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OOC: I just have one problem with what you said, Munch Master. The intern told Dek?
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OOC:Well, I meant to day he took a note, but saying he said it flowed better. And technically he could say it, as they are surgically prevented from whistling while they work, not speaking.
Oh and here is Dek the Vykker's bio:
Name: Dek
Age: 28
Species: Vykker
Occupation: Chief Medical Operator and Product Creation supervisor at the ground-based Vykkers' Labs #134
Likes: Treating patients to ‘improve’ them
Dislikes: Failure, people who won’t agree with him.
Appearance: He is a basic Vykker, but wears spectacles at times and can sometimes be seen in a white lab coat or a suit.
Items: Surgical tools, sometimes a snuzi.
Backstory: Dek was originally a low-class Vykker at the Labs he worked for but he was ambitious. He disagreed with the ways the head surgeons worked, and aspired to run the palce himself. He undertook experiments without authorization in his quarter, and when discovered, was praised instead of punished, for his inventions were cost-effective and addictive, from his special cigar that was made of fuzzle skin and Gabbit liver and was addictive but cheap due to its components, to his electric pads, designed to send elctric shocks to the nervous system as both a torture device and a masochist's equivalent of nicotine patches. Dek had it made, and rose through the ranks fast, becoming Chief Medical Operator and Inventions superviosr at the labs.
IC:
Arthur watched as Sefon went off. "Should I bring Scrubby, cause leaving him here in the corridor will do him no good." Arthur called after Sefon. He began lifting the hurt Scruben carefully, to take him to the special barracks.
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Dek sat in his Pod and launched it. While he was sitting there, adjusting the controls accordingly and checking his tools, he began to get irritated. "Honestly, of all the days I could get called out, it would be when I'm instructing the new scientists how to perform an autopsy on a living Scrab." Dek thought to himself. "This is going to leave me with a large amount of paperwork and surgical debts. All because of one miniscule-brained little Slig with a slight eye problem." Dek took a deep breath. "OK, calm down, have a Chill Pill." He thought, and he snatched one from his medical box and crammed it into his mouth. "There, that's better. And not too long until I reach the Farms now." He thought, checking the onboard radar to make sure he was in the right direction.