"To the Inquisitio —"

Startled, Alan claps a hand over the fluttering book, fumbles to try and pin it in place. Stay,

It’s. Not exactly working. He thumps at it a few times, like he’s attempting to subdue some furious flapping bird, expression shot briefly into — well, anything at all, but now mostly curiousity.

"Tualidetal," He echoes precisely, still battering the poor book against his chest, feet shuffling against their pull across the floor. "I'm Alan,"

That's clearly what they've just exchanged here: Introductions.