(Just a thing I thought of that isn't necessarily object show related- Enjoy!)

Clack, clack, clack. The sound of a busy typewriter filled the golden-lit room. The morning's sunlight filtered through a shuttered window, casting bands of yellow onto the khaki-colored wooden floor. A simple, single bed occupied one corner of the modest living space, and a simple kitchen was hidden behind the stair wall. Shelves of well-conditioned books lined up opposite of the bed, complete with a faded crimson reading chair.

Papers were strewn across the normally clutter-free floor, and would have to be picked up and put in their proper place later on. But, that was among the least of the inventor's concerns, as he clack, clack, clacked away at his typewriter.

A self-proclaimed inventor, that is. He had never quite invented anything just yet, but nonetheless was well-known in the moderately-sized town he lived in as an excellent repairman. He pushed his glasses up on his leafy face, narrowing his eyes as he proofread the report a third time over.

Perfect. If only his silly client would remember to simply change the oil and clean out the gunk in his typewriter(as the inventor had made a daily chore of), he wouldn't have to come back every few weeks. Then again, Tree suspected the typewriter breaking was an excuse to see him.

How charmingly stupid.

Having delicately ripped the report from the teeth of his typewriter, Tree clopped down the stairs into his workshop. His tools sat in their rightful places, carefully laid out on their mats. Boxes of assorted hardwares, all meticulously sorted by size and function, were shoved underneath tables and stacked in corners, each and every one labelled. The client's typewriter, worn from use, sat atop the workbench, waiting to be picked up.

Tree expected his client to come for his typewriter in the late evening, as he usually did. Then he'd make a whole fuss of treating Tree to dinner for fixing his typewriter. It was a very predictable, see-through routine, although Tree admitted it was amusing to see how hard he tried. Maybe he'd even agree today.

But in the moment, it seemed as if no one was coming. No matter. Tree could use this time to perfect his debut into the world of invention. He left the report by the typewriter, and pulled out his masterpiece from underneath a cloth. Dust swirled into the air from the disturbance.

Time passed by quickly. Tree was combing through his boxes when the familiar twist of the doorknob sounded. A glass bottle opened the door wide, with a just as wide smile on her face.

"Good morning, Tree!" she chirped. Bottle was another one of Tree's regulars; she was quite ditzy, and would often accidentally break things. But more recently, her visits became less of asking Tree to fix something, and more of wanting to help Tree in his work. Tree didn't mind, for the most part. She was good company, and Tree found joy in teaching Bottle the workings of engineering.

"Good morning, Bottle," Tree smiled up at her, "what brings you here today?"

Bottle closed the door behind her. "Just checking in!" Her eyes were drawn to the invention on the table, lit up by the window above it. "Hey, your invention thing! You're working on it today?"

"Yes," Tree stood up, having found a sizable plate of metal. "I've got no clients today, just waiting for someone to pick up their typewriter."

Bottle peered at the invention with great interest. "What's it do again? Ooh, could I help?"

"It's a sorting machine," Tree explained, "and no, you can't help. This is my own personal project. You're welcome to watch, however."

Bottle nodded, having taken no offense. She watched with interest as Tree welded the metal to the machine, covering its inner workings. Sparks flew from the metal, like a continuous miniature firework. What was left behind was a seamless union of the metal plate and machine. No one would've been able to tell the difference.

Tree was the type of person to immerse himself in his work. He was very disciplined, and hardly allowed himself to be distracted. And although Tree was a problem solver, he also tended to be a one-track mind. He'd become so focused on one thing, everything else ceased to exist.

"Tree, be careful of your hand!" Bottle warned. Just in time, Tree jerked his free hand away from the welder.

"Ah," Tree spoke, still moving the welder along the metal plate, "I suppose this is why I have you to help me."

Bottle nodded, delighted to have been of assistance. It wasn't the first time she steered Tree away from having an accident, either.

And so the pair continued their work. They worked until the early afternoon, at which point Tree offered Bottle to go out to lunch with him. She happily accepted.