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Jack had meant no disrespect, but he was also not about to apologize for his sudden shut-up behavior. Though he understood that a background check was necessary, considering these men knew nothing about him, he was much too proud to admit that he had effectively run away. He met Saul's harder tones with a placid expression, seeing no reason to fan the flame nor moving to extinguish it. Whatever damage he had just done, Jack would work around it.
Here came the part he was prepared for, the part he had rehearsed several times as he traveled north from the port. Jack took a moment to gather his thoughts and pulled up the mental list he had prepared for this very moment. When he opened his mouth, the skills read something like a resume. "I was a farmer back home," he began. "A good one, I think. My daddy taught me everything our family's ever known about the earth and things that grow in it. I'm a pretty decent cook, too."
He paused, thinking, remembering things he'd cooked: the good and the bad. Jack chuckled once, quietly, before he continued. "On the way here I learned a thing or two 'bout ships and sailing. I can tie about a million different knots I didn't even know existed three months ago. Uh . . ." It was clear his list was running thin, but Jack was grasping at his memories for anything that might be even remotely useful.
"I can, ah, fix things," he said. "Especially wagons. I can drive them, too." Really running thin, now, Jack looked at his hand-paws and muttered out his final skill, something in his voice suggesting he was unsure of its worth: "I can read . . . and write . . ."