twirled between her thumb and finger in her tracked thoughts. "They see you're a contract. That's all they see, now." Her voice is gentle, but she is not sympathy; she is factual without arrogance; the harbinger of what is and what can be done about it. She is no rebel, but advocate. "It's better that I'm there.--I don't mind. It's what I'm here for." A small smile spreads from across the table. "Let me do this for you."

there is little change in her life it seems. the excitement that was promised in an acting career, all of those glittering lights and luxuries to spare that estelle had been so sucre of never did manifest. she is a valued name, a player on both teams who can no longer be trusted with secrets from either. and so she takes the roles that are given to her, and she walks through each and every art gallery in the city. and in between there is wine and nina. 

“of course.”  she set her purse on one free chair, dropping into the other in one fluid motion. dancer’s grace being used only for lunches now, audience dwindled but present. “meetings always run long.” for she who had no watch and hardly knew the day of the week, it was near impossible to ask for a schedule. perhaps a rigid production would do her some good. “i prefer white with lunch.” though there was no question she preferred reds, she was a creature of decorum, raised with polished silver and ivory handles. “a sauvignon blanc in the future.”

it falls somewhere between request, command, and advice. as though she is teaching etiquette in between her days of stretching nothingness. “pairs better with salads.”

Her eyes are reaching out for her image, not so much her as a complete being with thoughts and ideas of her own, but as the slender outline that floats down. Nina's head turns slightly, shifts the angle minutely, lengthens her neck as if she's caught her reflection somewhere. She is listening, but there are other notes being taken down than wine pairings.

"Of course." She is humbled, lowers herself into the spot that she is exactly set out to fit into. "It seemed late for lunch..." she murmurs, lips dewed by her clear gloss before her head tips up to the approaching waiter. "Ms. Papen decided against the merlot. She would like a sauvignon blanc instead. I'm sorry for the confusion." And the waiter turns away almost as soon as he's come, leaving Nina to adjust the napkin on her lap by her fingertips. It winds up being in the exact spot as where it started before Carolina is brought back into her vision.

"I should be with you during the meetings in the future," she brings up softly, even as pale blue irises are sitting atop the others in their gaze. “Don’t you think so?”

Full Name: Nina P. Morgan

--Real Name: Nina Pearl Carnegie*

*father adopted this last name on his own

Birthday: June 30th

Age: 28

Zodiac Sign: Cancer

Religion: $$$

–Religious Level (1-10): 10

Birthplace: Upper East Side, Manhattan, NYC, NY

Current Residence: LA, California

Height: 5′ 6″

Hair Color: Dyed blonde

Eye Color: Pale blue

Sexuality: Heterosexual Bisexual

Love/Romantic Preference: Heteroromantic Biromantic

Relationship Status: Single

Languages Known: English, French, Spanish

Details

Car: Silver 2015 Mercedes Benz C-Class

Phone: Gold iPhone Xs Max

Music Genres: Lo-fi, alternative indie (Hey Kids by Molina), (Two Time by Jack Tauber), (Test and Recognize by Seekae)

Wardrobe: Bergdorf and Goodman shopping. Neutral/Nude colors Turtlenecks (weather permitting) [x], high-neck blouses [x] [x] [x], wide leg high-waist pants [x], stream-lined dress for formal [x], nude Christian Loubouton heels [x], Saint Laurent white chain purse [x]

Estimated Net Worth: She’s living off of credit. Not her own.

Ransom Value: Not even a trafficker would want this girl

Education: J.D. from New York Law School with focus on Advanced Wealth Transfer Planning and Criminal Law

Accent: Manhattan (strength 3/10)

Bloodlines + Connections

Victor Carnegie | father | currently serving a fifty-year federal prison sentence for fraud, money laundering, and theft

Delia Carnegie Hartford (maiden name) | mother | bad relationship

Carolina Papen | Client

Levels

Drinking (1-10): 7

Swearing: 3

Smoking status: 4. Sometimes a menthol cigarette helps. 

Drugs: 4. She should be on more, but she has it under control.

Cooking proficiency: 5.

Intelligence: 9

Emotional/Social Intelligence: 8. Pretty good at that gaslight game.

Creativity: 8

She remembers rainy days. They cloud her already hazy memories of childhood. The selective recollections of a young girl are the scars of the human psyche. The Upper East Side was a messy string of scattered storms. The raindrops raced down her bedroom window. She picked a favorite, placed her bet. If that little droplet reached the bottom first, daddy would take her with him on his trip. The voices in the hallway distracted her. When she looked back, her game was over. She was not the winner. He never did go on his trip, not the one he was packing for.

That was almost fifteen years ago. The Carnegie name, so prized and revered, is now replaced by Morgan in homage. For it was Morgan who made Carnegie the richest person in his own time, and that's exactly who Nina Morgan will become. She is billed as talent agent, exclusively devoted, staring up from her seat at who she represents. The droplets splash across the window next to her, awaiting the next bet. This is too important to risk. She ignores them. 1-2-3. 1-2-3. 1-2-3. She hates herself. She is Nina Morgan. She is Carolina Papen. She doesn't need her droplets. She's made it this far without them. She loves herself.

"I ordered ahead," she says, watching her. "I didn't know how long you'd take, but I asked for a bottle of Merlot to be chilled until you came. Is that all right?"