Melian hangs back by the entrance for a while, doing his best to stay unnoticed. He's not sure what he was expecting, something more peaceful or something more purposeful, but the reality is slightly overwhelming. He stands quietly, taking in the space: the semi-organized shelves and stacked cabinets, the oblique shafts of sunlight falling from the clerestory, the dusty-warm scent of old paper, old masonry, old electronics running quietly. All the expressions he can see are faintly harried, which makes him hesitant to interrupt anyone.
He makes a couple of unobtrusive circuits of the room; the inner doors are all closed or half-ajar, and he doesn't dare to meddle with them just yet. Finally he approaches what appears to be the main desk, or the nearest equivalent thereto, clearing his throat diffidently. "Uh, sorry to bother you--"