Jazz listens to them talking, taking in what is said and what implied. The way the three humans are just there is a comfortable reassurance for him.
His vocalizer clicking a soft beat, one of the old warrior poems he learned from his weapons master, he begins to build a nice fire. Some wood here, some dry grass there, a bit of rubbing ala Jeronimo and voila...
Nothing happens. He tries again. This time with a bit more force behind it. From what he learned from the human data streams, it should have already worked.
He absentmindedly listens to Midvalley say that he wouldn't mind playing some music later, when he decides to kick tradition in the aft and shoots at the not burning camping fire.
Success.
"Anybody want to fry something?" he asks the others.