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Author's Chapter Notes:
My true procrastination habits are now out in the open. Whoops.

Much to the employees' surprise, their hotel sat along the coastline with only a boardwalk separating it from the sandy dunes. The boardwalk and beach extended several miles to the south, leaving their hotel situated on the northernmost point of the boardwalk, making it the last building on their side of the shore. However this was the furthest things from their minds as they gazed up at their home for the next two nights. 

 

"I am not staying in... that," Angela announced as she slid out of the cramped van, stretching her legs.

 

The building was four stories high and easily the oldest building on the boardwalk... by a few decades. The hotel was encased in dark, decaying planks of wood from top to bottom, the only gaps reserved for dirty windows with faded drapes. Shrubs and greenery that encircled the base of the building that had potential for neat landscaping were overgrown, reaching high enough to touch the window panes. 

 

"Maybe it's not as bad inside?" Pam offered. 

 

"Yeah, this is just the back of the building," Phyllis added, as the other van pulled up beside them.

 

"Home sweet home!" Michael shouted, jumping out and waving his arms wildly at the luxurious resort just down the road.

 

"Michael, these directions say that the one right here is our destination," Dwight pointed out.

 

"What? No, no, no that's not right," Michael muttered, snatching the map from Dwight's hands. "Must be a mistake."

 

"Actually, these directions are correct. We're staying in this hotel. You insisted on beach front, so this was all we could afford," Toby interjected, pointing at the ancient looking building. 

 

Michael turned to glare at Toby with an Angela- style fury.

 

"Well, if we had left you at home, we'd have a lot of extra money and we wouldn't have this problem, now would we Toby," Michael spat. He took the map in his hands and began ripping it into tiny pieces which he promptly dumped over Toby's head before heading around to the front of the building. "Ryan, get my things!" Michael called back before disappearing around the corner.

 

The employees' slowly unloaded their luggage while Pam helped Toby pick the pieces of trash off the ground. Ryan lifted one of Michael's suitcases from the van and immediately dropped it, muttering under his breath as he struggled to pick up the bag before settling on dragging it.

 

"So the highlight of my journey here would have to be listening to Stanley's snoring," Jim smirked, following Pam to the hotel.

 

"That bad? Thought you were tougher than that," Pam smiled.

 

"Did you not see Dwight get stuck in the window? Or see Michael get us pulled over?" Jim asked.

 

"Wow," Pam laughed. "Sorry I missed the show! I still have Kelly ringing in my ears."

 

"I'm waiting."

 

"For what?"

 

"The juicy gossip, obviously. Kelly is quite the fountain of knowledge. Where else would I get my information from?"

 

"So have you always been a twelve year old girl, or is this a new development?"

 

"Halpert 2.0," Jim joked as Pam dissolved into a fit of a laughter.

 

The employees of Dunder Mifflin gathered in the lobby of the rundown hotel. A few antique looking couches created an arc around a massive stone fireplace with ashes spilling from beneath the metal grate covering it. On a table, there was a stack of books with dust gathered on the top and a vase of dead flowers with dried petals littered around it. The most ominous part of the hotel were the pictures hanging on the walls, paintings depicting bloody, mangled people and gore filled scenes surrounded by rusting metal frames. The pictures were big enough to cover the entirety of the walls. Everyone looked around uncomfortably as Michael checked them in at the front desk.

 

"This place is definitely haunted," Kevin spoke first, his voice echoing off the walls.

 

“This looks like one of those places that white people walk into right before they get killed in horror movies!” Kelly shrieked, grabbing a handful of Ryan’s shirt in her hands.

 

Michael rushed over with a handful of room keys and papers. 

 

"Gather round all ye in need of adobes!" Michael summoned.

 

"I think you mean abodes," Pam offered.

 

"No, that's a type of brick," Michael insisted.

 

"I think you mean abodobies," Jim interjected.

 

"Thank you Jim, for being the only helpful one here," Michael praised as Jim bit back a smile. "Okay, in Room 414, we have Pam, Angela, and Kelly, and let me see... you guys are sharing a queen bed. That's hot."

 

"Absolutely not," Angela cut in.

 

"Oh my gosh we can totally have a slumber party!" Kelly enthused.

 

"Pillow fights in your underwear are acceptable and encouraged," Michael added.

 

"I will not be sharing a room with those hussies.” Angela crossed her arms firmly across her chest, glaring at Kelly from across the room. 

 

"I'm not a hussy!" Kelly cried.

 

"One bed Michael?" Pam asked meekly.

 

 

“Niiice.” A lecherous smile stretched lazily across Kevin’s face, and Pam turned to Jim with widened eyes.

 

"Just- shut it okay let me finish," Michael interjected. "Phyllis and Meredith are in Room 415, Kevin, Oscar, and Stanley are in Room 416, Creed and Toby are in Room 417, and Dwight, Ryan, Jim, and I are sharing Room 418. Direct your complaints to Toby and your enthusiasm to me."

 

"You and me can share a bed Michael!" Dwight exclaimed.

 

"Blech, no. I'm sharing a bed with my buddy Ryan," Michael frowned as Ryan cringed.

 

"Question. Does that mean I have to share a bed with Jim Halpert?" 

 

"Yes."

 

"Fact. Jim is a frequent sleepwalker and could kill us all in our sleep.”

 

"Where did you... gah then you can protect us or something. Not my problemo," Michael sang the last syllable. 

 

"Sleepwalking murderer? What's that from?" Pam whispered to Jim.

 

"Two years ago, I tried to convince Dwight that I needed him to investigate a murder I thought I committed while sleepwalking. That's the longest it's taken a prank to come back and bite me in the...," Jim began.

 

"Ass," Pam finished with a laugh.

 

"Was that a profanity from the mouth of Pam Beesly? I'm disappointed to say the least," Jim quipped.

 

"Suck it Halpert," Pam laughed.

 

"So you want to explore the hotel? We have an hour until Michael wants us back down here. Or are you excited to settle in with Angela and Kelly? Get in on some of that pillow fight action?" Jim quipped.

 

"A self guided tour sounds great actually.” 

 

Michael, Dwight, Ryan, Kelly, and Angela crowded into the hotel's one rickety elevator that creaked every time they went up a floor. As soon as Angela and Kelly reached their room, Angela made a beeline for the shower, muttering something about washing off the sin, while Kelly began to unpack her pink, bejeweled suitcases into the dusty wooden dresser in the corner of the room. She had an outfit for every possible occasion and had enough clothes to change outfits every hour if she so desired. This was her first official trip with Ryan since he had become her boyfriend, and she was beyond excited. This was, like, totally a milestone in their relationship!

 

In Room 418, Ryan dumped Michael's hefty luggage onto a bed and switched on the television, discovering quickly that they only got seven channels. 

 

"What's in the bags Michael?" Dwight asked. 

 

"None of your beeswax. Stop being so nosy," Michael scoffed. “Ry Guy! How ‘bout you and me get some room service food and go through some of this business material? Just a lil man o’ man time.”

 

“Actually,” Ryan interjected quickly, “I’m pretty tired from the drive, probably just gonna take a nap.”

 

Ryan hopped onto the bed closer to the window, mashing a pillow over his head to block out the noise that Michael would inevitably create.

 

“I think it’s time to do a spring test,” Michael said, a grin creeping over his face as Dwight’s face contorted in confusion.

 

“It’s called a bed bug test. Bed bugs are the hidden enemies, so small and yet able to wreak so much havoc upon their victims in such a short amount of time. Truly a brilliant specimen.” Dwight threw back the covers on the bed closer to the wall and pulled the mattress up, struggling to peer at the underside.

 

“No, no, no, a spring test! Follow my lead!”

 

Michael leapt onto the bed that Ryan lay on, Dwight joining him seconds later. 

 

“Go!” Michael yelled suddenly, launching himself into the air, landing back on the bed. Dwight sprang into action, throwing his weight against the mattress and watching in amusement as Ryan’s body flew a few inches off the bed. Ryan groaned in protest, twisting in a futile attempt to move out of the way as Dwight came down hard on his legs.

 

“Woohoo!” Michael screeched as he bounced off the edge of the bed before collapsing onto Ryan. 

 

“Stop!” Ryan yelled, sitting up abruptly. The sudden motion sent Michael flying backwards and crashing onto the cracked wooden floor. 

 

“ARGH!” Michael shrieked, covering his head with his arms and whimpering like a wounded animal. Dwight was at his side instantly.

 

“Michael, what’s wrong? Can you hear me? Blink once if you need mouth to mouth, blink twice if something is broken.”

 

“Nose bleed,” Michael hollered, removing his arms to reveal blood dripping down his face and Hawaiian t-shirt. 

 

Ryan groaned and pulled the pillow back over his head.

 

In Room 416, Toby opened the door to find Creed sitting on the single twin bed in the center of the room, legs crossed Indian style, hands pressed together, eyes closed, and face turned upward, as though he was praying. 

 

“Creed?”

 

The older man didn’t respond or show any sign of having heard him. Toby sighed and tossed his duffel bag onto a couch, sending up a wave of dust. Once his coughing has ceased, he headed over to the air conditioning unit in the corner, only to find the switches and knobs ineffective.

 

“Fantastic,” he muttered.

 

“Twenty bucks a gram.” The voice seemed to come out of nowhere. Toby whirled around on his heels, startled to find Creed, still in position, with a small plastic bag clasped between his hands that definitely had not been there before. 

 

“What is that?” Toby took a step closer.

 

“You know darn well what this is, now pay up or never see it again.” Toby stared as Creed spoke without once moving his lips.

 

“I have no idea what that is, Creed,” Toby said.

 

Creed’s eyes slowly opened, darting from side to side before focusing on him. 

 

“Some local marijuana,” his voice was a whisper, “Now are you in or out?”

 

“That’s... not marijuana. It looks like… kale?” Toby reached out to touch what was now obviously a vegetable, only for Creed to jerk it away.

 

“Kale’s a myth. Not falling for that one again, nice try.”

 

Toby stood, dumbfounded.

 

In the lobby, Jim and Pam wandered down a hallway. 

 

“And here,” Jim motioned to a painting depicting a headless man holding the head of the headless horse that he sat on, “This one is called… ‘Headache’, named for the emotions that it draws out of viewers.”

 

“‘Headache’? That’s the best you’ve got?” Pam laughed.

 

“You’ve got something better?”

 

“What about ‘In Over My Head’?”

 

“I stand corrected. Let it be known that the correct name of this painting is ‘In Over My Head’.”

 

“Let it be known that Pam is way better at this game than Jim.”

 

“Let it be known that Pam, an accomplished artist, has an advantage over Jim, the lowly paper salesman,” Jim countered, grinning at Pam’s sheepish smile.

 

“I’m not an accomplished artist.”

 

“You could be. You’re so much better than you give yourself credit for,” Jim said as Pam’s cheeks flushed in the dimly lit hallway.

 

“Thanks,” she mumbled, fidgeting with her ring. 

 

“So are we going to continue naming paintings, or are we just going to continue to bask in the glory of ‘In Over My Head’?”

 

“Let it be known that these horrible paintings won’t name themselves, and that Pam is up for the challenge if Jim doesn’t mind getting his butt kicked.”

 

“Let it be known that Jim likes making up names for paintings, even if Pam is way better at it than he is.”

 

“Let it be known that it is officially weird that Jim and Pam are still talking about themselves in third person,” Pam giggled. Jim couldn’t help noticing how nice their names sounded together when she said them, almost like they completed each other. He smiled at his shoes.

 

“Let it be known that Pam is a dork.”

 

“Let it be known that Jim is a dork.”

 

Jim wondered if she could tell, see it on his face, hear it in his voice, how much he liked her. He knew he should stop, focus on the fact that she was engaged, but they were alone in a dim hotel hallway in Delaware on a Friday afternoon naming horrible paintings and Scranton felt a million miles away. 

 

“Let it be known that Jim likes dorky.”

 

“Let it be known that Pam likes dorky too.”

 

Chapter End Notes:
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dwangela is the author of 11 other stories.



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