ah, typical jefferson assholery.
His comments were met with sharp eyes; for a brief moment, Jefferson became aware that he was looking into a mirror of himself. Those eyes were the same shade, the same intensity he'd once turned at Geneva and Iskata at one point or another, not to mention countless intimidated joiners and other general troublemakers. They'd been Gabriel's punishment for trespassing, Geneva's reward for trying to open him up, silent rebellion against the blind Laruku and his suspicious words. Those were the eyes he was known for, though their intensity was combined into one single eye -- and Jefferson knew, from that moment, the intimidation within the point of his one-eyed gaze.
Mew butted at her children, and one by one, the two stepped forward and greeted him. The second child was shyer than the first; vaguely he was reminded of Addison, who had always been a curious and forceful child. Had she gotten along with them? Did she know Mew, now that they both lived in the same pack? Had she been a part of these pups' upbringing? Ultimately, the cyclops struck a rather puzzled, frazzled expression and turned his eye back at his silent half-sibling. Though his eye did not leave her, he addressed the children in a monotone, suspicious voice: "Uncle Jefferson is fine," he muttered, gaze locked. He'd raised a child on his own, but the cyclops was still no good with others' kids.
After a brief pause, he continued. "Your children have better manners with hybrids than I expected," he started, tone suspecting and rough. "What exactly did you come here to accomplish, Mew?"
