[table][row][cell][color=Gainsboro] 
[hr][h2][color=#0080ff]Vinnie / Vĩnh[/color][/h2][hr]
[color=ff3838][sub][b]History[/b][/sub][/color]
[justify]Across the cosmos, many children receive names expressing their parents’ wishes for them. Looking past the fetid waters of the Cấm river to imagine the stars beyond the smog and light-polluted skies of Hải Phòng, Nở Vĩnh’s name expresses her parents’ dream—one shared by much of mankind—that their child might [i]blossom forever[/i]. Unfortunately, like many other humans, this dream was smothered in the cradle. Though it was hoped that she would be one of several, the spectre of sickness haunting the Earth kept her an only child—one ever lucky to live at all. She and her loved ones have always been keen to celebrate this victory alone, no doubt, but like billions of others on Earth, these little fortunes are quickly spent. 

Vĩnh’s earliest memories are of pain. She was diagnosed with juvenile idiopathic arthritis before she could walk. Her family never had much. After forming a basic treatment plan with doctors, there was nothing left. From then on, it was just about managing, filling in the gaps with hope, and trying their best to take the next step. The physical pain dulled over the years as loneliness took the stage. Running and playing was an option for few children in the city. Video games were expensive, and it hurt to play them for long. Vĩnh’s parents were rarely both at home, and she spent many nights with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins when both parents’ work schedules overlapped. Though she helped where she could, ever eager to avoid feeling idle and like a burden, Vĩnh was often set to the sidelines as the needs of daily life overran her. Her primary companion became an ageing tablet handed down to her for her schoolwork. Through it, she found a lifelong love.

For Vĩnh, reading became a path to freedom. Through every struggle, she has still found ways to learn. Even as her eyes deteriorated and she went blind in her teens, she embraced screen readers and learned braille to keep up with this love. This stubborn dedication to what she could not lose pointed her in the direction of one the few opportunities the stagnant Earth still offered: higher education. She had one shot, and she pursued it with all her might. Herschel University extended a scholarship—a lifeline—and Vĩnh seized it without hesitation.[/justify][/color][/cell][cell][sub][sup][color=2e2c2c]____________________________________________________________[/color][/sup][/sub][hr][color=Gainsboro][h3]◤  [sub]“Có công mài sắt có ngày nên kim. Diligence makes iron become needles.”[/sub][/h3][/color]
[img]https://i.pinimg.com/736x/0e/f9/ef/0ef9ef5906d7c4b86cb446b86ce56be9.jpg[/img]
[hr][color=ff3838][b]Full Name:[/b][/color] Nguyễn Nở Vĩnh
[color=ff3838][b]Age:[/b][/color] 31
[color=ff3838][b]Homeworld:[/b][/color] Earth
[color=ff3838][b]Occupation:[/b][/color] Steward
[color=ff3838][b]Affiliation:[/b][/color] Yingke-Dentons Law Firm (Formerly)
[hr][/cell][/row][/table][table][row][cell][color=Gainsboro][justify]On Mars, Vĩnh enjoyed an unfamiliar freedom, not only from university accessibility measures enabling her to live independently for the first time in her life, but also for how the world’s lower gravity enabled her to walk with less pain than before. She studied, enrolled in work-study programs, tutored, and spent countless sleepless nights dreaming of a better life to come—a better life just in reach. She scrimped, saved, pawned, and wheedled at every turn. By her second year, she had enough to put down a deposit on the first of many life-changing augmentations. Student insurance called it a vanity expense. Advisors gave sympathetic nods to Vĩnh’s analyses of the costs and benefits, both objective and subjective, but could offer nothing. To regain her sight, Vĩnh turned to her most reliable friend: research. She found her recourse on Europa, and left the very next break to receive her new eyes. They weren’t the cheapest, but they were close. She awoke from surgery with a repayment plan and black lenses where her eyes once sat. But she could see the world again. And she longed to be able to reach out and experience it all the more.

Further invigorated, she set to work the moment she returned to Mars. She researched with new purpose, and pushed herself harder than she ever had before. She took on retail and restaurants—any place that was willing to look past her strange eyes and faltering smile. As weeks turned to months, her world became a web of abstract numbers. Food was an expense to be minimized in favor of painkillers for performance optimization. Leisure was a commodity to be rationed on an availability basis. Sleep was to be calculated, with work and school taking priority every time. At least the sleep-deprivation migraines sometimes dulled the joint pain. Her college years melted into a hazy blur of grades and profits. In a blink, she had graduated and returned home to prepare for standardized admission tests to law school. 

Back on Earth, she returned to her roots of learning by listening, studying as she worked a revolving door of minimum wage shifts. Though her ambitious schedule endured at first, her joints soon began to buckle under the higher gravity. By the end of her stay on Earth, she was faced with the same ultimatum from her body: Scholarship or break trying. By the skin of her teeth, she made it. She begged and pleaded with admissions agents already familiar with her name and with faculty she’d already worked to impress alike. Soon, she was welcomed back to Mars, and promptly returned to work. 

By the end of her law degree, she was a shambling husk. She dragged herself across the finish line, and soon after resigned herself to an uncomfortable reality. She couldn’t make it. She had paid off her eyes only two years prior, and still, she could not afford to pay in full for new limbs. She could barely afford a deposit. Her degree was worthless without local certifications to practice. It was an open question whether she could even manage to train under a licensed lawyer and work another job at once. But she couldn’t bear it any longer. She scrounged up loans where she could and leveraged all she had left. Just as with her replacement eyes, her replacement limbs were made for functionality alone, blatantly artificial, yet still better than what she had before all the same. 

Vĩnh found an unexpected opportunity as she recovered from surgery. One of her recovery ward-mates directed her to look at positions on Callisto upon hearing of her background. Sure enough, there was an intense demand for lawyers willing to staff offices on the moon, and the export market made Federation training an asset. And so, from her hospital bed, Vĩnh began researching, applying, and preparing.

Callisto was supposed to be an opportunity second to none—a chance at a decent, stable life. Unfortunately, interest waits for none. As she prepared for local certification, it haunted her. As she apprenticed, it loomed behind her, growing larger by the day. Late fees accumulated. Creative shuffling of bills and meagre apprenticeship wages could only do so much to stop the bleeding. By the time she could begin practicing, her medical debt had grown unmanageable. Her student debt piled on top. A second job curbed the bleeding, for a time. Though some instances were exhausted hallucinations, real debt collectors did begin to back off. Maybe, just maybe, Vĩnh could dig her way out of this too.

If only her hardware could take it. She could do without pinkies. She managed with three functional fingers. When she got down to two, her insurance covered bottom-of-the-barrel replacement fingers, made with minimal sensory input and the cheapest materials legally available. But it all still cost her in copays. Vĩnh limped along for months more, scraping together payments and looking for solutions. None came. The walls began closing in, until there were no more reasonable sacrifices to make. Planned obsolescence took the new fingers one by one. Insurance denied her new requests. Vĩnh began grasping at straws. First to go were her medications. The inflammation returned with a passion. Vĩnh crossed her remaining fingers and hoped. She chipped away at her debt as hard as she could. She begged her company insurance provider to approve new arms, hands—even half-decent fingers for the new coverage year. At every turn, she was denied. She received the same garbage as in the year prior. She treated her hands with the utmost care. She minimized wear and followed every maintenance protocol to the letter.

By mid-year, she was back to four fingers across two hands. Left with no alternative, she turned to the black market. She had her left hand’s fingers salvaged to put on the right. In doing so, she broke her left hand beyond repair. The next time, she found another mechanic and salvaged her toes to the same end. She barely limped through the year. Cannibalizing her feet for parts placed new strains on her body—strains which were unsustainable, most of all without her medication. As her performance waned, she could lie to herself no more. There was blood in the water, and it was coming from her. It was surely only a matter of time before her superiors identified her decaying performance, if they hadn’t already nailed her on that. Her coworkers had already noted her toe-fingers and broken hand, after all. The clock was ticking.

All signs pointed towards extralegal measures. All she could do now was dig down. The black market was waiting with open arms. For the last time, she sold off everything she could, pawned the rest, and clawed out loans. She sent her parents a parting sum, then prepared to buy her way to a better life with the rest. This time, the service providers were simply honest about how little they cared about her. For a small fee of everything she had left, the good illegal merchants of Callisto found her sturdy new arms and legs, jailbroke and secured her cybernetics, defrauded her company insurance as much as they could manage, and sent her on her way with a far greater supply of her medication than strictly legal for a pharmacist to dispense. Vĩnh threw fake doctor’s notes and every other lie she could to her supervisors as she scrambled for her final escape. When she found it, she scheduled a resignation notice to send, and hoped they wouldn’t catch her. 

Now Vĩnh can only hope that a willingness to do her best and learn will get her far enough to send some money home to her parents.[/justify]

[color=ff3838][sub][b]Personality & Reputation[/b][/sub][/color][justify]At her best, Vĩnh is driven and relentlessly optimistic, always ready to face new hardships with positivity and her best foot forward. She prefers to look for the best in situations and in people, and has worked hard her entire life to keep her best foot forward. She is a passionate learner, both from reading and from word of mouth, and is just as happy to share what she herself has learned. Even in fields beyond her familiarity or ability, she will happily listen to an expert share the intricacies of their perspective and nod along. Few coworkers of hers have gone without her peeking curiously past their shoulder, eager to figure out what they might be up to, and all the more interested to have it explained. Similarly, this enduring interest in the novel has made her an excellent listener, ready to hear another’s problems and joys alike with a steady interest. However, chatty as she may be, Vĩnh does not as readily share as she listens. She is not intentionally private so much as she has little interest in her internal world. Those with the inclination to push will not find it difficult to get her to open up, but she will rarely initiate doing so.

As it stands, Vĩnh is scarcely at her best. Recent years still loom large, and her efforts to push the unpleasant down have seen middling success at best. Her smile holds, and a good chat always peps her up all the same, but, in the many moments of silence out in space, when she cannot gorge herself on knowledge and input, she wavers. Her expression maintains a pensive quality past the superficial placid smile. She had never imagined she’d end up here, as a thief, a fraudster, and an associate of criminals. Thirty years of taking the cards she was dealt and playing them as well as she could have only gotten her here. She grasps at straws in her idle moments, trying to imagine a way she could have done it all better—[i]been[/i] better. The impossible choices of life gnaw at her. A discussion of right and wrong, of just and unjust, of moral and immoral, sends her spiraling into paradox. A lifetime ago, she resolved to address cases as they came, to follow the law and simply try her best. Now, she debates herself aloud and tears herself apart by facing principle against reality. She tries her best aboard [i]The Dullahan[/i], but as she learns more about her crewmates, she grows only more unsettled. Her guilt hurts worse than any of her joints ever did, and yet there are so many people who seem excited to wield weapons against their fellow men. But if nobody got hurt, would it truly be so wrong to steal something back from the entities which poisoned her home and denied her when she needed them most? 

In her old life, she was not easily shaken. Not anymore.[/justify]

[color=ff3838][sub][b]Appearance[/b][/sub][/color]
[justify]Even with a little height boost from her cybernetic legs, Vĩnh is still shy of five feet, standing at 149cm. She has a somewhat stocky, if rather underfed build. As far as distinctive biological features go, Vĩnh has a smattering of little acne scars on her forehead and jawline, uses her hair to obscure the fact that the outer half of her right eyebrow is missing and scarred-over, and has a prominent chemical burn scar from around her left shoulder to her mid-waist. These distinctive features naturally pale in comparison to Vĩnh’s obvious cybernetics. Her eyes are entirely black, looking similar to the lens of a mobile phone camera. Her prosthetic arms attach to a port at the shoulder, while her legs attach at ports just above where the knee would be. Both are made of the same natural black of carbon fibre, without any remaining identifiable branding on them. In better economic straits, Vĩnh might prefer to do more for herself than cheap lotion for her scars and two-in-one shampoo-body wash for bathing, but vanity is a luxury. Looking “professional” is already an ask in this economy. Working as a privateer, even that is a waste anyway. Her limbs don’t need to feel heat or warmth, and clothing impedes their modularity functions anyway. Therefore, Vĩnh almost exclusively wears shorts with t-shirts, tank tops, and sports bras.[/justify]

[color=ff3838][sub][b]Strengths & Limitations[/b][/sub][/color]
[justify]Beyond strengths common to most cybernetic enhancements, Vĩnh’s biggest strengths are immaterial. From years of wandering the internet and databases learning about all manner of things, Vĩnh has become an excellent researcher. If the information exists and can be found by reasonable means, Vĩnh can most often track it down. Even better, so long as she understands what she’s reading, she can often figure out how to apply what she finds. Though she may lack the training, willingness to genuinely try can get one far—and Vĩnh has no shortage of will. She is nothing if not earnest. And for as far as this can take her as a layman, in areas around her adjacent field, she can prove truly formidable. She is intimately familiar with both Federation and Jovian law, and possesses a talent for penetrating bureaucracy. Though all of this education is usually irrelevant aboard a privateering vessel, Vĩnh’s years of double-dipping into minimum-wage work has granted her a more well-rounded base of knowledge from which to work. No problem she can readily address is left to fester aboard [i]The Dullahan[/i].

Well-rounded and driven as she is, Vĩnh is loath to decide that something cannot be done. By no means is she averse to help either; rather, she will readily enlist the help of others to try and force the issue, until she harms herself or others in doing so. Her stubborn insistence on doing more than her best has taken its toll on her—a toll her health could never afford to sustain in the first place. She has implicitly embraced a medical race to the bottom, as the years of pushing and skimping on vital medications accumulate on her remaining joints. She forces herself into coughing fits from effort. Her cheap ocular implants sometimes irritate her face and cause tears. She insists on pushing through any pain that she can bear without collapsing. Despite all of her cybernetics, she has a frail core; her joints show the damage of someone far older. Worse still, this inflexibility has begun to cause problems for her beyond the physical. She will not compromise with herself. The world’s complexity eats at her. Her aspirations of morality render her often sickened by the implications of her work. Her will to action and her wish to do right clash violently within, and no solution is yet in sight. It is only a matter of time before she paralyzes herself when she cannot afford to fight herself.[/justify]

[color=ff3838][sub][b]Miscellaneous[/b][/sub][/color]
[justify][list][*] Convictions / Records: Nothing official yet. Vĩnh has tried her best to avoid receiving any debt validation letters. 
[*] Cybernetics: Vĩnh possesses cybernetic replacements for her eyes and all of her limbs. Vĩnh’s implants are not hard-wired to her body, but rather attached via modular ports, in anticipation of a more successful life and the ability to afford better models. The models she has do their jobs, but lack many of the bells and whistles of pricier units. Her eyes are low-end lenses not unlike those in mobile phones, with similar features. Though blatantly artificial and worse than human eyes in both peripheral and distance vision, they do their job well enough, and still have a few of the perks of cybernetic eyes. They have limited functionality as cameras, able to capture both image and video, zoom, and rotate images. If removed from the socket, they can broadcast vision remotely via bluetooth. Inconveniently, as a result of various factors both in her body and innate to the lenses and ports, Vĩnh is prone to watery eyes. Compared to her eyes, her limbs are much better off. Fed up with her old limbs, Vĩnh dropped most of her remaining assets on a set of carbon-fibre limbs made for performance and durability. As with her eyes, she sacrificed appearance for function—there is no doubt as to what of her is synthetic. They possess few features not already present in biological limbs save for modularity. Above her wrists, ankles, and elbow, parts of her limb can be decoupled from those higher just as they can be decoupled from her body’s ports, and retain their functionality while detached via bluetooth. To minimize points of failure and limitations in repairability, Vĩnh has opted for mechanical locking mechanisms where possible, and manual activation of remote functionality wherever feasible. Turns out, custom modifications were always worth it in the end. 
[*] Vĩnh often snacks throughout the day rather than eating meals, when she remembers food exists at all.
[*] Vĩnh prefers to listen to podcasts and audiobooks while working, usually in Vietnamese or English as availability dictates.
[*] Vĩnh has become a casual transhumanist over the years, and keenly follows developments in replacing more of the body with mechanical counterparts. If given the opportunity to do so, she would strongly consider replacing her body piece-by-piece with machinery.
[/list][/justify][/color][/cell][/row][/table]
[hider=Impressions][hider=Captain MacLaine][i]It’s funny how people with different starts can find their way to the same path. I don’t think he dreamed of this life either. But we don’t always get to choose. I’m glad we ended up backed into the same corner at the same time. I get the idea most other captains in this business would not want to hire me. Why would they? I think everyone can tell both of us are new to crime. He treats this like a normal business. Maybe it’s naive, but I’m happy he does. It makes this all feel more normal—like I’m an employee, not a criminal. If his way of doing this business lasts, I will be happy to keep pretending too. I’ll go to every meeting and enjoy the boring familiarity. As far as executives go, he’s nice enough. In close quarters, he seems like he will remain bearable. My biggest worry is that his ambition will remain too. This initial strategy is more comfortable than profitable. Criminals make money from crime. The less crime we do, the less money we make. He wants to succeed, not just survive, so we’ll probably end up doing worse things in the future. He’s a normal executive after all, isn’t he? If he keeps behaving like this job is normal, he will pursue that profit. I have to hope that this attitude of “this business is a business like any other” will at least help me adjust to it as things develop in that way.
[/i][/hider]
[hider=Desna][i]There’s something about her that feels as familiar as she does foreign. Venus is an awful place, isn’t it? And it has been awful to so many people. When I was a little girl, I was always scared that I’d be like her. My oldest family are like her. She hurts everywhere. You can see it. In her soul and in her bones. All I think she has is alcohol and smokes; no more dreams, no more family. But you know, I can hear very well. She is more than that—I know that, yes—but she is not only hurting. I’ve heard her humming before. I don’t know most of the songs, but sometimes I can turn off my headphones and listen. I hear a home that is different to mine, but not so different. She looks like my ông ngoại from some angles. Just like her, just like me, we were all scared little girls once, right? I can’t look at her sometimes. It’s not her fault, really. But…I can’t stand it. When I look at her, I think about home and about everyone still there. I want to send more money home than I am. I want to come home and bring it myself. I’ve missed so many funerals. I never even got to say goodbye to my các cụ, or to my ông ngoại, or even bác Sáng. Many of my cousins are trying to leave Earth too. The ones who have succeeded, I barely get to talk to except through email. I wonder if we’ll ever manage a family reunion…

…So when I look at Desna, I see questions. I wonder if she asks it too. Is our future only to become dust, scattered across the void without regard? Are the little things worth it still when we are deprived of things more special to us? I remember everyone I’ve lost to get here, and need to think if anything is worth it.
[/i][/hider]
[hider=Gravel][i]It’s obvious Mr. Gravel has a long career in crime. I wonder if he ever did anything before it. Still, if that man ever existed, he’s probably long-dead. I don’t want to learn from him. I really wish it wasn’t possible that I would need to. But I don’t think crime lets many incompetent people get to even his age, so he must know something. He talks like he does, anyway. He’s just so negative. Maybe it’s the style in his community, but I don’t like the attitude he has. The world has been unkind to many of us, hasn’t it? Do you have to show everyone every scar in this business? Do you have to walk as if you are bragging about how much pain you’ve felt and survived? And do you have to drink so much about it? My father, my uncles, my grandfathers, and my cousins—all of these men have lived hard lives, yet they do not wield it at the rest of us like a weapon. I want to be more positive about him—I really do. He brings skill and experience. It’s just that he seems like the kind of person who might decide not to share it out of spite.[/i][/hider]
[hider=Jack][i]I want to like Jack. He’s very friendly, very positive. It’s just—he makes me nervous. Maybe it’s an outer space thing, but he seems unstable. I guess he’s experienced in his field for his age. Otherwise, why hire him? He walks like a crazy person. He looks and acts very messy, like he doesn’t know or care about how he comes off. I would not trust him if it weren’t for his results. He really seems like he’s still just a kid sometimes. He’s so full of energy and excitement for doing dangerous things. And he does these dangerous things like he’s not at all worried. He knows, right? He has damage to his fingers and ears. He must have experienced the dangers of space. But he laughs about it all even when he’s doing it! Maybe it’s his way of dealing with it all? We’re probably just very different people. Hopefully I’ll warm up to him more as we work together, and his positivity about this all might spread to me too. I don’t think it will, but I hope I can at least one day understand what he means by his jokes. But it seems he avoids me; perhaps he needs to warm up to me too?[/i][/hider]
[hider=Keema][i]When I first met her, I thought she was a hardened criminal just like Mr. Gravel. I know she’s experienced in this field, but it doesn’t always feel like it. She isn’t so grim like Mr. Gravel. She’s very friendly, in fact! In some ways, she reminds me of some people from back home. She’s not afraid to sit right next to anyone. She’s loud, in a nice way. She’s always so positive! And she smokes a lot. Hì, I sit by her, and if I closed my eyes, it’d kind of feel like I’m back in Hải Phòng with my old classmates! I guess she has bad days though. We all do, but hers are pretty bad. She must be on some kind of medication for something, because there are little periods where she becomes much worse than Mr. Gravel. 

I hope it’s managed well; I’d be scared to see what would happen if she ran out of whatever mood stabilizer that’s helping her. I like her, and I really don’t want ever to have to relearn to like her.[/i][/hider]
[hider=Mo][i]I was not sure what to think of Mo at first. He works for Mr. Gravel, just like Keema. I worried that his friendly face was just pretend. But just like Keema, I was surprised. He isn’t as bouncy as her, but he’s very nice, no doubt. I’m glad I did not worry about him so much; there’s nothing to worry about at all! I think we actually have a lot in common. We’re both from Earth. We both did our best with what we had in life. And then it didn’t work even though we did our best. Now we’re both here. I don’t want to think of him as a criminal either, even if he is. We’re both criminals now. It’s a shame, really. Maybe I’m misjudging him, and he works for Mr. Gravel out of passion for crime. But I want to believe he’s a good, kind man like I have seen so far. I never want to resent his laugh.
[/i][/hider]
[hider=Mr. Montalban][i]I know he’s supposed to keep us safe. I know he’s just a human, just like the rest of us. But he terrifies me. I don’t want to be near him. I don’t want to be asleep around him. I know he’s good at his job; he’s born to be good at his job. But he’s a soldier, right? He’s a Centaurian soldier. Those guys are made to kill people like us. What if he turns on us? What if he’s truly as scared of us as we are of him? These soldiers—they’re made and taught to kill and to hate us. I know we hear propaganda, not the truth. But the makers of these super-soldiers made them in the first place. They made people with the purpose to be soldiers in their armies and nothing more. Can we be sure they have any concern for ethics? Can we be sure they have left their soldiers with any ability to have empathy and feeling for foreigners at all? But Mr. Montalban is here, isn’t he? Could he have made it here if he was just a monster made to fight?

I know he’s just a man. I know I am feeling what our own rulers want us to feel. I just wonder if there is truth to the feeling. I worry there might be. He is scarier than soldiers back home. He is bigger than most of them too. He looks like he has seen so much. He looks prepared to see more. I will try to avoid his attention. I don’t want him to think of me or even look at me. I think he could kill me with his eyes.[/i][/hider]
[hider=Rol][i]I’m happy to have another normal person as a colleague. He works very hard. He cares for his family. He tries to smile as he does this. He doesn’t talk that much, but he’s definitely a nice man. I like to visit him and have a little snack as a break sometimes. Even if we don’t talk much, I enjoy the feeling of normalcy we can share. It’s like we’re both working a normal job and are normal people who are just doing their best. I guess we are, in a way. I’d like to try his kombucha with him some time, but I need to wait until we’re in a port with real doctors. I don’t want to risk it until then, but if all goes well that first time, it could be a good bonding experience. I’d love to ask him about his process; he must experiment with it if he makes it so regularly. He’s a good cook too, so I’m sure it will be good.[/i][/hider]
[hider=Sara][i]I wonder if I judge Mr. Montalban too harshly. Sara is a soldier too—one of our soldiers—but she is still like a robot, even if she is friendlier than him. I’ve heard some of what we do to make our soldiers and our pilots. I wonder if they even feel like they’re the same person still on the other side of it. So, I don’t know what to make of her when I speak to her. I have no issue with her. She’s clean, she’s professional, and I think she is a good pilot, at least as far as I can tell. But beyond that, I don’t know. She and Mr. Montalban—they both breathe in this perfect pattern. I can’t explain it. It’s like their lungs are trained too. Who am I to talk about humanity? I’ve had to replace a lot of parts. But I don’t think I’ve ever been reprogrammed in the way the military does. I do my best, but I’m messy and weird. Sara is not messy. She is not weird. She is just…plain? She does not give much and does not take much. You just get this little friendly smile and normal, inoffensive conversation from her. Like she isn’t even thinking about it really. 
[/i][/hider]
[hider=Mr. Temirkhan][i]He must be good at his job; why else would anyone hire him? He acts like he hates everyone. I try to make conversation; he refuses to talk. He runs away from team-building activities. He looks at our boss like he’s his enemy. Actually, I think he looks at everyone like that. I don’t like this man. He walks like he has nothing to live for, yet he continues to walk for some reason? Does he like anything? I don’t think so. Then, I’ll give up and leave him alone. I guess he wants it this way.[/i][/hider]
[hider=Dr. Treschow][i]Dr. Treschow is an odd man. I guess his kind of work appeals to and makes odd people. Talking with him is always interesting; I always learn something new! But he is very odd, as I said, in how he talks about his work. He talks about people like people are toys he’s playing with. Even if I’m happy to talk to him, I don’t know if I would trust him to do surgery on me, anyway. A patient is a person, not a doll. I wouldn’t want to worry if I’m disposable to him, like how many people treat toys.[/i][/hider][/hider]