(FF, bukkake, cons, dickgirl, oral, rom, snow)
(takes place right after the final season of Gilmore Girls)
Rory Gilmore looked out of the window of her hotel room at the dark and loveless night. It was almost one in the morning. She'd had a long tiring day, and she knew she had to get up at six a.m., and yet she still couldn't sleep. So she stood there at the window, all the lights in the room turned off except for the lamp on the night stand, which cast a soft and lonely glow, and stared outward, her arms crossed beneath her breasts. There was no one walking around out there, and only the occasional car passed by on the street. The city of Tacoma seemed to her not only asleep, but perhaps dead.
She'd only been in this town for the last twelve hours or so; she and her news crew had come from Olympia, on the trail of Senator Barack Obama as he made his historical campaign for President of the United States. He was scheduled to speak at ten o'clock, and then it was on to Seattle. Rory had known when she'd first signed on with the campaign six months ago that the pace would be grueling at times, but it had most often been even worse than she'd imagined. She would be on time, of course, and follow the candidate wherever he went, but in the meantime, she needed a break. A distraction of some sort. But it didn't look like Tacoma offered anything like that.
There has to be some kind of night life here, she told herself. I just have to put on my detective hat and go find it. She turned and looked at her hotel bed. Or I could just stay here, get out my trusty dildo, and masturbate to another fantasy of Barack. Have yet another Obamagasm. She smiled at her own little joke, then almost hurried over to the door, grabbed up her purse, and went out.
*****
The area she had been looking at from her window was south of the hotel, so Rory figured the smart thing to do would be to head north, away from the nothingness. The downtown core was in that direction anyway; it was much more likely that she'd find something there, a dingy old tavern if nothing else.
She walked for several blocks, past the closed trolley station, a vacant parking garage that took up two whole blocks, two more blocks of the deserted city bus depot. She didn't see any people and she didn't see any cars. At least until she finally arrived at Ninth Street and Commerce. This area, she'd been told, was the Theatre District, and she could indeed see a few theatres, one right there on the corner, another up the hill on the next.
There was traffic here too, mostly going up and down the hill on Ninth Street, but also turning onto the next street up. She could hear voices too, people yelling and laughing; she thought she could hear music as well. She crossed the street against the light and went up to the next street, which was named Broadway. She looked down Broadway toward the noise and was pleased to see a huge sign several hundred feet away, all lit up and dazzling in the night: The Silverstone. It was obviously a nightclub.
"Eureka," Rory said to herself.
She crossed Ninth Street and started down the sidewalk toward the Silverstone. She passed a coffee shop, some antique stores and gift shops, and, of course, some drunk people loitering near cars. They seemed to be an equal mix of men and women, all around her own age. They paid no attention to her other than to look her over as she passed.
When she got to the doorway of the Silverstone she found a very large and ominous-looking man standing there, his fat arms crossed in front of his fat chest. The bouncer, obviously. He too ignored her; he was watching the inebriated ones by the cars. Rory slipped past him and entered the club.
It was exactly the kind of scene she'd been expecting: lots of lights, loud music, a capacity crowd dancing and drinking and talking and laughing. Pure and yet paradoxically controlled pandemonium. It was awesome. This was exactly what she was looking for.
Except it wasn't exactly what she was looking for; she noticed, after about twenty seconds of wading through gyrating bodies and feeling her eardrums getting beat up by some unrecognized and remarkably loud 80s tune, that the people who were paired with other people were all paired with people of the same sex.
Uh oh, Rory thought to herself as she managed to squeeze through to a stool in front of the bar, I think I may have stumbled into a gay night club. She looked around for another moment or two; nothing but boy-boy couples and girl-girl couples. Yep. A gay night club. She shrugged. Oh well, what the heck? There's more than one world in this world.
She turned and faced front and looked for the bartender. Another beefy guy, as it turned out, and not very attractive, or even friendly. When she got his attention he just looked at her without any discernible facial expression. She asked him for a Budweiser and he handed her a bottle, then held his hand out for the money. He didn't tell her how much he wanted so she just gave him a ten. He took it, went to the cash register, and returned with a buck and a half in change.
"Jeez," Rory said, "that's some expensive booze." She'd said it loud enough that, if there hadn't been the musical equivalent of Armegeddon going on all around her, he would have easily heard. Rory sighed and sipped at her beer; at least it was cold and tasty.
"Having any fun yet?" someone called to her over the music.
Rory turned and saw a girl sliding onto the stool next to hers. She wasn't exactly pretty; more cute than pretty, with a round face, a tiny nose, small green eyes. Her hair was kind of a dull orange, parted in the middle and tied into a ponytail that only reached to a spot between her shoulder blades. She was slim but not skinny, and well-shaped from what Rory could notice at a glance. Nice rack, too. She had a big friendly grin on her face and Rory couldn't help but smile back.
"I just got here," she said, leaning toward the girl and raising her voice a little to be heard.
"I've never seen you in here before!" the girl called back. "Are you new?!"
"Just passing through town!" Rory called.
The music suddenly got even louder and the girl made a face, then nearly shouted, "Let's go outside so we can hear each other!"
Rory grabbed her beer and her purse and followed the girl through the mob and, finally, outside. Once the door to the club was closed it seemed almost ominously quiet. The bouncer was gone, and so was the group of drunks. Rory's ears were ringing. The girl turned to her, smiled, and held out her hand.
"My name's Christine," she said. "'What's yours?"
Rory took her hand and said, "I'm Rory. Hi."
"Rory. That's a cool name. It's Scottish for 'red.' You don't look very red to me, though. Is it short for something?"
"My name's actually Loreli. When I was little my mom wanted to call me Lori, but I couldn't pronounce the Ls correctly and it came out Rory." Rory shrugged. "It stuck."
