A cab deposited Iris on the sidewalk outside of Bellum Letale, and possessed of nothing but a change of clothes, she let the cab lurch away behind her as she stared up at the building. It was a little like coming home, and the concept did not endear her to the place. Iris generally tried to avoid things like homes and familiar faces, and though the skin graft had taken and no infection had decided to rob her of the marred limb, she still had the sling and the wan complexion that meant she couldn't avoid either. At least she had pushed and pulled until the outpatient status was a reality. One more day in that hospital and she almost felt as if they might have to strap her to the bed to keep her there.
Hospital gift bag (with the change of clothes) dangling from her good hand, Iris maneuvered through the revolving door and let out a long sigh as it spat her back out into the lobby. Amazing how it held up under the assault of so much hell. She didn't remember ending up here after France, but that's what Micah had told her. She looked around for some sign, some mark of chaos, but found none. Iris leaned on one of the couches to eye the stairs and debate risking the elevator. The gray eyes were still sharp through the fatigue, and they flashed up at the trace of movement on the stairway. She looked at the man without recognition, just a polite curiosity.