Nick and Norah Minus Playlist

Prompt 1
He would gather up the soft pieces of Norah. Her hair was spread across the sheets as Nick looked down at it. She was downstairs, waiting in front of Margarette's door. Nick sealed her hair with a thick purple ribbon. He slid along the cold floor, with an odd grace. He was showered, dressed, bidding his time before the day. Every so often, someone's whole life feels like a single day, in slow motion. That was Nick's life.

Norah smoothed out her newly cut hair, taking out stray pieces as she styled the sharp bob. She'd already knocked twice with no answer, but this time the door seemed to magically open. Margarette stood in the doorway, swaying a little as if she was imbalanced. They didn't speak, Norah just went inside, carrying her small notebook and polite smile. They knew each other from years of small talk, but this was the first of many true encounters.

"Where is most comfortable for you?" Norah annunciated slowly.

She spoke quickly, "Well, I've lived here for nearly fifty years. You'd assume it's all very comfortable," the words rolled off her tongue, making them appear more dramatic.

"Sure... I understand."

They walked through the entrance hall, and into the apartment's small living room. There was dust everywhere, creating a layer of faintness. There was something comforting about that faintness, it was ancient. Red, green and purple light was shining into the space making interesting patterns along the furniture. Norah sat down first with her back to the light, creating a silouette against the floral wallpaper. Meanwhile Margarette had placed herself in the darkest corner of the room. Suddenly, she was no longer an elderly, imported citizen. Anyone could be hiding within that mysterious shadow.

"Do you need anything before we be-"

"I was born in a small village, near St. Petersburg, I forget it's name. That's of little consequence really. My life was eventless, empty, until I turned fourteen. A man came from the city."

"Do you remember his name?" Norah looked up from her abrasive writing.

"No, I don't. He was glamorous, extravagant. We had never seen such a person, everyone loved him. He told us he was a messiah, delivered to save us from the Soviets.

"When I was seventeen, he brought me to the city, along with five other girls."

Norah was inscribing vigorously. This story was meant for her. That she should live in this apartment, meet this woman, was fate.