Dwight knew there was something suspicious about those two new people on the film crew. Later, he would remind Angela of this whenever she doubted him. "I was right about THEM, now, wasn't I, Monkey?" And Angela would always sigh. Because, really, she knew he was right. He always was about these things.
It was an unseasonably cold spring day when they came in to the office. He was a thin guy ("inadequate upper body musculature," Dwight had decided) with sad eyes and a vaguely ethnic nose. She was red-headed and unsmiling, almost as tiny as Angela. Frank Muller. Deanna Sullivan. Filmmakers. But, Dwight was certain, something else as well.
The Envelope was placed on his desk in mid-April. It was a plain bond number 10, unmarked. Dwight noticed that it was not a Dunder Mifflin product, which was the first thing that made him suspicious. Then, he opened it and read a single typewritten page -- typewritten, not from a word processor and laser printer. Again, suspicious.
Leave the office today, move your car to the coffeeshop across the street. Return to the office -- MAKE SURE YOU ARE NOT FOLLOWED. Be in the conference room at 6:30pm. This is important. Destroy this letter.
---A friend.
ps. You can bring Angela.
Dwight's eyes darted around the room. The contraband envelope and typewritten text meant that it was not another one of Jim's stupid games. This was for real. His eyes rested on Angela, who was holding a similar sheet of paper in her hands. Her lips pursed and she looked up, squinting at Dwight across the office. She rose and strolled casually to the door, turning at the front desk to raise here eyebrows towards the stairwell. Dwight gave a slight nod, counted to fifty, and followed.
Story Notes:
Crossover fic of the strangest kind.....Lite spoilers roughly through The Negotiation.
I own nothing here. Seriously. Nah-ching. Greg Daniels and Chris Carter can divvy it all up in their little Evil Lair of Tortured Unrequited Love.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Just a little intro.
