He was ranting, spittle flying from his mouth, eyes wild. Many stopped to ask if he was all right, but that only seemed to aggravate him further, initiating sweeping hand gestures and loud, maniacal laughter. As Troy (at the front desk) called Security, the man began to move in a circle and then rush here and there across the lobby, pointing, sobbing, and screaming if anyone drew near. Zoe, pushing the mail cart, pulled her earbuds out and shuddered. "Damn," she whispered and made a beeline for the entryway. There, she took him in and shook her head, filled with compassion. "Ia! Ia!" Zoe intoned, stepping forward, and the man froze. "Cthulhu fhtagn!" she continued and he seemed to relax, leaning forward and swaying slightly. "Noc ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!" Zoe added, moving carefully towards the man, careful not to disturb the circle boundary he'd drawn with the mud on his shoes. "We do NOT summon Cthulhu from his sleep of dread," she translated over her shoulder to Troy (who sat, stunned). "It's okay; I'm pretty fluent in madness gibberish / crazy cultist. Long story." Troy just stared (as did the others) and simply let their phones record.