"Are you a butcher?" came the small voice, piercing the silence that had enveloped the Hog and his unexpected company for the evening. Roadhog turned his head to regard the kid, whose attention rested on his abdominal tattoo. He shook his head. "Don't even eat meat."

The girl raised her eyebrows in acknowledgment, studying the tattoo for a few more moments before facing forward.

Roadhog chanced a look at her. She clutched her small bag of coins tightly to her chest as she capered along in spite of the dried tear streaks staining her face from the rather traumatic events that had occurred not long before. Kids these days, he thought, facetiously.

She caught his lingering glance and beamed up at him before turning to look behind her when a beer bottle shattered in the distance. Soon, the two were greeted by a neon Take Away sign flashing steadily overhead with a droning, insectile buzz.

Roadhog sidled up to the window and lifted himself onto one of the bar stools with a grunt. The girl climbed onto an adjacent seat, shoving her treasure between her thighs for safekeeping and clasping her hands on the counter as they awaited service.

At last, Roadhog's time had come to indulge in a much-needed alcohol fix. He held his beer in satisfaction between his cupped hands, tapping on the edge of his glass in contemplation.

Beside him, the kid was greedily chewing a mouthful of battered sav, which she held daintily between her thumb and index finger, to Hog's amusement. Between bites she sipped sparingly on some form of carbonated drink. Roadhog lifted the bottom of his mask ever so slightly to taste his beer, and reveled in the lack of dialogue for several moments before obliging his curiosity to know more about her.

"Got a name?" he inquired, finally. The girl stared quietly into her drink as she blew bubbles through the straw, taking her time to supply an answer. Her shoulders swayed playfully as she suckled on the straw and swallowed with an audible gulp. At last she withdrew from the distracting beverage and cleared her throat, her eyes flitting up to the man beside her.

"Sylvie," she answered apathetically, running her fingers along the condensation on the edge of the glass.

"Roadhog," Mako returned.

The corner of the kid's mouth quirked into a small smile and she tilted her head at her now named acquaintance. "That's fitting," she said. "I was gonna call you piggy."

Roadhog raised his glass for another sip. "Could call you pipsqueak," he snorted. Sylvie chuckled heartily in response.

"Sure. Don't really like Sylvie all that much anyhow. Sylvia's what's my proper name, but it makes me sound a lot older, dontcha think?" she asked, twirling her straw between two fingers and smiling.

Roadhog shrugged stiffly, noting inwardly that the child had a way of trying to sound much more mature than she really was. He couldn't help but feel both amused and perturbed at the puerile voice that accompanied her fairly sophisticated mannerisms; and yet there was still a tremendous childlike quality to the way she spoke and behaved. He wondered what her home life was like, or if she even had one.

"The man you were with," he began, contemplating how best to inquire about the nature of her encounter with her recent aggressor. "You know him?" Sylvie lowered her gaze in discomfort.

"No," she said.

"You got parents?" Hog pressed further.

"Yea," Sylvie responded vacantly, fidgeting.

Roadhog suddenly grew uncomfortable and shifted in his seat. The easiest way to find out what kind of life she was living would be to ask direct questions. It was difficult to put it bluntly, however. Not only was she a kid, but he was a stranger, and saving her from violation didn't change that fact. It didn't allow him to pry ruthlessly into her life story.

He cursed himself inwardly. Dealing with punks in the Outback was one thing - it was to interrogate through threats and straight-forward questions. Easy enough, if you knew what you were doing. Dealing with kids was a different affair altogether. There were words to be sugarcoated and bushes around which to beat - or were there? Mako was never one to sugarcoat his dialogue. This small creature had him thrown for a loop. Another swig of his beer. Two more. He was certain he'd rather wrestle a bunyip than ask a little girl questions about how she ended up selling herself on the streets of Junkertown.

He huffed, drumming his fingers on the table idly.

"Don't really wanna talk about it," Sylvie said after some time through a mouth of half-chewed food.

"Okay," came Hog's eloquent reply. He chugged down the remainder of his drink before slamming the glass down with a soft belch. From his pocket he produced a small handful of coins, which he dropped on the counter with a clatter without bothering to count. Noticing that Sylvie had only finished two of the five savs included in the meal that she had ordered, he added to the small pile of coins and requested another drink, which he downed much quicker than the first. Stress was a bitch, and this situation wasn't helping.

As the night hours dragged on and closing hours approached, the two were eventually shooed away from the takeaway window and forced to occupy themselves elsewhere.
Roadhog didn't possess a watch but he was aware that it was late and that he was tired. He walked with the child for a short amount of time around the area before pausing to address her with slight dread. He cleared his throat to gain her attention.

"You know the way home?" he asked. Sylvie's eyes widened at the implication of his words and she began fidgeting.

"No," she answered, sounding hesitant. "Can I come with you? I'll- leave straight in the morning, promise! I won't be a bother. I'm real quiet when I gotta be."

Roadhog stared. He couldn't care for a kid. Buying her dinner was one thing; an easy favor to make up for a less than fortunate experience. He'd never been fond of sleepovers, though, and he certainly wasn't a babysitter. She seemed mature enough, sure. Ten or eleven, he figured, but she was a child nevertheless. He shook his head, and did what he knew best to do in situations like this, where words failed him miserably and actions spoke louder.
He fished out a bag of coins from his pants and placed it on top of the one currently occupying the girl's arms. In return Sylvie's eyes widened and her brow knit. She tried to speak, but was silenced when he placed yet another bag into her arms. One more. He lifted his hand to offer a thumbs up to bid her farewell before turning to leave. Her call stopped him in his tracks.

"Wait- please," she pleaded. "You don't understand. My parents- it's because of them- it's because of them that I- that I-" Her voice wavered and it sounded like she might cry. Hog groaned inwardly before turning around halfway to regard her. And there it was - the waterworks. Sylvie shifted the coin bags to one arm and wiped her eyes with the back of her free hand. "Please," she said once more.

Roadhog was silenced by inner conflict. This was what happened when you tried playing the good Samaritan. Surely he didn't have it in him to watch over a child. He'd shot a man in the face point blank today, hadn't he? That was different, he concluded.

"Fine. Come on," was his curt reply. Sylvie's face lit up at his words anyhow, with relief more than excitement.

"Thank you," she said finally as they made their way towards the gate.

"Yea," Roadhog rumbled, defeated.