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thismaskiwearThe big Bitterwoman presentation wasn't until 1 PM, but at 10:30 AM they were still halfway back a long, snaking line that hadn't moved since 9:45. Katchoo kept stepping away from the line to smoke, despite the dirty looks and pointed throat-clearing from other congoers nearby (flipping them off was a convenient enough response) mostly to give her something to do while they were waiting. And waiting. Geez.
The nervous look she'd gotten from the balding, bespectacled, timid artist-looking guy as he hurried past had been amusing, but come on now. She was going to spend all day in this line at this rate, and Artists' Alley in the exhibit hall was calling her name, dammit.
And somewhere nearby, some ditz (blonde, she'd guess) would not frikkin' shut up.
Never mind the SyFy disasterporn movie that had screened late last night. Mount Choovanski was really close to exploding.
The nervous look she'd gotten from the balding, bespectacled, timid artist-looking guy as he hurried past had been amusing, but come on now. She was going to spend all day in this line at this rate, and Artists' Alley in the exhibit hall was calling her name, dammit.
And somewhere nearby, some ditz (blonde, she'd guess) would not frikkin' shut up.
Never mind the SyFy disasterporn movie that had screened late last night. Mount Choovanski was really close to exploding.
