Introductions
Norman Babcock/Dipper Pines (Parapines)
College AU
Dipper has only one semester left before he graduates with a Bachelor's in the Science of Investigative Studies from Langford Bay University, in Westmont, Delaware. His degree program requires that this be a semester long apprenticeship with a local police detective. While most students learn from investigators working in the nearby capital, Dover, Dipper is sent up fifteen minutes north to Winthrop, Delaware. Detective Dexter Lysander takes Dipper under his wing to show him the unusual, unbelievable, and supernatural.
{Author's Note: Please pay attention to the setting descriptions. I jump around with the timeline, so be mindful of the times.}
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[Criminology Advising Office, Townsend Hall, Langford Bay University, Wesmont, Delaware][12:30PM][Last May]
"Dipper Pines," the woman repeated, searching for Dipper's name on the list in front of her. His appointment finally arrived and Dipper would finally know who he would be working with for his final semester at Langford Bay. This was his chance to finally work out in the field and hone his skills as an expert investigator.
"Oh here you are," Dipper's advisor muttered, typing something into her computer from her list. The woman always reminded Dipper of a frog. She was wide and could stare at you for half an hour without once really looking at you. "Your mentor will be Detective Dexter Lysander," she croaked. "He works up in Winthrop. Do you know where that is? It's only fifteen minutes up Highway 1."
Winthrop? Dipper thought all the mentors worked in Dover, like in an actual city where police investigations occurred.
"You know you're the first one to be assigned up there. Guess they didn't have room for ya in Dover!" the advisor quipped, smiling at Dipper in a way that told him that she was done talking to him.
"Okay, thanks," Dipper muttered, standing up and walking out of the office. Before he was out of the building, he was looking up Detective Dexter Lysander on the internet on his phone.
[Winthrop Police Department Headquarters, Winthrop, Delaware][1:20PM]
Lunch went by too quickly. Dipper was back in the office organizing some files when the detective entered. His mentor told him that he was allowed to finally tag along on a case. "Ghost stuff," Lysander said. Dipper beamed at the scruffy man with tired eyes, who took a sip of his coffee while flipping through the case file on his desk. It had been two weeks of mindless busy work around the police station for Dipper, copying papers, transporting reports from desk to desk, and retrieving coffee, while Lysander waited for the higher-ups to approve a case that he could bring his eager student along.
Dipper stepped over to the desk, leaning over to try to read the file from behind the detective's shoulder. "What kind of ghost stuff? Like an evil-spirit-haunting-a-house ghost or like needs-help-moving-on kind of ghost? How did it die? What are we going to do with it?" Dipper asked quickly, each question tripping over the other. He reached behind the desk to fetch his notebook from his backpack and titled an empty page as "Case #1" as he resumed peering at the casefile. He was beyond ready to start. The detective chuckled a bit at the barrage of questions, refreshed by the enthusiasm that became a bit too rare in the office for Lysander's liking.
Taking another sip from his mug, he searched the papers before him for the answers. "Let me start from the beginning, huh? There's this hotel, right? And one of the rooms has been supposedly haunted for years and years. By just one ghost." Lysander eyed Dipper's pen jotting notes almost as quickly as he spoke. "The old owners used it as a gimmick to help business. And I guess it's been working for a while."
"And people stayed there in a haunted room? Why?" Dipper interjected, the tip of his pen reaching up to the edge of his mouth, and his eyebrows furrowed.
"Wouldn't you stay there?" the detective countered. After a quick moment of contemplation, Dipper nodded silently. "People did it for the thrill. For the story. It was a harmless ghost anyway; the worst it did was move your suitcase or flip the lights on and off. Anyway, the gimmick wore off. People stopped coming and the old folks sold the place."
"And the new owners don't like the ghost?"
"Nah, they're a little more trepidatious. So they called the police, and they passed the buck to us." Lysander reached for his mug, closing the case file, and waited for Dipper's note taking to finish. This was probably a good time to get creamer.
[W 300 Block, Ash Street][5:05PM]
Dipper stepped out of the white sedan, careful not to slam the door too hard; he didn't want Detective Lysander to snap at him again. Slipping his sunglasses back over his eyes, he noticed the pale colors from the setting sun painting the sky into a brilliant fire. A gust of wind sneaked under Dipper's jacket, reminding him that the fire in the sky did nothing to warm the freezing January evening, and that maybe two coats were better than one.
"You ever been here?" Lysander asked Dipper, rubbing his whiskered chin and squinting over the remaining sunlight at the storefronts ahead of them. Dipper didn't venture downtown many times, mainly because he never had a reason. Everything he needed was primarily on campus. Mabel used to try to drag him downtown when they were freshmen. And she often took him up to Wilmington whenever she got a chance.
Then they grew up. They got caught up beginning their lives and finishing school. Mabel had her life and Dipper had his. They ate together and resided together in the same apartment, they shared the electric bill and responsibility of cleaning up after a party with friends. But they didn't live together. Not like when they were kids.
"Not over here particularly," Dipper said, eying the unfamiliar street name on the sign, then the stores in front of him. A regional bank occupied one corner spot, next to a coffee shop, a tattoo parlor, a small barbeque shack, then a print studio and a floral gallery at the opposite corner. Some customers exited the coffee shop, only to be traded for a couple of underclassmen looking for a place to study. A family passed Dipper and Lysander as they walked down the street toward the bank end. The young son still had barbeque sauce on his cheek.
"Really? I took you for a let's-check-out-the-new-magnolia-exhibit-at-the-gallery kind of guy," the detective grinned, a cloud of breath escaping from the sides of his mouth. Dipper shoved his hands in his pockets, shaking his head at the joke.
"I prefer examining the tattoo art," Dipper teased back.
[Gold Treasure Tattoos, 330 W Ash Street, Wesmont, Delaware][5:00PM]
Norman worked too much to be called lazy, but was too lazy to convince them that he was in fact lazy. He took Tambry's closing shift for the umpteenth time, partly to put more dollars on his paycheck, but mostly to avoid going back home. Home was where he had homework and bills and dirty dishes. The tattoo parlor was his little sanctuary, where he practiced his ink and stood around on his phone. And got paid to do it.
"Norman, niño, go home. The sun has set and you've been here all day," a 30-something Dominican woman drifted into the front from her office in the back. Genevalisse Salvatierra owned the tattoo shop, called Gold Treasure Tattoo (an attempt to appeal to the students of Langford Bay University, who were the Pirates). Norman turned to see Genie, as she was called, who was looking warmly at the college senior, one hand on her hip.
"I took Tambry's shift tonight," Norman explained, returning to his design notebooks to add a couple more strokes to his sketch.
"Estás aquí demasiado," Genie sighed, knowing she couldn't force him to leave even if she dragged him by his tall black hair.
"'I'm here'... what's 'demasiado' mean again?" Norman wondered aloud, looking at his boss.
"It means 'too much'!" Genie exclaimed, to which Norman nodded. "Hace dos años que trabajas para mí and your Spanish has not gotten any better."
"Sorry, jefa. But to be fair, I have learned how to swear," the young man pointed out, smiling up at her. She let out a little smirk and patted him on the shoulder, nodding in agreement. She remembered one afternoon when Norman was practicing on fake skin and realized, only when he was about to finish, that the zombie face he was drawing was completely asymmetrical. He swore out loud in Spanish in frustration, catching only Genie's attention, who snickered at his outburst.
"¿Qué dibujas?" Genie asked, looking over Norman's shoulder at his sketchbook. A rough drawing of a ghost floating out of a fresh grave filled half of the page. The other half were just different attempts of the ghost. Norman moved the notebook to give his boss a better view.
Behind them the front door opened, causing a bell to clamor. Norman and Genie turned to greet the new customers, but skipped the usual welcoming when they saw who it was. It had been a few months, but Norman recognized the detective, who upon landing his gaze on Genie, approached the front counter. He never received a tattoo, Norman noticed; hell, the man probably didn't have any to begin with. He only ever spoke with his boss in fake small talk, then she'd invite him to the back room and tell Norman to watch the store while she was busy.
At first he thought they had sex, but they always left looking disgruntled and on edge. Whenever he sneaked to the back and leaned his ear to the door, all he heard was muffled chatter. Definitely not the sounds of making love.
"Bonsoir, belle," Detective Lysander approached Genevalisse, who grinned at him.
"Leave the French at the door, Dexter. You know the rules: English or Spanish only. Preferably español." Genie replied, beckoning the older man over to her with her finger.
"Haré qué tú quieres que hago, amiga," The detective returned, walking up to the woman.
"¿Quién es el niño?" Genie asked, motioning to Dipper, who stood a couple feet from the two. Dipper scowled at the 'niño', knowing that the woman thought he couldn't understand her. But he knew, and he hated being called a kid.
"Ayudo Señor Lysander con sus investigaciones, ...vieja." Dipper replied before Lysander could, smiling. Genie's eyebrows raised in surprise.
"I'm mentoring him this semester," Lysander added.
"He's quick," Genie said, then turned back to Dipper. "Where you from? Arizona? California?"
"California," Dipper replied, impressed she guessed so accurately.
"I can tell you had un profesor mexicano from your accent. Keep up the studying, and I might look past your 'vieja' comment," she teased.
[Gold Treasure Tattoos][5:20PM]
Nothing. Norman has added nothing to his sketch in the last fifteen minutes. He told himself that he'd finish the ghost before he left for the night. He had a whole portfolio to complete if he wanted to even have a chance of opening his own parlor one day.
The detective said the guy's name was Dipper, Norman remembered, looking up at the guy sitting in the front of the store. Norman wondered if Dipper's hair would be taller than his own if the other boy had made an attempt of grooming it. It wouldn't fit under his beanie, though, if it stood straight up. And he looked kinda cute in his beanie.
Did this ghost wear beanies before he died? Norman pondered, returning his gaze to his sketchbook. Well, it'd be a person who wore beanies, who then died and became a ghost. Why didn't he move beyond, though? Did he have unfinished beanie business?
Dipper was reading from a notebook, probably doing his homework or something. Norman wondered if Dipper was a freshman or sophomore, since he looked kinda young.
This ghost was young when he died. He never got to finish college. That was his unfinished business.
Did Dipper go to Langford Bay like Norman? He hasn't seen the other boy around the campus, as far as he could remember. Is he just in town with the detective? He could go to some school in Dover. Or he said he was from California. Maybe he studies there and is just in town for a little bit.
The tombstone is pretty small. This ghost's family would have paid for a bigger headstone.
If Dipper was only in town for a little bit, Norman would never have to worry about an awkward encounter later if he hooked up with the boy in the beanie.
[Gold Treasure Tattoos][5:30PM]
"Hey. Dipper, right?" The tattoo artist asked, as he walked up to the front counter at the opposite corner of the waiting area from Dipper. Dipper looked up from his phone, interrupted from his research about the ghost in the hotel.
"How come you didn't go with the detective? To the back." Norman pointed behind him with his thumb, towards the back room where Genie and the detective were meeting.
"He told me to just wait here," Dipper shrugged.
"Oh. He said he was mentoring you?"
"Yeah. I'm studying to be an investigator."
"Oh cool, I go there too. I'm about to graduate in Business Administration." Norman hoped Dipper would be impressed.
"I'm graduating, too, but with Investigative Studies." Oh, Dipper is Norman's age.
"Is it fun? Running around and chasing ghosts and stuff?"
"Who told you about ghosts?"
"I know about the detective, and if he's the one teaching you anything, it has to be about the supernatural."
"Well, yeah, I think it's pretty fun."
"You do anything else for fun?"
"Not really, actually," Dipper chuckled in embarrassment.
"Oh. Well, maybe, I don't know, we can grab a drink or something. That can be fun, you know." Norman looked down as he spoke, only landing his gaze on Dipper when he finished.
"Like you and me at a bar?" Dipper's face became a little flush. He wasn't asked by many people to go out and drink. Or do anything, really.
"Well I'm not talking about drinking milk with grandma and grandpa back there. Come on, you got do something besides work. It'll consume you. I'd know," Norman smirked, recalling every time Genie reminded him how many hours he worked each week, with what seemed like pity in her voice. Pity in a teasing way, of course. Probably.
"I don't know, I don't even know who you are." Unable to keep looking at Norman's piercing blue eyes, Dipper eyed the phone in his hand for a moment. But he looked up again as Norman responded. Dipper kinda liked the other guy's eyes.
"I'm Norman. I'm a tattoo artist here at Gold Treasure Tattoos. I've been attending Langford Bay University for the last four years. Born and raised in Massachusetts then moved here for college." He spoke as if he were in an interview. "Now you know who I am, what about you?"
The edge of Dipper's lips curled up, just a little. "I'm Dipper Pines. I already told you everything about me: I go to school to be an investigator and I work with Detective Lysander."
"I'm from California, but I guess I already said that, too," he added, shrugging.
"How about this, you think about yourself for a while, come up with some really interesting stuff, and after you get off work," Norman looked down and scribbled a note on a small piece of paper, "shoot me a text, and we'll meet at Monte Cristo so you can tell me all about it." Norman walked over and handed the paper to Dipper.
Dipper grabbed the scrap of paper, thinking hard about what was happening. It had been a while since Dipper had been to a bar, especially in order to meet someone for drinks. Actually, Mabel had been insisting that he get out and do something other than work. Maybe this would get her off his back.
"Sure thing," Dipper replied, earning a big grin from Norman the tattoo artist. An awkward silence set in, as Dipper did not know how to continue the conversation, though, he didn't really want it to end. Norman had some... charm to him. Even if he had too much hair gel on his head.
"Ever think of getting a tat?" Norman asked, sitting down next to Dipper.
"Never!" Dipper exclaimed.
[Gold Treasure Tattoos][6:10PM]
The two boys heard the backroom door squeak as it opened. They raised their heads and waited for their elders to appear in their vision. Lysander's face was hard to decipher, which only meant he was thinking too hard. Which meant this case might not be as open-and-shut as Dipper had wished. Genie walked up to the front counter, leaned onto it, and looked outside at the street, illuminated by the artificial light of the street lamps. Then she peered over at Norman in Dipper sitting in the chairs reserved for waiting customers.
"Comfortable?" the detective asked Norman as he approached. Suddenly Dipper was aware of Norman's one hand on his shoulder and other resting neatly in the crook of Dipper's elbow, his head up to look at Lysander, but only moments ago lying on his hand on Dipper's shoulder. Norman just wanted a better view of Dipper's phone as he played funny ghost videos.
His heart racing and face red, Dipper stood up, shaking off his new friend. "Ready to go?" he asked, hoping the moment of awkwardness could be rushed over.
"Yeah sure. Let's go," Lysander nodded. He thanked Genie, said goodbye to Norman, and led Dipper out of the store. He would tease Dipper later, maybe tomorrow. At the moment, he had some news to share.
Meanwhile, Genie gave Norman a certain face, but said nothing. Norman looked around defensively. "What? He's cute!" The Dominican woman just rolled her eyes and shook her head, but let Norman see her grin as she turned around to resume her work.
[Monte Cristo Tavern, 715 S 8th Street, Wesmont, Delaware][10:15PM]
Saturday night brought out the crowd, filling most of the seats at the tables, making some people opt for the patio. There was some attempt by the management to heat it, at least. Norman was one of few who remained at the bar after receiving their drinks, the rest happily grabbed their glasses and retreated to their group of friends, celebrating another end of another week.
Peering over at the door every few moments, Norman found himself wishing just a little extra hard that this one show up. He remembered the last guy he met at a bar. He was tall and tan and a pre-med student. But unfortunately, he was a, well, a pre-med student. He and Norman found themselves having little in common. They resorted to talking about the only thing they had in common: previous hook-ups on campus. In comparison to the stories the guy shared, their sex that night was lackluster.
Norman's phone vibrated on the bartop, which he quickly grabbed. He got a text from an unknown number, but he knew it was Dipper.
"Sorry, can't make it tonight. I got too much work stuff." Norman felt his heart sink into his stomach. He glanced at the time, and predicted he'd be in bed before midnight. So much for that condom he tucked away in his wallet. He tapped the reply button next to Dipper's message.
Then his phone alerted him of new text. "Maybe tomorrow?" it read. Norman's lips curled up, feeling the disappointment evaporate from his body. At least Dipper actually wanted to hang out. That was something.
"Sure, sounds good," Norman replied. He sent the message and paid the bartender for his single beer.
"Text me tomorrow and we'll think of something," Dipper wrote back. Sitting down into the driver's seat of his car, Norman sent a quick "ok", then turned the key in the ignition and drove back home. He had dirty dishes to do, anyway.
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