A Pair of Writers' Daily Life

Looking at the shy, head-down writer, Lorry's heart couldn't help but flutter. He reached out and pinched the tip of her nose, smiling as he asked, "Jealous?"

"Jealous...?" Fors raised her eyes and blinked blankly.

Everything was fine.

Why the sudden mention of Kitchen seasonings?

Lorry suddenly realized what he meant, chuckled softly, and explained:

A metaphor.

"Just think about what it tastes like."

Metaphor... taste... the writer pondered, beginning to think.

Clearly, she was quick-witted, having written more than one bestselling novel, and quickly guessed what Lorry meant by combining the current situation with her own.

Fors blushed and glared at him, shrinking back to stop his wicked hand from continuing to caress her face.

Lorry, knowing when to stop, steered the conversation back on track:

"You are the hope for obtaining Beyonder Characteristic through divination, not for marriage. What does it matter to us whether the seller is beautiful or not?" Find her and complete the transaction.

"Apart from that, everything she does is none of our business."

"We... "Fors murmured silently, feeling a sweet warmth in his heart, as if a jar of Honey had been poured into his stomach, and nodded gently.

Then, as if nothing had happened, she leaned closer and rested her head on Lorry's shoulder.

Neither of them spoke again, they nestled together quietly, listening to each other's breathing and heartbeats, enjoying this rare moment alone together.

On the wall, the hands of the clock ticked away, turning round and round.

Fors suddenly sat up straight as if he had just remembered something.

Lorry looked over in confusion:

"What's wrong?"

"I have a feeling that Hugh and Albert..." As she spoke, a blush inevitably crept onto the writer's cheeks.

She frowned, glanced in the direction of the door, then turned her head and pondered:

"You... we've spent the twenty thousand pounds we staked with Mr. ' Fool. ' Shall we pray to him now to get the materials back?" Lorry thought for a moment and said.

"Can."

As he spoke, he changed his words again:

"Never mind, let's do it tomorrow."

"I'll try to squeeze some more money out of the Face Mask Factory."

"Uh..." Fors rolled her eyes cutely and chuckled speechlessly, "You really think their Beyonder Characteristic can be supplied indefinitely?"

"They don't collect these things intentionally; it's just something they do on the side."

"We've already emptied it out..."

As she spoke, she got up and walked towards the Bedroom. A moment later, she came out carrying a cardboard box, placed it on the Tea Table, and opened it to reveal the Beyonder Characteristic inside.

The writer did not sit down this time, and said:

You go about your business here.

"I'm going to write a book." Write a book? Lorry looked up, a hint of doubt in his eyes.

She shouldn't be short of money right now, right?

"It's because Hugh made fun of me about this..." Fors muttered, "I've thought of a good idea, can you take a look at it later?"

"No problem," Lorry readily agreed.

Fors immediately turned around and went straight to the desk opposite the Long Sofa.

Lorry stared at the author's swaying back for a few seconds before struggling to look away and turning his attention to the familiar objects in the cardboard box.

With a gentle wave of his hand, a beaker appeared out of thin air.

He skillfully grabbed one Beyonder Characteristic after another and tossed it in.

Time flies.

More than half an hour later, Lorry took the "Parasite" ring from the empty beaker and put it on his left hand, a fleeting hint of regret in his eyes.

His previous estimate was somewhat optimistic; he was still a little short of condensing the Worm of Time.

Because I'm waiting for this Tarot Club, I haven't gone to the "Bravehearts" bar to find Sharron from the Temperance Faction yet. I wonder if she can gather some more... If I can't create a new clone in a short time, I might consider retrieving the Worm of Time from "Dawn Knight" and re- Parasitism a Sequence 5...

That way, we can save a bottle of Potion...

However, even if he really intended to do that, he would have to wait until Joe's matter was over... The thought flashed through his mind, and Lorry collected his thoughts and walked behind Fors.

The moment he placed his hands on her shoulders, he saw the writer suddenly tremble.

"What are you doing?" Fors turned around and scolded.

With a gentle massage, the writer's anger quickly subsided, her cheeks flushed slightly, and she couldn't help but let out a soft, pleasurable moan.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lorry glanced at the manuscript in front of her and smiled, saying, "Ancient Tomb, Knight, mercenaries... are you planning to write a Horror story this time?"

"Hmm... not really, it's an adventure genre, just with some similar elements at the beginning." Fors with a satisfied half-closed eye, his voice like a dream.

Immediately, she felt the warm hand on her shoulder disappear, and her light blue eyes opened, revealing a trace of wistful longing.

Lorry pulled over a chair and sat down next to her, picked up the few pages of manuscript written by the writer, read them carefully, and smiled at the lady next to her.

"What do you think?" Fors asked eagerly.

Her eyes sparkled, filled with anticipation. Lorry carefully chose his words, then generously praised her:

"A great story."

"Although it uses some common elements of the same genre, the male protagonist's deliberate feigned weakness and pursuit of his captain is enough to cover up the flaws."

"Ladies and gentlemen who have expectations and fantasies about love but haven't actually walked down the aisle should be interested."

"Probably between 15 and 30 years old."

"It might even sell better than ' Stormy Mountain Villa '."

Fors smiled and gave a cheerful "Mmm," her tone full of amusement.

Lorry handed the manuscript back to her, glancing at the blank sheets of paper:

"Is it alright to borrow a few?"

"There's a problem." The writer's face darkened slightly, and she gave a disgruntled snort. "We've already... gone through that, and we're not new acquaintances, yet you still talk like that."

Lorry casually picked out a few bills and winked playfully.

"What?" "... I'm rushing to finish my manuscript, so don't disturb me." The writer, whose mouth was involuntarily stinging, abruptly changed the subject.

Immediately, she turned her head back quickly, grabbed her pen, and sketched out the words.

Lorry smiled, stopped teasing her, took a pen from the pen holder, stared at the blank space for a few seconds in thought, and then began to write furiously.

Rustling sounds.

The pen tip scraped against the paper, as if playing beautiful musical notes. This sound attracted Fors so much that he couldn't help but stop writing and carefully observe it out of the corner of his eye.

She saw Lorry's serious gaze, his profile as deep and distinct as a sculpture, one hand supporting his chin, the other hand sketching beautiful handwriting on the manuscript paper.

If he were here with me every day while I wrote, I certainly wouldn't get emails from editors urging me to finish my work... Reluctantly turning away from my gaze, Fors wrote and thought to himself.

You can also discuss the plot with each other, check each other's spelling mistakes and grammar, and get real feedback from Reader immediately...

Most importantly, she could see him as soon as she turned her head... Hehe... As she thought about it, her light blue eyes gradually lost focus.

A few minutes later, Fors was startled awake by the sound of the Door Opening. When she came to her senses and saw the manuscript paper covered with black lines in front of her, she immediately shrank her neck guiltily.

Swish!

She swiftly pulled the other person away, disposed of the body, and threw it in the trash. Turning to greet her friend and pet dog as they entered, Fors glanced at the artwork beside her colleague and said suspiciously, "Eh?"

Are you writing the Volume Two of "Young Roselle"?

"But that identity..."

Lorry shrugged nonchalantly. "Nobody said Raven could only leave behind one novel, Great Detective Sherlock III."

"Just like last time, I plan to authorize the Publishing House to donate the royalties."

Hugh, who had just changed his shoes and was walking towards the Single Sofa, couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "Donate it... There's a poor person right in front of you."

No, two, plus a poor dog.

Why don't you donate to us?

Looking back at his whining stepdaughter, Lorry smiled and asked, "Now that you're Informant for MI9, you don't have to worry about Beyonder Characteristic and Formula."

"Are you that short of money?"

"Nonsense." Hugh scratched his messy blond hair and said irritably, "I'm already Sequence 7, and I don't even have a single Mystical Item."

"When completing a commission, I often have to borrow from Fors. Even Albert has some."

--She was referring to the "Dieter" Copper Whistle.

"Tsk tsk, men are speechless and women are in tears..." Lorry sighed silently, then thought for a moment and said, "You should know that I have instructed Albert to do something in a while."

"One dog might not be able to handle it all; the efficiency would be very low."

"You can join in if you're interested."

How about five hundred pounds?

"Five hundred pounds?" Hugh glanced at Fors, then turned to Lorry and said frankly, "To be honest, I am tempted."

Such a context is often followed by "but"... Lorry silently grumbled to himself, remaining silent and waiting for the "Interrogator" to continue.

Sure enough, Xiu changed the subject abruptly:

"However, I don't want you to pity me in this way."

"The idea of donating money is a joke."

"You're overthinking it." Lorry shook his head and smiled. "This isn't dangerous, but it's definitely not easy, and it's worth the five hundred pounds reward. Think it over carefully, and let me know your answer when you've made up your mind."

Hugh met his gaze in silence, then nodded slightly, looked away, leaned back on the Single Sofa, and stared at the Ceiling with a thoughtful expression.

Just as its name suggests, even in April, the surface of the Fog Sea is still filled with a thin mist, obstructing the lookout's view.

On the deck of the "Golden Dream," the Pirate lazily basked in the not-so-warm Sun, chatting, bragging, or joking around.

Suddenly, the Pirate on watch from the lookout tower cried out in alarm:

"Boss, something terrible has happened!"

"A fleet of seven or eight ships has appeared ahead, suspected to be the ' Blood Pirates,' with the flagship in the middle resembling the ' Tree of Flesh '!"

"What?!" Danitz sprang up from his deckchair with a somersault and rushed to the lookout tower, snatching the monocular telescope from his subordinate.

As the two sides rapidly approached, their vision gradually became clear.

Catching sight of that disgusting blood-red flag, his face turned ashen as he handed the monoculars back to his subordinate and said in a deep voice, "Continue monitoring."

"I'll go and inform the others."