(Untitled)

[schrute_space]

[OOM: Jim and Dwight get set for a routine sales call.]A door opens bringing with it a wintry gust of Northern Pennsylvania wind and two paper salesman

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[cursedrider]

The mun has mulled it over in her head repeatedly. Who to tag, who to tag, who to tag-

And thusly there is a Johnny Blaze.

Trying to make for the door as he bumps into the new people, "-Excuse me."

[just_a_job]

Jim blinks at the man, his eyes lingering.

A bit too startled to think of much else - "Uh. No problem."

[schrute_space]

Was this some sort of celebrity bar? Dwight looks around him with confusion, looking for more familiar faces. Had they somehow wound up in New York?

"What is going on here," he mumbles, half to himself.

Thank God he always carried his passport with him in case of emergencies... not quite like this but Dwight Schrute was prepared for anything!

[cursedrider]

Johnny frowns, "...Y'all new?"

He's pale around the edges and looks like he might be shivering, but you know, could just be the...air conditioning right? Right?

And anyway, he doesn't sound like that particular celebrity.

[accipiterpuella]

Sometimes there's an obscure and probably perverse comfort in knowing that you're not the only one being victimized by the powers that be in some lofty joke that mere mortals, immortals, and other assorted creatures will no doubt fail to comprehend.

Which is why Hawkgirl has a small, sympathetic almost-but-not-quite smile on her face on seeing the two men enter. A proto smile, if you will.

Maybe they can form a superteam of newbies.

"I think there's a no parking sign at the bar, but the wall over there has a five minute loading zone."

[schrute_space]

Dwight startles, flailing his arms a bit but quickly recovers. His stares for a second then breaks into a wide grin.

"Great costume." He looks her up and down but oddly, it's not in a sexual way. "The detail and workmanship is incredible."

He doesn't like to be kept from work but if there was some sort of convention happening here, he'd like to know about it. "Did you make it yourself?"

[just_a_job]

Jim stares, between the... woman and Dwight, blinking a few times before settling on, "Dwight, I don't know if a sci-fi convention would be the best place to sell paper?"

He kind of makes a face at that though. Talking about paper. When he didn't have to.

[accipiterpuella]

She's been asked this before back home, although in a slightly different context; she's used to questions about her sartorial splendor, usually from little kids seeking autographs when she's actually on the ground and not busy whacking a Sin Eater or something similar. Naturally, she assumes this is the same scenario.

"I had some help," she admits, answering Dwight's question. As in lots. "The wings were inherited. The weapons," and she hefts her spiked flail carefully, so as to not swing it, "are old. They don't make 'em like this anymore."

[johnnycoolguy]

"She's bringing people in in pairs now?"

Milo shakes his head and sips his coffee.

Hey! That's not right! People don't get to just drink coffee in his canon!

[schrute_space]

Dwight squints his eyes, staring at the man intently. There was something vaguely familiar about him.

"Identify yourself."

[johnnycoolguy]

...snork.

Milo does not take orders from you, sir! He doesn't even take orders from Buchanan unless he feels like it.

All right, he's not quite that insubordinate, but he can be very surly about taking orders.

"Agent Pressman. CTU." 'Cause if Dwight's going to be so serious about it, he might as well be overly-serious in return.

[just_a_job]

Jim would snort, if he were not... very confused at the moment.

He does still say, "What terrorism is there in Scranton?"