For a long, frozen moment, Leo stood in the doorway, his mind utterly blank. His brain, conditioned by a lifetime of predictable, corporate reality, was failing to process the scene before him. A weeping goblin who looked like he'd been mugged by his own tailor, a soot-stained dryad, a terrified scholar, a hulking beast-man with a broken horn… It wasn't a queue. It was the punchline to a joke he had never heard.
His first thought was not of magic or danger, but of pure, unadulterated logistics. Fire code, his mind screamed. What's the maximum occupancy of an interdimensional inn? Do I have insurance for this? What are the legal ramifications of harboring a potentially endangered dryad? Do goblin merchants require special tax forms? He was a landlord facing a sudden, overwhelming surge of unqualified applicants, and his professional instincts were screaming in panic.
The crowd in the mists, sensing a flicker of opportunity in the open door, began to press forward, their desperate murmurs rising in volume.
"Please, sir!" "Just a corner to rest in!" "I can pay!"
The chaos threatened to spill into his lobby. Before he could be overrun, something inside him snapped. The panic receded, replaced by a cold, familiar authority. He was the manager. This was his property. And this was a disorderly open house that was about to be brought under control.
He took a single, deliberate step forward, planting himself firmly on the threshold. He held up a hand, a simple gesture, but one that carried the full, absolute weight of his domain. A ripple of silent power washed over the crowd, and they fell quiet, their hopeful, desperate eyes fixed on him.
Lyra and Silas, sensing the shift in his demeanor, moved to flank him without a word. Lyra stood tall and silent, her hand resting on her sword, her stoic presence a wall of cold steel. Silas leaned against the opposite doorframe, his arms crossed, a lazy, predatory smile on his face that was anything but welcoming. They weren't just tenants anymore. They were security.
"Attention, everyone," Leo said, his voice calm, clear, and carrying easily over the crowd. It was his 'closing the deal' voice, the one that left no room for argument. "I understand you are all seeking sanctuary. However, the Threshold Inn is a private establishment with limited space and resources. We are not a public shelter."
A wave of disappointed murmurs went through the queue.
"We will," he continued, cutting them off, "be conducting brief, individual interviews to assess suitability. Please form an orderly, single-file line. Not everyone who applies will be accepted. We appreciate your cooperation."
The corporate jargon was so alien, so utterly out of place, that it stunned the fantastical crowd into submission. They looked at each other, confused, but then began to shuffle into a semblance of a line.
The weeping goblin, whose name was Yarbin, was first. He groveled, holding up his single, grimy gold coin. "It's all I have left! But it's pure dwarven gold! Please!"
Leo looked down at the coin, then at the goblin. "I don't need your money, Yarbin," he said calmly. "My tenants pay in 'Value.' Tell me about your skills. What can you contribute to this community?"
Yarbin blinked, completely thrown. "My… skills?" he stammered. "I-I was a merchant prince! I managed a fleet of five hundred ships! I can calculate shipping tariffs in my sleep, I can manage logistics for a whole city, I am a master of inventory, accounting, and resource allocation!"
Leo's eyes lit up. He had a growing, chaotic household and absolutely no idea how to manage it. This wasn't a refugee. This was a Chief Financial Officer. "You'll be on a probationary lease," Leo said decisively. "Report to the bar. Silas will get you settled. Next!"
Next was a hulking demon wreathed in faint embers, his skin the color of cooling lava. He radiated power and offered his services as a warrior, promising to defend the Inn with his life.
Leo gave him a polite, professional smile. "Thank you for your application. Your portfolio of 'raw destructive power' is certainly very impressive. However, after reviewing our current environmental policies, we've determined that your ambient thermal output would constitute a significant fire hazard and place an undue strain on the Inn's atmospheric regulators." He gave a small, apologetic shrug. "I'm afraid we can't accommodate you at this time. We'll keep your information on file should a position requiring large-scale incineration open up."
The demon lord stared, his molten brain trying to process the bureaucratic rejection, before shuffling away in a state of profound confusion.
A translucent, weeping ghost floated forward next, wailing about her tragic, untimely demise.
"My deepest condolences for your… situation," Leo said with genuine sympathy. "However, our current lease agreements do not have clauses covering metaphysical damages or ectoplasmic residue. Furthermore, rent collection from incorporeal tenants presents a logistical challenge we are not currently equipped to handle. We wish you the best in your future hauntings. Next!"
And so it went. He interviewed the dryad, Lia, and upon learning her presence would slowly enrich the soil and air of the Inn, he immediately accepted her, already planning a future greenhouse. He accepted the quiet scholar after the Grimoire mentally screamed at him that the books he carried were the only surviving copies of the Lost Histories of the First Age.
But for every one he accepted, he politely but firmly turned away three more. A vampire was rejected due to "dietary complications that would place a strain on the other residents." A nest of mischievous pixies was turned away for being "a high risk for minor property theft and general disorder." A man who claimed he could predict the future was rejected because, as Leo put it, "it would ruin the surprise."
Finally, the line was gone. The last rejected applicant, a man who could talk to squirrels, had been gently escorted back into the mists by Lyra. Leo stepped back inside and closed the heavy doors, the final, resounding thud sealing them in.
The lobby was no longer quiet. Yarbin the goblin was already at the bar, frantically sketching out inventory management plans on a piece of parchment. Lia the dryad was standing in the center of the room with her eyes closed, a faint, green aura making the wooden floorboards around her seem healthier and more vibrant. The scholar was nervously clutching his books, looking for a safe corner.
Leo stood there, watching the new, chaotic life that had filled his home. He was exhausted, his mind drained from the hours of rapid-fire assessments and bizarre negotiations. He had done it. He had managed the flood. But as he looked at the new faces, each with their own story, their own needs, and their own potential for trouble, a heavy sense of responsibility settled onto his shoulders.
He wasn't just a landlord anymore, collecting rent from a few high-value clients. He was a gatekeeper. He was a community leader. He was the sole arbiter of who was worthy of sanctuary.
This was so much more complicated than just running a business.