York is laughing hysterically, and Malcolm is a grinning lunatic (his boyfriend loves him, he loves his boyfriend, all is forgiven, they are happy--he wants this out of his fucking head); they must look like quite the pair. He lets the long-suffering receptionist (must be, because they barely bat an eye at them) that he's here about the bardo infection. And someone to look them both over for their cuts and other injuries.

It's only an emergency if one counts extreme violence in short, mindless bursts as an emergency. Thankfully he doesn't actually say this. Fewer words are better. The least amount, so as to not ruin anyone else's day too much. If his nails dig into the flesh of his palms any harder, he's going to have a few more nicks to deal with.