The night was accompanied by a slight chill which prickled Sylvie's bare skin with gooseflesh as she followed Roadhog across the expanse of Junkertown's outskirts. The man said so little that it was easy for her mind to wander as they made their way beneath the starry sky.
A plethora of emotions swirled within her as she considered her actions and where they were taking her. She wondered if following this man home was worth it at all. She wondered if, since she was outside the gates, maybe she could slip away without him noticing - or caring.
No - that would only ascertain an early fate. She needed to survive. She knew that much.
They arrived after a trek without dialogue at a large building skirting the edge of a cliff. The land beyond was like a deep ocean floor. Silhouettes of windmills and shapeless heaps of scrap made up the shipwrecks of the oasis beyond Junkertown; a vast prison in which so many were wasting away.
Hog stepped up to the door of his abode and busied himself with the padlock. With a grunt, he pushed open the massive wooden sliding door and stepped inside with Sylvie warily in tow.
The place was spacious and dusty, and Sylvie was met with the musk of motor oil and old wood as she shuffled further into the building, pausing in the center of the room to look around.
Her head swiveled slowly as she absorbed her surroundings. There were tools on the far wall. A motorcycle twinkling beneath the flickering lights above. A refrigerator. Beside it, a wooden counter with a single pot set on a lone burner. Stairs leading to somewhere yet unknown. Secluded in a corner, a large bed, caved in through the middle; his, she assumed.
She turned to say something to Roadhog, who had begun stripping off his harness and shoulder pads. On instinct, she averted her eyes.
Some time later she heard him sigh and watched him disappear through a doorway, his pants sagging slightly to reveal a coin slot, which was quickly hidden as he reached back to hoist them back up again.
After a moment Roadhog returned with something hanging limply from his hand. He offered it to the girl and waited silently as she held the material out in front of her, which unfurled to reveal to her a T-shirt so large it could have sufficed as a sleeping bag. She looked up at Roadhog with a crooked smile.
"Nightgown," Hog said simply with a shrug.
Syvlie slipped the shirt over her head and it swallowed her small form, the bottom gathering as it touched the floor.
"Cozy," she said, grinning sheepishly. Though large, the shirt allowed her much more comfort than the clothes she wore beneath it, which exposed her to chill and unwelcome eyes; not that anyone besides Roadhog could see her now. Still, a sense of security washed over her.
Hog nodded before setting to work on something for her to sleep on.
Some hay, a bedsheet, and several empty sacks made up Sylvie's pallet, which he sculpted into a sort of nest against the wall at the foot of his own bed.
When he finished, he stepped back and gestured to his creation unceremoniously before turning to retire to his own bed.
Sylvie shuffled over and plopped down into the concave center of her pallet. She lay back rigidly and crossed her arms behind her head, listening with slight contentment to the creaks of Roadhog's mattress as he settled into a comfortable position. He hadn't taken off his mask, she realized with curiosity. Maybe he needed it for some reason.
An object hurdled unexpectedly from the bed above and landed with a soft thud over Sylvie's face. A pillow. She smiled into the cool fabric and sat up to place it behind her.
"Thanks. G'night," she whispered towards Roadhog's feet, which jutted from the edge of his bedframe.
"Night," he rumbled in return.
Sylvie lay back once more and nestled her head into the pillow. She was exhausted, yet sleep was shy to take her. Part of her was in a state of disbelief over the events of the day. Another merely opted to shrug it off as a blessing. A blessing in the form of a masked man who seemed to have some sort of obsession or kinship with pigs.
A nudge against the curve of her back woke Sylvie from a relatively dreamless slumber.
"Breakfast," came Roadhog's voice from above. His boots scuffed across the concrete floor as he made his way back towards the small table at the other end of the building.
Sylvie's eyes cracked open and she stared at the wall before her, blinking the sleep from her eyes, which were swollen from the tears of yesterday. Her body was sore, and she was reluctant to move for some time. Gradually she lifted herself from the pallet and sat up, looking around. She watched Roadhog gingerly set two plates on either side of the table before turning to select something from the fridge, which jerked open with a sharp squeak.
Fear suddenly clouded her waking brain as the circumstances of their meeting the prior day caught up with her at once. He had killed without flinching. It had been a favor, he had said. He was right. He was right. He had done the world a favor. He had done it for her. Hadn't he?
Sylvie clutched one of the coin bags that the man had forced on her person. She opened one of the sacks that made up her bedding and placed each coin bag inside, tying the opening into a crude knot. Hers. She would need them. She placed the sack aside and slowly rose to her feet.
Now seated, the Hog regarded her with a slow pivot of his head as she approached. The round, foreboding lenses of his goggles gleamed at her.
The chair wailed against the concrete floor as Sylvie scooted it back, lowering herself to sit across from him.
"Hi," she said. Roadhog grunted in response. He held a fork with considerable delicacy in his right hand, the other reaching to lift his mask just enough to expose his mouth. Sylvie was spared only a scant glance at his chin and jaw, peppered with silver stubble, before the mask swallowed up his face once more.
Her eyes flitted down to her own plate, which was piled with eggs, some sort of vegetable medley, and a pancake sans syrup.
The two ate in relative silence before Roadhog stood to wipe off his empty plate with a rag. Sylvie chewed a mouthful of pancake and eggs as she watched him work like a housewife at the wooden counter.
When he finished, he set the plate on an unstable shelf and returned to sit across from her once more. It was difficult to tell, but it seemed his eyes were on her as she finished up her meal. She watched him too through the bottom of her glass as she chugged the remainder of the beverage. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and released a watery burp, which made her scowl.
"Thanks for brekkie, Hog," she said, standing. There was something endearing about her thankful smile as she attempted eye contact with him through the mask. "Hope it's okay to call you that."
Sylvie placed her bare plate alongside his and made her way back towards her pallet, where she knealed to collect the sack containing the coin bags. It was time to make good on her promise to head out. It was a difficult decision on which to act, but she was sure she could find her way somehow with the money he had given her. She only hoped to avoid any run-ins with individuals such as the man who had sought to violate her the day before. She decided she would die before letting another person touch her that way.
She held the sack limply at her side as she sidled back over to Roadhog, who was still seated. His mask tilted downwards momentarily to regard the sack before lifting to face her.
"I 'ppreciate yesterday lots. More than you know, really. You didn't have to- help me out back there. Cheers, piggie," she said. She nodded once before turning to depart.
The baritone of Roadhog's gravelly voice stopped her in her tracks. She turned around halfway, unsure of what he had said.
"Sit down," he repeated.
Sylvie made her way with slow vigilance back towards the table and seated herself, blinking at him in confusion.
"You were sold to him," Hog said. "The drongo from last night."
Sylvie's head lowered and her eyes burned with the threat of tears. There was a prolonged silence as she visibly struggled to bring herself to articulate her situation to the man. Finally her head jerked up and she met his waiting gaze with wide, tearful eyes.
"I'd never do it myself, Hog," she replied at last, her voice wavering. "My mom, she was- we were gonna up and leave Junkertown, but she didn't think we'd- ...m-make it. That was before-" She swallowed abruptly. Her throat felt knotted and words fought to escape her.
Roadhog waited, knowing she wasn't finished speaking. He could sense her reservation.
"She loves me, Hog," she began after a long pause, sniffling. Her brow furrowed as she considered her words. "She- loved me. She said if I gave him a good lay-" The girl was a sniveling mess. Her quivering index finger rose to accent her words. "One lay- Just one-"
There was no telling what expression Mako wore behind the ambiguity of the mask.
He listened patiently as the child churned out her story to him through a crescendo of sobs, her words fragmented and mostly senseless. But he understood. He understood enough to feel disgusted and concerned, even in spite of how selfish living in the post-Crisis Outback could make a man become in the incessant struggle to subsist.
"That's why I can't go home, anyway. I'll go anywhere but," Sylvie said suddenly, some time after relaying to him what she was at first reluctant to share. Hog mused for a moment.
"Where to then, pipsqueak?" he asked.
Sylvie merely stared. She might have been thinking, but in vain. It didn't matter. Mako had made his decision.
"Then stay," he said.
"Huh-?" the girl breathed.
"Stay here."
"Stay here with you, piggie-? 'Til when? How long?"
"'Til you keep askin' questions and I change my mind," Mako replied. "You can stay. Parents won't miss you."
I can do better, he thought.
Sylvie wasn't sure how to process this at first. Of course she was fearful of this man who she technically knew nothing about. The choice of who could and couldn't be trusted was dire in Junkertown, and this notion had been instilled in her ever since her young mind had gained a semblance of maturity. Yet, something inside compelled her to trust him. He had saved her. Fed her. Surely if he had the intention to hurt her, he would have acted on it by now. Then again, her parents-
It was true. Her parents wouldn't miss her. As far as they knew, the man who had bought her had used and discarded her by now. Goods and services, and all that. They had their money. That was all they cared for. A daughter in exchange for a way to get by for some time before a sacrifice would once again need to be made for sustenance. So it was, and so it would be. Perhaps she couldn't blame them. You did what you had to in the Never Never.
Here she was, then.
If the ones who had brought her into this world were willing to give her away - to deem her expendable - there was a chance she could after all risk trusting someone she only just met.
She realized, then, that it was in her best interest to accept Roadhog's offer.