A long, low grumble left Gibney at the announcement that he still needed to be checked over. The two sides of his being were clashing again, the feral telling him that there was something bad going on with this person, the more human side telling him to stop being foolish, he was just a nice old doctor man, no reason to be so up at arms. He flashed Storm a big, sad puppy dog look as he was told to go get his physical, furry shoulders slumping all the more.
"A'right... A'right... fiiiiine..." he rumbled, sounding like a child told he had to go wash his hands. Maybe there'd be a pretty nurse working for the doctor? That would be nice, not likely but nice. "Jus' not in th' mornin'. I don' do mornin's. Sometimes." There were days when Kyle loved mornings and was up with the sun, the others? One would be hard pressed to drag him out of bed before noon without he aid of the scents of cooking meat. A morning appointment would be fine half the time and would be abandoned for a few more hours sawing logs on the others.
As if to further show his dissatisfaction with the decision, he stuck his prickly chin forward, resting it on the back of the chair with a low huff. Not the most mature behavior, but it surely got his pout across.