With DaVinci's sudden departure, the responsibilities that the ex-Savant had been charged with were abruptly returned to the unsuspecting Patriarch. One-armed and one-eyed, the brute took up the slack without audible complaint; however, making conversation with the hybrid had been difficult as of late. He was not in the stormiest of moods nor was he more grim than usual, but it seemed the sudden leave of his subleader and close companion had left Jefferson hardly sociable as a result. His rounds and responsibilities doubled, the cyclops was exhausted and retreated back into the deepest confines of the ranch whenever possible, often bringing a book but falling asleep before any reading could be attempted. He'd finished walking the borders an hour or two before and promptly returned to the centralized ranch house he called his home. The rocking chair he usually occupied was too open and accessible; instead, the hybrid hid in one of the bedrooms, where one had to make an effort to find him.
He'd slept a while, but drifted back to consciousness when a downpour had started. Hair still mussed and tangled, the one-armed idiot had staggered from the bed to the window to watch the rain and plan out the remainder of the day despite the grogginess and slight headache. Jefferson wasn't surprised, however, when Geneva quietly appeared. It was then that he noticed an unfamiliar scent carrying through the house (drowned out in the stench of rain, of course). Had Jefferson known her any less he might have suspected something of the gray-furred Praeas, but instead his green eye turned to her without the slightest hint of anxiety. "You brought someone here?" The brute mumbled before she could speak. "Has a weird smell to him." He turned back to the window.