Sometimes, he's surprisingly quiet.
When he's not constantly spewing expletives at every passerby, be they human or troll (but never carapacian--the Mayor is too precious to yell at), you always find him in the commons. He sits on the couch in a particular way: one leg folded under him, the other dangling off the edge, not quite reaching the floor. A novel about as thick as your arm, the title different (and strangely lengthy) every time, rests in his lap. He never notices you when you first walk in.
Naturally, though, when you walk into a room, you expect everyone present to acknowledge you in some way or another. So you sprawl out on the