Nathan enters through the same door John had used, but he doesn't try to be quiet. In the shape he's in, he's not sure he could be anyway. Left arm in a sling, right hand clenched tightly around the top of a cane, he hobbles through to the front, keeping an eye out for Scott. He really needs to talk to Scott. Should have last night. Would have if it hadn't been for...
He may not be quiet, but the club is, and the sound of the match striking rings loud in his ears. Carefully turning his head toward the sound, he blinks blearily as he spies John leaning against the wall and swallows hard, wincing at the irritation to his bruised throat. "Scott. Where's Scott? Need to talk to him." His voice is low and raspy, it hurts to talk, but he's got a message to pass on and by damn he's gonna do it.