𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭-𝐈𝐭 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ━ 𝐉𝐢𝐦 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐭

- 7 | a night at poor richard's -

A Night at Poor Richard's

The atmosphere at Poor Richard's was buzzing when Marceline, Jim, Pam, and a handful of other Dunder Mifflin employees arrived. The bar was packed with a mix of locals and people dressed in Halloween costumes, the dim lights casting an orange glow over everything. There was an energy in the air that felt contagious, and Marceline found herself smiling as they walked through the door.

"First round's on me," Jim said, giving Marceline a playful nudge as they approached the bar. "Birthday girl gets whatever she wants."

Marceline laughed, the stress of the past few weeks starting to melt away. "I might take you up on that. I'm thinking something strong tonight."

"Now that's the spirit," Jim replied with a grin, leaning against the bar to flag down the bartender.

Pam slipped into the seat next to Marceline, still in her cat costume, her whiskers smudged but her smile intact. "Are you having a good birthday so far?"

Marceline nodded, her heart warmed by Pam's concern. "Yeah, I am. This was a really nice surprise."

Pam's eyes sparkled. "I'm glad. You deserve a good birthday, Marceline."

The bartender arrived, and Jim turned to Marceline. "So, what'll it be? We've got the classics, or you could go for something seasonal—maybe a pumpkin ale?"

Marceline thought for a moment, then smiled. "How about a whiskey sour?"

Jim raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Nice choice. Make that two," he told the bartender, adding his own order.

Pam went with a glass of red wine, and as the drinks were being prepared, more coworkers trickled in, greeting Marceline with smiles and well-wishes. Michael, of course, made a grand entrance, dressed as some kind of hybrid between Batman and Dracula, cape flowing behind him as he dramatically took a seat.

"To the birthday witch!" Michael declared, raising his drink—some fluorescent concoction that looked more like a science experiment than a cocktail.

The group echoed his toast, and Marceline couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Despite her initial reservations, she was glad she had come out tonight. There was something comforting about being surrounded by these people—her coworkers, her new friends—who had welcomed her so easily into their lives.

As the night went on, Marceline found herself drifting into conversation after conversation, but it was Jim she kept gravitating toward. There was something about the way he made her feel at ease, the way he could effortlessly make her laugh, that drew her in. They found a spot at the end of the bar, just the two of them, their drinks in hand.

"So," Jim began, leaning in slightly so she could hear him over the noise, "how does it feel to be another year older?"

Marceline smirked, taking a sip of her drink. "Honestly? It feels a lot like being 25. But I guess 26 isn't so bad."

Jim nodded thoughtfully. "26's a good year. You're old enough to have figured some stuff out, but still young enough to keep figuring the rest out."

"Is that so?" Marceline teased, raising an eyebrow. "And what have you figured out, Mr. Halpert?"

Jim pretended to think deeply, scratching his chin. "Well, I've figured out that paper sales are a strange and wonderful world. I've learned that my boss is a one-of-a-kind guy—emphasis on 'one-of-a-kind'—and I've learned that I can't go wrong with a three-hole-punch costume."