Zevlor looks around the interior of the plane briefly as if trying to gauge where the exits are, in case he has to flee. This is, of course, not especially effective since there aren't many ways in and out of a jet. His nerves are almost palpable for a moment, as he relents and scans the faces of the people inside. Slowly, he nods a greeting, makes his way to the seat Steve indicates, and sits.

After a moment, he clears his throat hesitantly and says, "My name is Zevlor. My kind are called tieflings...I'm sure I look strange to you, but I don't mean you any harm."

Even as he speaks, it seems likely that what he's thinking is that he's a solitary being in the midst of four strangers. Steve seems trustworthy, and none of the others have given him a reason to distrust them, but he's still very outnumbered.