[once her voice is reduced to a muffled note among the increasingly crowded floor, he drops their practiced grin, eyes darting around and taking their surroundings in: white and grey walls, a desaturated abstract painting, a chair for visitors... They hate the memories this stupid room brings back but it has to move swiftly now.
Neoptolemus tries to swallow panic back but he can't stop the tremble in their hands. With some effort, it manages to get out of bed and quietly shuffle to the door. Posture hunched over both to be stealth and because he's not so sure they can actually stand up straight. He peeks through the open crack to find nurses and doctors bustling through the halls, patients sparse among them, round up in their own rooms, most of them waiting. He turns back to the room they're in-- no, nothing in here will help him leave. He straghtens out as best they can, groaning at the aches pervading them, and slips into the hall.
It's loud, his head is throbbing, are hospitals supposed to be this bright? Is he dehydrated?
They look nearly undead, red veins stark against sickly pale skin, bleached hair sticking to its clammy face. Passers by give perturbed glances but no one stops him from stumbling into the waiting room. The receptionist takes notice and calls after them, "sir! Sir, you can't just walk out, sir!" They spare a glance at them and hobble faster towards the doors, and barely trip out of them.
It sees security behind them and manages to (almost) run straight into the bushes. Somehow he hides well enough there that they retreat before too long. Once he guesses the coast is clear enough they stumble off into the evening, hoping to find an actual place to rest ...or maybe a cab. Just something]
