Emily exhaled long and low as she made her way into the cafeteria. The term had just started but everywhere she looked there was a flurry of activity. Students from one end to the other, finding their friends, crashing classes, or trying to escape the crush of the student body that Em found herself in. The cafeteria wasn’t exactly the best place to catch up on her reading but the library would let her eat her burger quietly either. Oh the small prices to pay for not going to her next class hungry.
She hadn’t been expecting to find the cafeteria as crowded as it was and she stood there at the entrance in her navy shirt dress as she surveyed her options. There wasn’t a booth or table that wasn’t occupied already so she made a beeline to an open spot before someone else could. The boy sitting at the table didn’t seem to be waiting for anyone and it wouldn’t hurt to ask right? Right!
“Hey,” Emily said as she came to a stop in front of his table. Her hand raised to give him a wave when he looked up before resting on the back of the open seat, the other pressing a stack of her textbooks and her brown journal to her hip. “Is anyone sitting here? Or…” Her fingers stopped their soft drumming on the chair to make a wavering offhand gesture to the rest of the loud room.
For a kid who’d gone to public school his entire life, where metal detectors at the door and cops in the hall were the norm, college was like something out of a movie. In fact, most of Dixon’s expectations were based upon fictional representations, movies and televisions shows that might have been accurate, or might have been completely off base. He couldn’t even ask his mom for advice either, not about this, since she’d barely managed to finish high school herself. Needless to say, when the first day of classes came around, he was scared shitless. What if he couldn’t keep up? What if someone like him just didn’t belong in a place like this? There were so many doubts, and he came close to just saying fuck it all and ditching the prospect, but he knew his mom would be crushed, and besides, this was his chance. Without school, he’d be back on the streets dealing again, or worse. He knew it.
Somehow, he’d gotten through that first day, and the next, and the next. His profs didn’t seem so bad, and neither did the other kids, and he stopped feeling like he was going to make an idiot out of himself every time he opened his mouth. Still, Dixon was hardly a chatterbox, and he kept mostly to himself, which was why he was seated alone in the bustling, cramped cafeteria. His bag, which had certainly seen better days, was at his feet, and he was hunched over his textbook, trying to make sense of all the numbers and equations on the page. Fucking math. Why the hell did people need to know this shit anyway? Besides, letters and numbers didn’t even go together. It wasn’t natural.
He was the epitome of casual in a t-shirt and jeans, and he didn’t immediately look up when Emily spoke, assuming the female voice was speaking to someone else, someone not him, because he didn’t know anyone here. But then no one responded, and after a few seconds Dixon tore his gaze away from the book and looked up. The pretty blonde wasn’t familiar, and took him a moment to realize she was asking him something. “Oh. Uh, no, go ahead,” he said, gesturing to the open seat. “It’s all yours.”
“Thanks,” she replied, a grateful and bright smile crossing her face. She set her stack of books down, her leather journal a small oddity atop the heap of used textbooks, and pulled off her bag, letting soft “Ooof,” of relief escape her now it was off her and hanging on the chair. “Normally I try not to bother people. I dunno, people like their space. But there’s just nowhere else to sit.” She was babbling needless, she knew, as he already said she could take the seat. It was a bad habit, one that she certainly wasn’t going to stop today, and so she slipped onto the chair as she dug into her backpack.
“Anyway, I just want to go over some of my notes. Math,” she said, a shudder rolling through her as she unzipped her bag and poked around at her pale ballet shoes and clothes to find her notebook, “not really my best subject so you might hear me grumble.” She didn’t find her notes but slim fingers tossed a bag of sun chips onto the table for her lunch. “I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.”
Dixon’s response to her thanks was a shrug and a half-grin, because hey, only a complete asshole would tell her no. He didn’t mind sitting alone, but he didn’t mind some company either, and wasn’t college supposed to be about meeting new people or whatever? His gaze passed over her pile of books without much interest, but it lingered on the journal, which looked out of place and not the least bit academic, but he didn’t ask about it. His journal, the weird one that looked like it came from a long time ago and was all tied up with keys and hotels, was stashed away in his bag, where no one could ask any questions he didn’t want to answer. “Yeah, I guess,” he said, in response to people wanting space. “Some people are kinda picky, but I don’t mind.” He didn’t think himself much of a conversationalist, but maybe she was more interested in studying and wouldn’t care.
His concentration hadn’t been the best to begin with, and he’d only managed to skim over a couple more equations before she spoke again, and he looked up again, strangely cheered up by the fact that he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t exactly a fan of math. “Oh, hey, I feel you,” he admitted, holding up his textbook to display that he too was embroiled in the world of numbers. “Grumble away. I’m probably way more hopeless, so no worries.”
His agreement made her grin, a flash of pearly whites in his direction, as one slipped from her bags to whip outward for emphasis. “Right? I mean seriously when are we going to need all of this? I’m not planning on doing anything math-y or science-y… ever.” Granted she didn’t know what his major was, but considering he shared her math hate, she figured he’d be a similar boat. Then again she didn’t know that. Didn’t know anything about him, really.
“God, my manners,” she laughed, a soft agreement ringing in the back of her head as Mina was pleased she realized her misstep. “I’m Emily,” she said with a grin, hand raised for a shake. “I probably should’ve said that earlier. There I go just talking your ear off without even getting your name.”
Hallelujah, he’d found a kindred spirit in his complete lack of understanding as to why any of this math crap was necessary. Dixon returned her grin, with a little more ease this time around, and nodded his agreement. “Right, totally. I mean, I get basic math, ‘cause everyone needs to know that, but I’m not doing anything math-y or science-y either. I’m just general studies this year,” he explained. His mom had been adamant that he not wait to apply to college, but he hadn’t had his heart set on anything particular, and considering his past, he’d never really given much thought to a specific career either. All he really knew, at least just then, was that he didn’t want the sort of life he’d left behind in Chicago, where if the cops didn’t get you, rival gangs would.
Emily was a pretty common name, and he had no reason to make the connections to the journals, which he definitely wasn’t going to talk about to a girl he’d just met. He’d just come off as sounding crazy, which was a guaranteed way to send anyone running in the opposite direction. “I’m Dixon,” he said in response, and he could practically feel the man in his head scoffing derisively at his awkward handshake. “Nice to meet you, Emily. And I don’t mind you talking. I mean, it’s cool. You can talk all you want.” Oh, real smooth, he thought, groaning inwardly.
“Any leanings though?” Not that it wasn’t okay to not pick your major, but she was naturally curious and usually people had some direction they were inching towards. Emily knew she was lucky in that sense. She had always wanted to dance. But her roommate had changed majors twice last year and was probably going to do it again this semester. Several other friends were just as undecided, sticking to general education classes until they knew, supposedly without a shadow of a doubt, what they wanted to do.
“Dixon?” The name rang familiar – far more uncommon than her own – and she slowed their little handshake as she tried to place him. “Oh!” Her eyes fell back to her little brown journal before they flickered around the cafeteria, looking for… something, though she smiled sheepishly once she realized how crazy she must look. “I, uhm…” How was one supposed to start asking if they belonged to some weird network of people with fictional counterparts running around in their head. “Boy Who Lived?” Well, it was a code, a pretty shake one at that, but it would work if he was the Dixon she talked to once.
For a moment Dixon was silenced, struggling to come up with an answer that didn’t make him sound like he had no idea what the hell he was doing. He couldn’t exactly explain that kids where he came from never spent much time thinking about actual careers, and most only had a select few paths to follow, none of which required schooling of any kind. "Uh, not really. Not yet, anyway. I guess that’s what I’m kind of hoping to figure out by the end of this year,” he added with a laugh. “What about you?” He tried to figure out what she might be majoring in just by looking at her, but it was a hopeless endeavor.
Her reaction to his name was unexpected, and he was puzzled for a moment, following the path of her gaze in an effort to pinpoint what was going through her mind. Being recognized, where he came from, was never a good thing, but this was just a college girl, and surely familiarity couldn’t cause any harm. When she called him the Boy Who Lived, however, Dixon’s eyes lit up in understanding. The journal, the one on her textbooks, it clearly wasn’t just an ordinary one. “Not Ron Weasley,” was his response, combined with a small grin. “I’ve never met anyone from-- you know, those, out here in the real world.” It was nice to be reminded of the fact that he wasn’t crazy, though. There were other people going through this too.
“Dance,” she replied, reaching for her bag and prying open the ends to show off a pair of pale ballet shoes inside. “It’s all I really know, ya know? Like it’s been the one thing I’ve always stuck with so it sorta felt the way to go when picking something to study for four million years.” She gave him a sheepish little smile, a laugh tugging at her mouth. School had just started and already she felt like she no time left for anything but homework, homework, and more homework, and graduation felt more than just a few years away.
The laugh grew warmer as he confirmed who he was. “Me neither! Well, except for my friend Ain but I knew her long before all of this. And it’s not like everyone’s as lucky as us, meeting randomly. I can’t imagine just going up to people and being ‘oh hey do you have a...’” She trailed off suddenly, remembering where they were, and tapped a slender finger at her temple so he knew what she meant. “Plus sometimes I just glance at the pages and see the people there. I dunno. Still a lot to take in when it sounds so crazy.”
His first thought was that she was definitely pretty enough to be a dancer, but he kept his mouth shut, because yeah, people didn’t just go around saying stuff like that. Some things were better left as thoughts and nothing more. “Dance, huh? That’s cool. I bet you’re good,” he said, leaning forward to get a better look at the shoes inside her bag. “I wish I had something like that. You know, like, something long-term that feels right.” Dixon assumed she liked dancing, obviously, and wanted to spend the rest of her life doing it, or else why would she have made that choice in the first place? “Is it a lot of work?” He knew next to nothing about dance, real, proper dance, but on TV it’d always looked pretty hard.
Technically speaking, he did know one person from his past on the journals, but an FBI agent who knew him because of his shady past wasn’t the sort of thing he wanted to bring up. Ever. “That’s one hell of a coincidence, someone you already knew being mixed up in all this.” He grinned when she said they were lucky, meeting randomly like they had, and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it’d be kinda hard to track each other down outside of the journals, without names or anything, I mean,” he said. “It’s pretty crazy, and at first I just tried to brush it off, but I’m getting used to the idea now. Well, I think. Sort of.”
His compliments made her grin brighten, spine straightening up just a smidge, fingers coming back to tuck her hair behind her ears. “Yeah, I’m pretty good.” Emily wasn’t one prone to boasting, but she was proud of herself in this one regard and wasn’t shy about it. “It’s a ton of work. Just practice, practice, practice all the time. Then home, pass out, then get up and do it again.” When she put it like that, it didn’t sound altogether fun but her grin never left her face. “It’s awesome. When it’s not kicking my ass at least.”
Em laughed as he tried to reassure her that he was getting used to it. “Is it really something we want to get used to?” Granted, there wasn’t much in the way of an alternative but voices in the head wasn’t exactly something she wanted to deal with forever. “Is yours nice at least? Mine is, usually, so I guess I lucked out there.”
There was something to be said for modesty, but Dixon liked the fact that she was confident in her abilities without crossing the line to arrogance. If you were good at something, might as well admit it and be proud. All that practicing sounded like an awful lot of work to him, but she sounded excited about it, and anyone who could grin like that about something had to enjoy it. “I bet all that practice pays off, right?” He leaned on his pile of textbooks, chin propped up on one hand, his intentions of reviewing his math completely forgotten. “Awesome is good,” he said. “Kicking your ass, not so much.”
He shrugged, because yeah, a voice in his head wasn’t something he wanted forever, but as long as he was sticking around in Vegas there wasn’t much he could do about it, and he couldn’t tell his mom they had to pack up and move again, not yet. “I guess not, but I figure we should probably make the best of it while it lasts, right?” As for whether or not his as nice, Dixon pulled a face. “Uh... I don’t think I’d call him nice.”
“Oh.” Emily tried not to let the mood sour or the word linger but what was she supposed to say to that? “That… sucks.” Her face fell into sympathetic lines, lips frowning before giving way into a nervous little laugh. “I’m sorry! It does suck though. I mean, I dunno.” The urge to ask him who or what would qualify as not nice was pretty high but she half wondered if she really wanted to know.
“Have you tried it out? The keys?” Okay, so maybe more than half wondered. “I went to the hotel a while back. It was… weird. Really weird.” Mina had, as Emily had said, been quite nice. But she had been unprepared for the hunger that the woman had felt once the change happened. There was nothing at all appealing about blood, at least not for Em, but that ravenous sensation, a fiery thirst that Mina somehow kept at bay, tugged at her stomach and reminded her that she had originally sat down for lunch. Suddenly she was glad she hadn’t told him who she had. Trying to explain why blood thirst made her want sun chips was just too difficult.
“I’m kinda more curious about the other doors.” Her smile returned with lighter topics, and she turned her attention to him even as she noisily opened up her back of chips. “You know, fairy tale castles. Superhero cities. The actual Boy Who Lived. Not that you’re not awesome, of course.”
It was probably fortunate that Dixon wasn’t yet aware of just how ‘not nice’ the creature inside his head truly was. As of just then, he was some old foreign guy who reminded him of cranky old neighbors who liked to get on their high horse and preach, so he just shrugged. “Nah, it’s okay. I mean, he’s not like a supervillain or anything. I’m pretty good at ignoring him so far,” he assured her, even though that wasn’t likely to last very long at all. “It’s good that yours is, though. I bet that makes it easier.” He was a little too obvious for his own good, at least when it came to the voice in his head, and Dracula’s strength far outweighed his own; it was practically nothing at all for the vampire to ensure that the boy remembered nothing at all of his trips through the door, and Dixon didn’t realize he was supposed to be able to remember.
“Yeah, I’ve tried my key out a couple times.” Since Dracula hardly refrained from drinking blood, all Dixon was left with was a sense of being sated, perhaps a distant twinge of hunger, depending on how that particular trip had gone. “I don’t... really know what goes on. I mean, I go through, and then I come back after he’s done his thing, I guess. Is it different for you?” He’d never talked to anyone about the doors or alters before, aside from what he skimmed through the journals.
The mention of other doors was a more welcome topic. Since he didn’t remember his own, he thought all the comic book ones were really cool, and felt more than a little jealousy that he hadn’t landed some badass superhero. “Yeah, me too. I can’t believe there’s actual superheroes on there, you know? I mean, you could talk to Superman, or a fairy tale. It’s crazy.” He rolled his eyes, feigning insult. “I know, I know. I’m pretty great, but I’m no wizard. You don’t seem like the sidekick type either,” he added with a grin.
Em couldn’t help the mild surprise that flickered across her face once he talked of his trips through the door. “Well…” she started, face twisting slightly as she tried to described the almost indescribable, coming up short. While she wasn’t as aware of everything, it was Mina in charge after all, she was still there, occasionally peeking through the eyes of the other woman unless the view was particularly boring, which with Mina at the helm, it almost always was. “Everyone’s bound to have different experiences, right?” Despite the uncertainty that colored her voice she was still optimistic. Dixon must’ve just lucked out on the alter draw. That’s all! “We’ve al got different people so it can’t’ be exactly the same. I mean, I don’t really get all the rules of why or how but come on.”
Speaking of the various types of people and places they could have been saddled with, Emily’s smile returned to its former brilliance, turning a touch shy when he flashed her a grin. “Think so? Maybe we should change me to the Girl Who Lived. Or I’ll take Katniss. Minus the post-apocalyptic bleakness and love triangle and mutant things. Which I guess makes her her.” A beat. “Okay maybe I’m just bad at being the hero,” she laughed as opened her bag of chips and munched on one noisily. Reading could wait for a few minutes, right? Right.
“Question: If you could have chosen who that little voice was, who would you pick?”
That flicker of surprise made him wonder if there was something he was missing, but Dixon wasn’t too disappointed by his lack of awareness during the trips over. Sure, it would’ve been cool to be an observer, but the guy in his head wasn’t much for compromise, and if he wanted something a certain way, there was no use arguing with him. He’d just have to live vicariously through other people. “Yeah, right,” he agreed. “Different people, different experiences. I’m guessing yours isn’t like mine, huh?” He could piece together that much, at least. It could be worse; he read about the fictional characters taking over on this side, or getting their people hurt through the door, and he hoped he could keep avoiding both.
“The Girl Who Lived,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Not bad. Katniss... she’s from the Hunger Games thing, right? I know she’s kind of a badass, but that’s it.” Dixon pulled a face. “Love triangles, mutant things and post-apocalyptic bleakness don’t sound like much fun. Heroes always pay a price though, right? It’s their thing.”
He considered her question for a moment before breaking out into a grin. “James Bond. You?”
“Yeah mine’s… well. Mine lets me look but honestly all she does is read and study and I do enough of that on my own.” Emily’s face twisted into annoyance. Of all the alter egos to pick up, she had to get a nerdy vampire who stayed inside all day. Sure it was smart, that bloodthirst was pretty dangerous, but Em could only stare at Mina’s notations on chemistry for so long before she zoned out herself.
She wouldn’t mind someone more exciting. James Bond fit the bill and as Dixon proclaimed his choice she cooed softly in approval. When he turned it around on her she tapped her fingers on the table as she thought on her own answer to the question. “Iron Man,” she announced with a grin, betting that he wasn’t expecting it. “Come on, you don’t get much more awesome than him.”
It never occurred to him to ask Emily who she had. Dixon assumed she would offer up that information if she wanted to, and personally, he was hoping she didn’t, because admitting to having who he had probably wouldn’t go over well. He wasn’t well-versed in literature, but he wasn’t stupid; he’d seen horror movies. Weird accent, all that need for blood, and a nearly overwhelming sense of superiority added up to only one person, after all. “Lame,” he remarked, pulling a face. “Going through the door should be exciting, or at least cooler than reading and studying.” He might not be able to remember what went on once he stepped through the door, but he was pretty sure there was no studying, and only minimal reading if his headcase happened to get bored enough.
His expression turned sheepish at her approval, even though James Bond was pretty badass. So was Iron Man, though, and he went from surprise to grinning approval of his own when she responded. “True, true,” he admitted. “I guess you have me beat there.”
“I think we’re pretty evenly split. It’s all just wishing since we didn’t luck out.” Sure they hadn’t expressly stated who they were, but neither of them would be wishing they had been playboys with killer smiles otherwise. Briefly she wondered if anyone had been the lucky sort to get either of their preferred alter egos, never really paying attention to any of the public conversation in her journal. In the end she shrugged and tilted her bag of chips to see if he wanted some, popping one into her mouth with an noisy crunch.
“One secretive and one boring. All in all, we didn’t do too bad.” At least they neither of them had anyone completely psycho. To us,” she added, grabbing one more chip, giving it a little wave in lieu of toasting before eating.
It was as easy as flipping through the journal to see if anyone had lucked out, but Dixon never thought about putting that kind of effort into finding out things about other people unless he had reason to. “At least we didn’t luck out together,” he shrugged, and realized a second later he hadn’t worded it quite right. “You know what I mean,” he added, flashing a grin and reaching into the bag for some chips when she tilted it towards him. Any thoughts of studying had completely vanished, and he figured he’d just do it later. Procrastination was a wonderful way to start off the year.
He thought about what she said for a minute. Sure, the guy in his head was no James Bond, but he could’ve done worse-- or so he thought. “To us,” he agreed, voice half muffled as chomped on a handful of chips in response.