After this long in the library, Mayland Long has become somewhat attuned to the flutters of movement of the Extras, as one might take hints from a flock of pigeons that dwells upon one's roof.

He glances up when noting the first hints of movement in his peripheral vision; studies the pale man striding forward with curious interest.

"Good afternoon," he calls out when the man is within speaking range. "May I help you?"