I couldn't do a whole lot for the introductions. I hope that's okay. Also, they can all fit inside the cabin.
The move to the cabin was rather quiet; he chatted briefly with Jantus while the troupe followed accordingly; his single green eye could see the skepticism in their faces and his tattered ears could hear their whispers and scorns. Why did it bother him? He was Phoenix Valley's leader, the pack's representative and nearly the pack's oldest member. In reality, the opinions of strangers -- their views on him, the thoughts they formed on seeing his scarred coat and hearing the few words he'd spoken -- meant nothing to him for he'd already been shaped and was no longer worth their manipulation. However, standing alone that day, he was Phoenix Valley personified as its representative, and their whisperings against him were thus put against his pack instead. That, all in all, was what brought a darkness to his eye, but Jefferson simply remained silent and moved on.
Introductions began, an overall flood of foreign and remarkable names that he would never be able to remember save a few unique names put to unique faces. The late Skoll's children were introduced first; they looked awkward and unsure, almost opposite of the three individuals who had appeared to him claiming to be his own children. They'd been full of hate and vengefulness, while Skoll's children seemed... humbled, in a way. Clearly, he'd done something right in his parenting that Jefferson had been unable to do in his absence of his childrens' lives. "I'm sorry for your loss," was all he could choke up to them. Out of the other eyes in the room, the yearlings' were the least skeptical somehow. When he repeated the same phrase for a few other introductions -- the dead one's brother and apprentice -- he forced the same sympathy. He didn't know Skoll. Jefferson didn't even know a family more than names and a few faces. He hadn't grown up alongside someone, or at least he couldn't remember it. The empathy he should have had was simply not there, but was somehow genuine only for the dead man's three children and their awkward eyes.
"My name is Jefferson," he introduced himself loudly when Jantus was finished, "I lead Phoenix Valley, where your loved one resides." 'Loved one'? What kind of bullshit was that? He glanced back at Jantus and nodded, shrugging. "Hey, who am I to mess with the dead? Last thing I want is a curse, and from the sounds of this Skoll, he sounds like he'd have one hell of a curse to dish out." He breathed. "You can relax here; you won't be attacked while I'm around. Your weapons will be fine; the members already know to leave them alone." The rain poured still, tapping the roof over their heads in an endless rhythm, though it seemed it might let up soon.
