If you want the things you love...

Marlise chuckles. Of course he would make her a janitor. But she took it in good humor.

She traveled down the hall, eyeing the walls and filing cabinets intently. She trusted her friend, enough to let him launch her into a parable. And to think she hated Narrators…

Marlise knew these hands like the back of her hall– 

The voice cleared its throat, sheepishly.

Er, the halls like the back of her hand. As she moved along, she could hear the every-day hubbub behind every door.

And sure enough, there were indistinct mutterings issuing from the many doors along the corridor.

Our fellow blinks in surprise.

“Oh. Um. Hullo.” He hadn’t been expecting this, “Erm, I’m just looking around, to be honest. I’ve been abroad for a while and I wanted to check the neighbourhood.”

He glances up and down, taking in the sight opposite.

“…You’re a Narrator, I expect?”

"Oh, I see...well, welcome back!" Jonathan goes to wave the pan of muffins away, reconsiders and offers him some. The smell of cocoa and vanilla wafts up from them, no doubt he had some time perfecting them. Even though Jonathan himself never eats any. Blame his alien tastebuds, but he still prefers his desserts bitter and lacking sugar.

"Yes, actually!" He glances down at his apron. "Well, was. I don't do any narrating anymore, unless it's reading a book for Stanley and his friends. But if you ask me, being a Narrator is quite overrated. The Office can be so much more than a prison if you put some skill into it!"

He gestures the other to follow him into the Lounge, where the tea pot and the coffee machine were already making themselves busy.

“Of course, it’s only befitting a fellow as extraordinary such as your- ahh…” The Narrator pauses, confusion washing over his face.

Just when he thinks he is getting a hang of his new guest, Mercutio surprises him yet again.

“Oh, I’m sorry but what does purple mean? Is it a sort of  cue?”

Actually, quite a bit has changed. Jonathan studies him curiously. Perhaps purple is a mood indication, or simply a response to being named.  

“You could say that.” The purple Mercutio gives a small snort, “It’s complicated, but think of it like this.”

He strains a little, before popping a matryoshka doll into existence in his hand.

“This little lady has many other little ladies inside of her,” he opens the first layer of the doll, revealing another intricately painted, smiling doll inside, “You can open her up, take some out, put them back in or lose them, etcetera...” 

He opens the dolls one after another as he speaks, revealing smaller and smaller painted ladies.

“...But she isn’t complete without the full set, and every one of the other dolls is still her.”

She lowers her arms, attention now towards the ceiling.

“How about some suspense? A little action? I wanna feel like John Wick without the dead dog.”

A throat clears, somewhere.

This is a story about a woman named Marlise.

Marlise lived in a large apartment complex on the East side of Nowhere, one among hundreds of other little names filling little square rooms. Her life was simple. She worked from home, and ate from home, and mostly, she kept to herself.

Most people would call this antisocial. But it gave Marlise a golden opportunity to become the mistress of her own domain. The complex might be inhabited by many people, but in truth, it belonged to her. And Marlise liked to keep her things clean.

But, she would soon find herself, as custodians often do, in a great big mess.

At first, however, today seemed like any other day...

The Office ripples, faintly, readying itself.

“Something fantastical.

"I know you don’t like being a Narrator, but how do you feel about a harmless story?”

Isaac blinks.

“A story? Oh my, I-I haven’t done one of those in ages...”  he taps his chin, “But I... Well, I don’t hate being a Narrator. I just don’t like the... nastier aspects of the trade. If a story is what you wish, then a story is what you shall have! Just give me a moment...” 

Our fellow blinks in surprise.

“Oh. Um. Hullo.” He hadn’t been expecting this, “Erm, I’m just looking around, to be honest. I’ve been abroad for a while and I wanted to check the neighbourhood.”

He glances up and down, taking in the sight opposite.

“…You’re a Narrator, I expect?”

"Oh, I see...well, welcome back!" Jonathan goes to wave the pan of muffins away, reconsiders and offers him some. The smell of cocoa and vanilla wafts up from them, no doubt he had some time perfecting them. Even though Jonathan himself never eats any. Blame his alien tastebuds, but he still prefers his desserts bitter and lacking sugar.

"Yes, actually!" He glances down at his apron. "Well, was. I don't do any narrating anymore, unless it's reading a book for Stanley and his friends. But if you ask me, being a Narrator is quite overrated. The Office can be so much more than a prison if you put some skill into it!"

He gestures the other to follow him into the Lounge, where the tea pot and the coffee machine were already making themselves busy.

“Oh…oh! My apologies! I misunderstood completely,” Jon chuckled awkwardly at the mishap, feeling a bit silly now. “Well in that case, I would be honored to give you a name. Ah yes, it will be a fantastic one. Grandiose, mysterious!"

He  jumped to his feet in excitement, now dramatically waving his arms as if to show just how grand a name he was thinking of. The cup of coffee floated safetly out of reach back onto the table.

"If you want me to christen you, then christen you I shall, my dear! You will not rue the day you asked Jonathan Genevieve Alexandra Von Sales a name befitting for such an enthralling fellow like yourself!”

There’s no stopping him now. The Narrator is struck with sudden inspiration.

"From this moment on forth, you will be known as Mercrutio Parcival Nithercott, Collector of Names, Wanderer of the Dimensions!- an charming soul trying to find peace in this turbulent universe.”

MERCRUTIO PARCIVAL NITHERCOTT appeared in big bold letters over the other’s head, proudly displaying Jonathan’s stroke of…’genius’

“Oh, well, i-if you–”

And he’s off, gesticulating and babbling. Our fellow watches him a slightly nervous smile. He jumps a little when the Narrator settles on a name.

“Mercutio Parcival N-Nithercott? Collector of Names, Wanderer of Dimensions, Seeker of Peace?” he flickers purple and smirks, “Well, I do like a good title, me.”

“Don’t you go ghost on me!”

She already has him held up bridal style. He’s awfully light, like a helium balloon.

“I remember a lot of things–good memories especially. Now, I want to have a bitchin’ birthday and I trust you to help me make it so.”

“I shan’t,” he assures her, before chuckling as she hoists him into a bridal-carry.

She flinches, eyes wide–but it only takes a second for a grateful smile to spread across her face

Marlise carefully places the cake down on a desk before ambushing Dom in a spinning hug.

“I haven’t had a cake in so long–” She kisses his temple in appreciation. “Thank you… Reminds me of that cupcake you gave me years ago.”

He can barely let out a yelp before he’s ambushed.

“Oi! You’re gonna decorporealize me!” he cries, but he’s joking. He gives her a sheepish grin.

“It’s your birthday? Happy Birthday!”

“It’s Adam. Remember that one funny day when you turned yourself into a chair-? Oh wait, are you Clair and Clyde, aren’t you? Oh- uh oh, don’t tell me you are an alternate- aww. What a shame it would be… it took me eight days, two hours and twenty minutes to figure out how to create a door in that would be painted fancy enough.” And yet he doesn’t look as disappointed as he sounds.

"Oh well, at least I gave you a good scare, right? It makes the spell in work dramatic enough, then! Hey don’t get mad, pretty please? I’ll make it up to you I promise- I have cookies!“

“...Oh. It’s you.”

Their meeting had been brief, and indeed, as Adam said, he had been a chair for the majority of it.

Clyde heaves a sigh and crosses his arms, “And where do you get off trying to frighten the piss out of people, eh? I’m not interested in your cookies.”

But everyone has real backstories, even robots. Is he in denial of his experiences or is he lying? Adam couldn’t tell for sure. Lying is something that’s more common for ‘ordinary humans’ and this fellow is clearly not a human nor ordinary. He got the cool vibe; this gives him at least five points up front on the list of Adam’s Acquaintances. His excitement starts to fade.

“… Isn’t it kinda nearly the same thing,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing away as he suddenly feels bad. She called Herself this way too. It was partly true, wasn’t it. ”Like, a tiny little bit- actually, you know what? Nevermind then. I am sorry.”

He stares back and sighs.

“Why would you assume that? I don’t do deals anymore. I am here ‘cause I wanted to get to know you a little better, Clyde and Clair. And to figure out if my spell in work is dramatic enough. Yeah. … Is this how making allies works, right?”

“It’s... complicated,” says Clyde, before switching to Clair and waving his hands gently, “Oh, no, please don’t feel bad. It’s all a little confusing...”

“Out of habit,” Clyde admits, shrugging, “Well, your little light show was certainly dramatic... “

Our fellow blinks in surprise.

“Oh. Um. Hullo.” He hadn’t been expecting this, “Erm, I’m just looking around, to be honest. I’ve been abroad for a while and I wanted to check the neighbourhood.”

He glances up and down, taking in the sight opposite.

“…You’re a Narrator, I expect?”

"Oh, I see...well, welcome back!" Jonathan goes to wave the pan of muffins away, reconsiders and offers him some. The smell of cocoa and vanilla wafts up from them, no doubt he had some time perfecting them. Even though Jonathan himself never eats any. Blame his alien tastebuds, but he still prefers his desserts bitter and lacking sugar.

"Yes, actually!" He glances down at his apron. "Well, was. I don't do any narrating anymore, unless it's reading a book for Stanley and his friends. But if you ask me, being a Narrator is quite overrated. The Office can be so much more than a prison if you put some skill into it!"

He gestures the other to follow him into the Lounge, where the tea pot and the coffee machine were already making themselves busy.

The Narrator couldn’t help staring as he tried to process it. So…this fellow had no name, but he let anyone just name him…anything. The confusion gave way to concern.

“My dear, maybe I’m out of line suggesting this but…perhaps you should try standing up for yourself. It may seem scary, yet I am sure your friends will understand!”

Ah yes, he figured it out. At least, he thought he did. This nameless wanderer, as anonymous as he apparently tried to be, was too shy to correct his friends when they gave him random names for their own comfort.

“If you want to stay nameless, anonymous, completely in secret, that’s alright,” He continued, eager to show his solidarity. “In fact, I won’t tell anyone you were here.”

“Oh, no no, it’s nothing like that,” Our Fellow waves his hands placatingly, “I just have something of a... strange history with names. Giving me a name helps me feel, er, grounded, if that makes any sense?”

He gives a nervous chuckle, “Oh, no need, really, it’s quite all right. I-I’m no secret, really... just a little, er, eccentric.”

He gives Jon a reassuring smile, “But I appreciate your consideration; it is very kind of you to offer.”

"A lot of things have happened. In all, I'm just glad you're safe."

She smells clean, like sweet pea shampoo. Good to know she finally found a shower in lieu of restarting to get clean.

“I’ll do anything for you. Give me names, and I’ll beat the shit out of anyone who lays a hand on you. It’s a small gesture for being one of my best friends–and one of the oldest.”

He pulls back gently, hands still resting on her shoulders.

“Oh, please no, Marlise. I don’t want any fighting, especially on my account.”

“It’s Adam. Remember that one funny day when you turned yourself into a chair-? Oh wait, are you Clair and Clyde, aren’t you? Oh- uh oh, don’t tell me you are an alternate- aww. What a shame it would be… it took me eight days, two hours and twenty minutes to figure out how to create a door in that would be painted fancy enough.” And yet he doesn’t look as disappointed as he sounds.

"Oh well, at least I gave you a good scare, right? It makes the spell in work dramatic enough, then! Hey don’t get mad, pretty please? I’ll make it up to you I promise- I have cookies!“

“...Oh. It’s you.”

Their meeting had been brief, and indeed, as Adam said, he had been a chair for the majority of it.

Clyde heaves a sigh and crosses his arms, “And where do you get off trying to frighten the piss out of people, eh? I’m not interested in your cookies.”

“How is that working, then? As much as I know from my encyclopedia…  ‘a ghost is the soul or spirit or a trace of a dead person or animal that can appear to the living’. Following that, it turns out it’s not like one must have a soul to be counted as a ghost, they are a Traçe̛̕̕ of or a soul on their own. Usually. Since the Office is a really weird place with Its own weird effects, I wouldn’t be surprised things are much more complicated and confusing regarding the whole spooky kind. Hmm… if you are not a ghost, then … could you be a deity?”

The guy raises his eyebrow.

“Didn’t you even know? Cool Fellow In Office Vibe! Otherwise why would everyone come in and out just to greet you? You are a Cool Fellow and the dwellers admire you, isn’t it obvious?”

He is not mocking nor lying. He genuinely believes in what he is saying, even as he himself barely knows anything about the fellow.

“I was never alive to begin with,” he states, bitterly, before grimacing, “I’m not a deity either. More of an... entity, really.”

He stares at Adam in bewilderment.