His big!fat!belly! is full of craneflies and mosquitoes. He stalked
one of the latter before leaping up and snatching it out of the air!
So, I lost 2K of this Unidentified Flying Steampunk Novella (which is my new favorite working title). I borrowed my buddy's machine to upload the story from my MobilePro and either he deleted it on purpose to get back at me for being sexier in women's clothing, OR, it just randomly disappeared. But we couldn't even find a lame temp file containing my prose.
However, like I told kehrli last night: I've written 2K in an hour before, and while that's unlikely this time, hey... it's better than losing the whole project. I'm still woefully behind (which is why you don't get a progress bar--it shames me!) but my first draft should be done by Thursday night, and I can edit it into some semblance of order starting next Sunday, after the convention ends.
“You've met him?” Lizetta asked casually, tossing back another shot.
While her chin pointed at the dead animal heads behind the bar, a wad of red taffeta rustled past and she nearly choked on an overwhelming gust of cheap perfume. Lizetta raised an incredulous eyebrow as one of the establishment's paid entertainers arranged herself with her back arched against the bar, cleavage practically knocking over the closest faro table, and turned her head toward the journalist.
“It's good stuff,” the interloper said, nodding at the open bottle. “But there's more'n one 'house best' to be had. My name's Cindy.”
Mister Warris squinted at Cindy. “Even if it's the 'house best' syphilis, I don't want it.”