Shawn
"Ooh, look—" Tom started to say, but a man stopped him by pulling on his elbow. Tom looked behind him to see a short, fidgety man with the worst comb-over he had ever seen.
"Excuse me," the man said, his face breaking into a smile that would have looked more natural on a rattlesnake. "Is your name, er, Thomas Noland?"
Tom didn't know what he'd expected the man to say, but his mouth dropped open and his heart started thumping.
"Um," he said, looking over at his friends to see if they'd heard. By the stunned looks on their faces, he figured they had. He turned back to the man.
"Yeah, I'm Tom. I mean, Thomas."
"That's great, really great," the man said, sounding more relieved than happy.
"Someone named, um, Machina asked me to find you and offer you rooms in my hotel, The Stroke of Comfort Inn. My name is Shawn, and I'm happy to accommodate you." Then he bowed. He actually bowed.