The lobby isn't bustling but it's a little bit active, in the way to make a Hotel loked lived-in and used, a community place, rather than a necessary somewhere on the way from A to B. Kedan moving from one room to another; a young man watching some kedanese children at the chairs in one corner; someone using the consoles in another.

Presiding over it at the desk was Anton, very tall and proper, but dressed like a funeral-director, if an old-fashioned one; waistcoat, tie, shoes, braided hair long down his back.

He had an edge of tension, uncharacteristic to him but perceivable to someone observant. It didn't stop him from working calmly and steadily, though River, if she gets close enough, that his numbers come from his pen more easily than words, and that in rare cases words are consistently spelled half-phonetically. (It's also notable that the ledger is a mishmash of alphabets.)

Anton doesn't look up at first, intent on finishing his sentence now that he's halfway through, but he attends to that with a focus his gaze still holds when he glances up to see who's come in.

[ooc: I am a-okay with anything River reads from either of my guys.]