#c.lorelai

Oliver didn’t know what it was, but there was some sort of undeniable force pulling him towards the other woman. He blinked a few times at her, confused as the seeds of infatuation started to get planted in his mind. He blinked a few more times. Oliver never felt like this with anyone—except maybe Dinah, when they had first met, but even then, the beginning infatuation had given way to something deeper—and so he didn’t know what he was experiencing. He blinked again. “Who are you?”

Lois didn’t have much to do n 1973, which killed her. She had read at least 20 books from the expansive shelves in the library, and she had wandered around most of the town and found that there was nothing particularly interesting. She knew the ins and outs of the mansion. Now, she was getting to the point where she needed something to keep her mind occupied, otherwise, she was sure that she would combust out of sheer boredom. She was lying across one of the sofas in the library—she wasn’t very big, so it turned out that she could only take up about 3/4s of one, even when she was completely stretched out. She put her hands over her eyes, already to the point of talking to herself. “Find a story, Lois. Journalism is the fucking same in 1973, just find a story, and you’ll have something to do with yourself.”