As he began his meandering journey through the threefold liminal labyrinth of quiet corridors from Building 3 to the foyer in Building 1, Khalid split his time between three things. First, he kept his pace leisurely and steady, to make sure that he didn’t rock his satchel too much and risk rousing the Shoggoth from its comfortable stupor. Second, he kept a sharp eye out for any sign of activity or anomaly. Anxiously perceptive almost to the point of paranoia, Khalid was determined to miss nothing until he at least reached Building 2. If so much as a puff of smoke began to waft from any of one-hundred-and-twenty-degree corners around here, he would be keenly aware. Nobody who hailed from his vaunted lineage would be caught dead meddling with time, but every rule had its exceptions. Sometimes, the things that lurked out there just got hungry, and in Umbra Rose Condos, the veils could be perilously thin.
Third, Khalid ruminated on what to say and do when he reached the front desk. Every social interaction was, after all, a puzzle to be solved. With sufficient understanding of the pieces involved, one could choose the right series of dialog options to arrive at the desired result. Of course, the fact that the receptionist was a Gorgon would complicate these things. As he walked along, the thin man considered whether or not to use his hand mirror in the upcoming encounter. Avoiding petrification was exactly what it was for, and it would be a waste to not make good use of his preparations for their intended purpose. On the other hand, it would definitely come off as rude. Spotlighting someone’s problems like that tended to be condescending if not outright insulting, even if the person had the sense to be self-aware about them. Miss Lasthena’s glasses ostensibly rendered measures like Khalid’s mirror unnecessary, but he knew as well as anyone that she could simply remove them if she wanted to. Then again, he could -theoretically- do any number of things himself. It was all part of the social contract, and at the end of the day, all anyone could do was hope that everyone else abided by the rules.
Some had to hope more than others, though.
In general, Khalid found it difficult to trust monsters. Human-adjacent monsters, anyway. Just as the frog could trust the scorpion to sting, he could trust the Mi-go to whisper in the dark, and Dark Young to devour sacrifices. But modern monsters, whose ancestral species had adapted to the shifting balance of power by becoming more human themselves, presented a conundrum. Many presented themselves as poor, sympathetic sufferers, dealt a bad hand from birth by fate itself and forced into hiding by cruel humans. As soon as a good enough reason arose, however, they’d abandon their pretenses and pounce. Going ape was simply too great a temptation to pass up. Many humans lived in much the same way, Khalid knew. Living their lives waiting for the right excuse to do what they really wanted without repercussion. For monsters, though, their inherent power -and the resentful pride of a powerful sufferer- made it a bigger issue. They were like addicts who could never get clean, and monstrosity was their addiction. For being like that, dangerous outbursts were never their fault; it was just who they were. And that was the problem.
While traveling through Building 2, Khalid passed by a row of windows that admitted warm daylight from the complex’s centermost courtyard. Naturally, the eruditionist peered through the glass, and when he did he finally caught an overdue glimpse of several inhuman tenants. Of the two, the more eye-catching was a centaur girl that he’d seen before–Miss Chiron. Pleasant and upbeat, she was someone even an apprehensive critic like Khalid could find no fault with. After all, she was the sort of demihuman who only differed from the average person physically, with no inherent risks. If she revealed herself, the public would probably adore her–and if the rumors he’d been hearing about her streaming held water, many people already did. Of course, the same sorts of governments that went and euthanized people’s pet squirrels probably wouldn’t stand for that, but still.
Eilidh wasn’t alone, though, and Khalid’s gaze lingered a moment longer on her companion. It was Mr. Dreary, the Mothman. The thin man made it a point to learn (and document) all the names he could, so that he could address anyone with the same distant politeness if the situation arose, and Dreary was both unfortunately and aptly named. In the morning sunshine and well-tended verdure the gangly, fuzzy, monochromatic cryptid stuck out like a sore thumb, and judging by his blindfold he wasn’t exactly meant to be here, either. Still, maybe even nocturnals needed a little sunshine now and then. Khalid’s own dealings with Alphonse had been very limited on account of their mutual reclusiveness, but the shy Mothman seemed nice enough, and not any kind of threat. If Shoggoth Therapy took off, Khalid wouldn’t mind talking to him. Eilidh probably wouldn’t need it, but who knew. Even if she wasn’t the sort who buried pain beneath a happy smile, streaming could get pretty stressful, and Khalid didn’t plan to turn anyone away.
Eventually, the would-be writer reached Reception. To his displeasure, he found it empty, with Ms. Lasthena absent from her desk. A quick glance at the printer confirmed that she hadn’t received and acted upon his email before leaving, either. Well, no matter. He could wait. Khalid headed over to one of the parlor’s couches and seated himself facing the front doors, his back to the desk. After making himself comfortable, and checking on the Shoggoth, he sat there pondering. Both his writing dilemma and his planned solution to it gave him a lot to think about, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t have him stressed, but maintaining his composure in the face of danger was a talent of his.
As Khalid ruminated, his eyes remained on the front doors ahead of him, and not just out of apprehension for any incoming monsters. Though unassuming at first glance, this tidy double-doorway was a portal between two very different worlds, and he could still remember the first day he entered through them. It had been quite the task getting through the magic that protected this place from humans, and though he’d gotten more proficient at it during his comings and goings since then, it was never easy. Powerful illusions veiled this place, making sure that passers-by only saw what they wanted and expected to see, ordinary enough to not arouse curiosity and undesirable enough to not arouse interest. That wasn’t the extent of it, though; it was the effect on the human mind that truly safeguarded Umbra Rose Condos. Second thoughts, prior obligations, discomfort and aversion–all rose to the forefront the minute one drew close. Like being put in a microwave, one couldn’t explain what was happening, but one instinctively knew to get out.
Khalid was grateful for that now, though. The very fact that this place repelled humans gave him the plausible deniability he desperately needed. If another tenant saw him, even though he looked human, they couldn’t just assume that he was. On one hand, there were plenty of residents that looked pretty human, and on the other, the presence of one here jeopardized the safety that everyone expected from Umbra Rose Condos. To them, he was a Shoggoth, a rare and poorly-understood horror, and if anyone needed a reminder he would gladly tell them. Those two factors allowed him to weave the Shoggoth into whatever he needed it to be, such as a perfect shapeshifter who could flawlessly imitate the human form, even though that was a far cry from the truth. This was what allowed Khalid to hang out in Reception so brazenly, his refuge in audacity.
Even so, he could not extinguish the fear that gnawed at him like so many insects. The sooner Miss Lasthena got back, the better.
