"work it harder make it better"

Well, I did something like 1200 words today on my novel, but a bare 200-300 on the short story. I found out the deadline for that is in October, though, so I have some time to think it over properly. I suppose it's meter and snippet time, though:

10,181 / 80,000 (12.7%)

Here's the bit from my work today (and just the last end of yesterday's, I suppose):

~~~

Danielle clawed her way through the window as Derik finished running loving, appraising eyes along the expensive, gleaming appointments of the washroom. He turned as she straightened herself. She shifted on her feet, one hand upturned in a rather nasty claw-shaped formation that made Derik's eyes water at the sight of it. She didn't advance on him, however, and instead spent several moments ripping a foot of material from her skirt. Mass of filthy black material in hand, she quivered, latched her straining eyes on Derik's face for a moment, then flung the offending length of cloth out the window.

Of course, this length of cloth settled over the head and shoulders of a grounds keeper on patrol, and his muffled curses sent streams of fear and adrenaline through Derik's blood vessels. He jumped at Danielle, one hand wrapping over her mouth and the other fobbing off the hand that tried to biff him one in the eye. She let out a squeal, toned down and mellowed by Derik's hand, which grew moist and uncomfortable there on Danielle's face. Two voices were muttering below then, and one of them paused and said, “What was that?” The other, subdued – probably still under the skirt remnant – said, mnnnrrlafeffffrlgh like a scream?” This told Derik both grounds keeper guards were loosed from restraint and free to investigate and, ultimately, cause Derik's jailing and possible hand-loss.

He yoked Danielle by one ear and stared into her eyes until she calmed. “Now,” he said, “you're getting me out of this the way you got me into it, back in Burning Ridge. Giggle.”

Danielle snorted and glared at Derik, who continued to stare into her eyes, pushing every pleading thought and piece of pathos he could into his visage. Danielle licked Derik's hand, causing him to let loose a startled “ynuh” and take his hand away. Danielle, un-muzzled, giggled in a way that sent chills and organ-massaging tremors through Derik's spine. It was a high, loud sound, speaking of a whole world soon to be revealed behind both curtains and skirts slowly parting. He fled, throwing himself backwards and pitching over onto the bed. Danielle moved one foot closer to Derik, resting on it, one hand on her throat and the other at her waist. She giggled again, and waggled her eyelashes at him. Derik cowered against the bed, shoving sheets, blanket, and comforter aside in quest of traction.

An explosive, guttural laugh drifted through the window from the street below. “Haw,” one of the guards said, “someone's making good time with a lady who's missing her skirt.”

“Is that what this is,” another voice said, “on my head? You could help, you know.”

The half-language of effort and co-ordination, full of “hey” and “little more” followed. Danielle stopped fluttering her hands about and settled on the bed with a sigh. “So,” she said, “that's why. You're pretty smart when you need to be, you know.”

Derik closed his eyes and rolled his head about on the mattress. “I would say something about your tone of voice, but you're just saving up some awful punchline, so I won't bother.”

“See? Pretty smart.”