ikissdhimbck | OOM: Milliways Library, for Dixie

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OOM: Milliways Library, for Dixie

It's not just any library. Sure, as you step in it looks fairly ordinary — books, chairs, tables, so forth — but as you browse the aisles they seem to go on without end. Volume after volume, any book you could imagine and more. A universe of information crammed within these walls.

Kate hasn't ventured here much since things came apart in Green Lake. Poe makes her sad; Byron reminds her of all the things she's lost. She'll come for a book from someone else's world, and then retire to her room to study it. But not today. Her room is stuffy of late; a hutch filled with empty bottles, the smell of sweat and liquor, and the trammels of bad dreams. She's sobered up enough since her Milliversary to regret the headaches and hangovers, but not enough yet to feel quite herself.

So she hides. Today, in an aisle marked 'R' filled with dusty old books from a bygone century Kate hasn't identified. She's not really looking for anything. She doesn't even seem interested in the two volumes she has stacked by her side. She's just sitting, back to the opposing shelf of books, staring at the weathered old spines.

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Dixie's a surprisingly well-read sort of gal. You'd never guess it just by looking at her, but she has to keep a sharp mind to attract more generous patrons. Even freedom isn't free, as the old cliche goes.

She's got her nose buried in the Jules Verne, and is currently wondering how far into the future she should peek when she spies Kate. She approaches softly and then pokes Kate's shoulder gently.

"I don't think that'll turn them into diamonds. Not that I'm sure I need many more," she smiles.

She jumps, noticing movement from the corner of her eye moments before Dixie's gentle prod. Her hand goes to her hip on instinct, but she relaxes once she recognizes her companion.

"Miss Dixie. Lord have mercy, y'must've crept up on cat's paw!"

She resolves not to scold herself for her inattention until she's alone later.

Dixie can't help but smile back lazily. "More like sauntered, but I suppose it could be considered a creep," she smiles lightly. "Where has your mind gone, Kate?"

She lets out a long breath. It's not hard to pick up on the easy, calm aura Dixie's putting off. She knows when to take her cue, and twists her lips up in a smile.

"Good question," she chuckles dryly. "With a lotta answers. Though, I reckon the simplest is: I'm jus' distracted thinkin' 'bout other things."

It's her natural drollery - it tends to disarm men and women alike.

"What kind of other things?" Dixie teases. "A fella or a job?" Could be either.

Could be both.

In fact, her hesitation to answer says it all. She works her jaw, and then goes quiet for another beat.

"More fellas than jobs."

Dry.

"Ain't that always the way?"

Dixie's lips quirk, her expression wry. "You know what they say about men - you can't live with 'em, and you can't shoot 'em too often without an alibi." She sighs. "All right, which bastard did what to you?"

She laughs sweetly — far sweeter than what seems natural in this moment.

"No, it's — it's not like that."

Her focus lingers on the books opposite her. There's actually something about Dixie that puts her at ease. A kinship, of sorts; knowing your worlds are similar, if not totally the same. Like finding someone who speaks your language far, far from home.

Doesn't make it easy to look Dixie in the eye, though.

"It's more like what I'm doin' t'myself."

Her voice drops an octave.

"I don't know where I'm goin' no more."

Dixie doesn't truly get on with that many women. There's her ladylike air of being able to put anyone at ease, but it doesn't often carry over to the fairer sex.

"None of us do, honey. That's why you've gotta follow the path you picked."

She laughs again, but this time it's a deal more wry.

"Path I picked."

She nods.

Beat.

"Beggin' your pardon, I ain't bein' very polite. Guess I'm jus' worn out."

Miss Dixie knows wryness when she sees it, Kate. "I'm fairly frayed too; and you're not impolite. I think we both know the real meaning of the word," she gives Kate a nudge. "Who's driving you off your path?"

She accepts the nudge in good humor, turning her head to give the other woman a small smile.

She knows.

"Someone who shouldn't matter no more."

She shakes her head gently to throw her hair over her shoulder, and lets out a long breath.

"Katherine."

"The gal you used to be?" Dixie shrugs. "You're always gonna have a part of her, deep down. Might as well come to terms with her." Ex-novice nun Dixie knowwws.

"Thought I had."

She leans her head back, and goes to some far off place.

"I keep tryin' t'smother her, an' she keeps comin' back. The same foolish, stupid, heartsick girl. With a trail of bodies in her wake, an' an empty bed."

"Maybe you should let off with the poison," she suggests, "And let her have a couple of words." They're a tossed-up mixture of several women, anyway, the two of them.

She shakes her head gently.

"She ain't got nothin' new t'say."

Dixie should have known her a few years ago. 'Tossed up' wouldn't even begin to describe it. Future-folk have a lot of fancy words they use to describe the kinds of things that happen to a body when they're exposed to violence and murder.

Kate's just going crazy. Plain and simple.

"She jus' comes out now an' again t'tell me I ain't livin' right. An' t'remind me of what I've lost."

That's why she's got people around her who care, and are willing to listen.

"Well, then: you've gotta tell her there's something you've gotta finish. Can't shut the bar door when the cow's out flirting."

She bursts into laughter, though it's neither happy nor sweet this time.

"Which am I? The door, or the cow?"

Dixie chuckles. "I think some of you's waiting for the cow to come home. The rest of you's the cow - running wild under the sun." Very poetic, eh?

Poetic, and remarkably sharp.

The grin falls from her face, like wrinkles from a clothes line. Soon, she's staring ahead, looking as vacant as a china doll.

"Maybe I am."

Waiting.

(Forever.)

Dixie can't help it, really. "It'll come back around. It always does."

She sighs and claps the book shut. "Mercy...I wish I'd brought a bottle of brandy up with me." She gets up, moves the books about, then sits back down. "You might tell me. I'm good at untangling stray cows from barbed wire fences." She's not, but she's metaphorical tonight.

For as close to the vest as Kate plays it these days, she'd give Dixie a shot at helping her, if for no other reason than she's growing kind of desperate. She just so happens to like the woman, too.

But she's not going to be saying much for a while. As Dixie speaks

It'll come back around. It always does.

It'll come back around.

tears spring to her eyes.

She stops breathing, stops blinking — anything to hold them back. But before she knows it she's choking on sobs, hiding uselessly behind her hand.

She winces.

Very quietly, very carefully, Dixie wraps an arm around Kate's waist.

"Shhh," she murmurs. "Shhh...whatever it is...it can't be that bad."

If it is, she doesn't know.

"I'm sorry," she quavers, not coming up from her makeshift hiding place. "I'm so embarrassed."

She hates showing weakness in front of other people. It doesn't matter who. She's spent so much of her young adult life in tears she'd think she was all dried out by now.

"The way y'talk, s'like y'know. Every word y'say strikes deep."

It hits on memory as solid as bones, sending an aching paralysis straight through her.

"Shhh," she murmurs, and tries to pull her close gently. "I think I've been around. And there's no one in the world that's lived a life like ours and seen no pain."

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