Darsby would have moved, spoken, and acted exactly as prescribed concerning aforementioned circumstance. He’d remain wordless as Anora spoke to him, shoving blame in his direction via panicked speech. 

    When Anora reached for Darsby, he’d have twisted about rather suddenly. His body now faces her after one clumsy spin of the heel. Her hand, regrettably, would grasp aimlessly at his chest, feeling at ridges of thin but noticeably tone muscle.
    Our man, unlike most, appears to ignore Anora’s touch entirely, one could think it’s to the point of him not feeling anything in the first place. His face was callous as ever during all action, mayhaps he looked to be furthered exhausted by some unknown strain. 

“Why is this all ‘my’ fault?-” Darsby would immediately say, exasperation plain as day by each syllable. His arms spread to the side in stressed gesticulation.
“-What? You meet a strange person and you just assume whatever other weird things happen are all because of them? That’s mean, you’re kind of being a jerk after hitting me with your car.” He scoffs, his head gyrating by last spoken sentence to drive the point home.  Darsby then turns away to walk towards the receptionist desk. 

Darsby stumbles towards his destination at a gradual pace, another oceanic cloud of grey consuming allotted space above him. Whilst strutting forward his right hand would unlock the cartridge holding all six revolver shells from it’s typical hinges, spinning the mechanism whilst sighing down towards it’s fully loaded visage. *Click!* The weapon is set back to normality, his stance following suite just before he seeks to lean on the nearby counter with his left elbow. His head turns back towards Anora, an air of understanding coming over him. Those eyes, in all their jaded exasperation, hold no malice for her whilst speaking.

“Look… I get it. This is all a little crazy, and, truth be told, it’s about to get [i]really[/i] crazy. I’m sorry, honestly, I’m..-” Darsby interrupts himself with a confused scoff, struggling to find proper words whilst his right hand runs with a tentative tremble through rose pink hair.
“This would be simpler if you weren’t already part of an ‘average’ society.-” His free hand gestures towards the uneased few near them, an odd sadness denoting painful memory robs his vacant gaze from present circumstance.
“But, now, you’re involved. You kind of always were, but, like… It’s gonna be hard from now on. I’m a crappy guy and-.. it’s just gonna kind of suck that you’re dealing with me.” He then steps away from the counter, looking away from Anora wherever she may by now. Darsby’s shoulders would spread to the edge of a bowed head as if he were trying to look solemn and heroic in a difficult situation. In truth, Darsby could do nothing to hide the fact that what he had just said made it too difficult to look this young woman in her ponderous eyes. Pain took hold for a few brief seconds before he’d revert to his previously witnessed states of sapped rage. 

    There was little time to debate what Darsby’s words meant. *Bang!-Bang!Bang!* Three bullets leave a now heated chamber some distance in the direction of where our male police officer had departed earlier. The badged woman near Anora would grip her firearm with one hand whilst her other would grab at the lapel mic near her chin.

“Rodgers!? Rodgers what happened!?” Static is the only response to this suddenly sharpened law-holder. Her hand switches from the mic to wave with an open palm towards everyone in the room. 
“I’m gonna need everyone to stay here and remain calm.” She says before removing the gun from it’s holster to pace the wide hallways leading towards whatever weapons discharge may have occurred. 

Darsby watches, openly unconcerned over whatever nameless threat may be rearing its head. Soon after said officer leaves, the man spits his cindered cigarette into open air. This cherried vessel combusts, small red sparks and a poof of smoke being left in its wake as the entirety of one swirling ocean above quickly fades from view as if it had never existed. All queer grey trails and scents dissipate from sensory perception.

“Uhm, s-sir?-” Our young receptionist looked to Darsby, blinking soundlessly for several seconds. They were at a lack for words over their present situation, let alone the fact that a random patient had silently appeared before them.
“-S-sir!” The nurse would shout between hurried breathes, Darsby having begun to walk towards the path taken by both police officers of earlier mention. 
“Shut up, stay seated.” Darsby would casually order, his left hand raised to point loaded firearm at the one attempting to halt him. Our injured man wouldn’t have looked away from the space before him or ceased his stride whilst doing this, entering the hall soon after. 

    Those within the room had gasped at sight of a weapon, shocked by the appearance of another dangerous element. Darsby cares little, letting loose a winded sigh as he stares down a corridor fifteen feet in length, ever-shortening before his slow gait. Several patients look from their rooms to gasp at one of two things, his openly visible buttcheeks, or the revolver at his side.