Roland doesn't come to the clinic, exactly. He's trying to sneak around it. But there's not too much sneaking that can be done in a building like this, all light and open spaces. The whole structure seems designed to make anyone who walks through feel like they're meant to be seen.
If there was a crowd he'd try to melt into the edges of it to pass the clinic by, but there's not one, and he isn't going to wait. The room he's been given may not really be his, but it's got blankets, and right now that's all he actually wants. Aside from some friendly company, anyway, but all of that is trapped in some mysterious elsewhere fighting for their lives. Without him. In lack of that, a little bit of warmth will have to do.
He also wants this cough to stay away until he's past, to not draw any attention to him, but you can't have everything. Clearly. Shit, he thinks, leaning against the wall as the noise forces itself out of his throat. Haven't I done enough of this for one lifetime? He turns his right arm over, automatically checking the skin above the stubs where his first two fingers used to be, but there're no red lines there - that particular illness is long past, and would mark an infection anyway, rather than some ridiculous annoyance he picked up in the gutters of this city somewhere.
It's tempting, nonetheless, to approach the clinic himself on the off chance they've got the astin that other world had. But he's not bad enough off to need such marvels, especially not if he's got to take them from his gaolers and trust that what he's being given is no more than what the Capitol's citizens will tell him. After this cough is done, he'll move off. Just another moment.
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If there was a crowd he'd try to melt into the edges of it to pass the clinic by, but there's not one, and he isn't going to wait. The room he's been given may not really be his, but it's got blankets, and right now that's all he actually wants. Aside from some friendly company, anyway, but all of that is trapped in some mysterious elsewhere fighting for their lives. Without him. In lack of that, a little bit of warmth will have to do.
He also wants this cough to stay away until he's past, to not draw any attention to him, but you can't have everything. Clearly. Shit, he thinks, leaning against the wall as the noise forces itself out of his throat. Haven't I done enough of this for one lifetime? He turns his right arm over, automatically checking the skin above the stubs where his first two fingers used to be, but there're no red lines there - that particular illness is long past, and would mark an infection anyway, rather than some ridiculous annoyance he picked up in the gutters of this city somewhere.
It's tempting, nonetheless, to approach the clinic himself on the off chance they've got the astin that other world had. But he's not bad enough off to need such marvels, especially not if he's got to take them from his gaolers and trust that what he's being given is no more than what the Capitol's citizens will tell him. After this cough is done, he'll move off. Just another moment.