Lucy sped her bike faster down the sidewalk. She needed to get there. Quick. It was almost time!
In the distance, the apartment came into view. A basket sat on the front steps. She was too late.
A small whine rumbled in her throat. She picked up the warm basket of fresh newspapers and sighed. "Why work with a man ya can never meet?" She grumbled, walking over to her fallen red bike and pouring the news articles into the bag she had hung on the side.
Afterwards, she went back to the door and placed the basket back, but stopped before she could turn away.
The door! It was slightly ajar!
Inside, she could hear the sounds of machines. The walls must've been really thick to hide that noise, it was loud. There was also the soft clicking of a typewriter, barely heard behind all the screeching and banging.
Lucy pushed slightly on the door, and inside, there was a lone man, sitting in the middle of the room, behind a desk with a huge typewriter on it. The one light source in the room shook a bit, and Lucy could swear she saw his hair change from a dull purple to a more fiery red.
"Damn it!" The man ripped the paper out, crumpled it up and flung it towards a huge pile by the door. "I can never get this right!"
Slowly, the papergirl slipped in and silently shut the door behind her. What would she kill, being a little late in delivering? It's not like anyone read the paper anymore.
"A man who can write articles and articles of news all day, just can't get a written novel even started! Damn it!" He yelled, ripping another paper out of the small machine and balling it up. Before he threw it though, he saw something in the darkness. "Hey! Who's there?"
Lucy had picked up one of the rejected papers and read what was on it in the faint light.
The man froze. "Wait. Don't read that!" He commanded, scrambling out of his workspace to get to her.
"This is really good!" Lucy said, moving towards him as he collapsed onto the floor. Crouching down next to him, she held the paper out for him to see. "Why are ya throwing this one out, Mr. Layton?"
Ink covered hands grabbed the sheet and tossed it back into the reject pile. "Because it's garbage. Trash. Poorly written work that should never be shown to the public. And don't call me that! Don't you have something better and more productive to do? Like deliver the papers I took all week to finish?"
She frowned. "I will. But I never get to see t' man who makes 'em! You write really well, sir! I've never bothered to read t' articles, but that story ya had on that paper was really good!" She helped him get up from the floor as she explained. "What were ya planning to write?"
"A mystery novel." He found himself answering. "I've always been fascinated by crimes, murder cases. I write for the paper because its what I'm good at. I can never write my own original stories without messing up, which is why I have that." He indicated the pile in the corner. "Those never see the light of day, and I hope they never do."
"But, Mr- Alfendi, ya can't just expect t' first draft to be perfect. You have to go back and fix things as you write or else nowt will flow right."
Alfendi let out a small grunt as he sat back down and went back to typing. "Fine. But I'd also need a title to work with as well."
Lucy put a finger to her lip and pondered for a second. "Well, if it's a murder mystery… 'Ow about The Mystery Room?" She suggested with a small smile.
His golden eyes flickered to her, and he smirked. "Little papergirl, you and I are going to get along quite well."