[OPEN]

[snoutback]

Who| Roadhog, Junkrat, and YOU.
What| Reunions, playing watchdog, sparring.
Where| Mess Hall, Junkrat's Habitat, and the Sim Room.
When| Catch-all for May.
Warnings/Notes| swearing, sexual references/innuendo



Closed to Junkrat

Forty-eight hours after waking up, Roadhog's head is still spinning. Suddenly aliens were real, and the revelation's caught him with his pants around his ankles, companionless, unarmed, and struggling to form a solid plan on his own. Been some time since he's been visited by this kind of unease. Not a touch since the day Oz disappeared behind him, a granular speck on a great blue sea. And what's miserable is that he just knows it's because Junkrat isn't here to talk a mile a minute about how they were gonna survey the ship's security fixtures, squeeze around 'em to plant explosives in four, five, or a dozen different places, and then stage their fiery escape into the final frontier at the helm of a shiny new starcruiser—all casual, like it's gonna be the easiest thing in the world.

Presumably somewhere there were civilian accommodations on this hunk of junk, but Roadhog's been far too busy trying to make sense of his surroundings — and by extension his entire predicament — to sleep or to find something to eat, half-hoping he'll just happen across his partner so they can get straight back to business. At this point, his hunger pangs were developing a mind of their own, subconsciously influencing the route he takes. It's as he pops his head into a too bright - too busy mess hall that, at last, just as Hog was teetering on the brink of being tired enough to give up chase for a while, or possibly even entirely...

There's the little shit.

Were he not used to singling Junkrat out of worse, a single wild blonde head throwing up smoke signals would still have blended in seamlessly amidst the visual chaos of dozens of spandex-clad bodies. Roadhog makes a definitive beeline for his fellow Junker, ignoring the fact that the Jamison he knew wouldn't be sitting calmly at a table with so many new stimuli around him.

He has every intention of shuffling him off and away from this terrible clamor, but for now he plants his hand on the table beside Rat, leaning partway around him so that his eyes can bore into the jut of one high cheekbone. "Bout time--"

May 19th and beyond, Habitation Area, OTA

The days that follow are quieter than he expects, as Junkrat's busy schedule pulls him to and fro. Usually it's him telling Rat to stay put at the safehouse when errands need running. To be the one left like this is a foreign concept, just like how the people who come 'round asking for the bossman aren't waving around money or guns. Or how some of them haven't even heard of Rat at all, and are simply tourists, wandering all these little bits and pieces of worlds that aren't theirs without aim.

If you've got words for Rat at any point after the eighteenth, you might instead come across a plush hulk of a man with an uncannily similar taste in fashion. Either lazing about, stretched out in a sagging beach chair like he owns the place, or toiling away inside a large, dilapidated building that wasn't there when you visited before. While he's obviously noticed you coming from quite a long ways off, his foreboding silence suggests he won't be saying g'day unless you give him a very good reason.

Roadhog can tell the sightseers from Rat's actual acquaintances by how little caution they demonstrate as they walk the red earth, laden with buried mines. For them, he at the very least growls a half-hearted "Stop." Or if it's too late and his ears pick up a faint click: "Don't move."

Late May, Sim Room, OTA

Come time and many discussions with Junkrat, Roadhog's own schedule becomes a back and forth. Never could he have predicted a gig of theirs would involve classes. You been taking yours? If your mind isn't too burnt out on the new and unusual, you might notice a fresh face, or technically mask. Even without any visible expression or audibly spoken word, the big brute does not even once seem interested in anything the instructor has to say. At least, that is, until class moves into the sim room, where his leather snout points up in silent but overt wonder, as billions of data points begin to construct the realest fake world technology can offer.

It might be a typical city street, chock with pedestrians. It might be a lush alien jungle full of natural threats, or it might be a featureless desert that could've passed for Oz were it not for the looming gas giant taking up half the horizon. The possibilities are endless.

The only thing that isn't up for debate is that it's time to practice trading blows with another metahuman and your assigned partner is this humongous newcomer.


(Final prompt can be a cooperative training exercise rather than a 1 v 1 if you'd prefer!)

Comments

Habitation Area

[hallaifyouherd]

'Acquainted' is the right word. Marjara has spoken to Junkrat on a few occasions, and even spoken of a potential barter between the two of them: some of Junkrat's prosthetic work for some special homemade grenades.

Of course it should have followed that someone like him would live in a place like this. That's not the surprise. What is surprising is the man -- or what she believes must be a man, at any rate -- lounging on the other end of a large expanse of red, dust-dry earth.

Stop. The tattooed elf does so, though she raises a critical eyebrow.

"Yes?"

[snoutback]

This really is exactly the kind of nowhere you'd picture if someone said middle of nowhere, no matter where you hail from.

With a huff, Roadhog pulls on both rickety armrests, and eventually manages to sit up in his effectively king-sized beach chair, which nonetheless squeals dangerously beneath his bulk. He regards the dark-haired stranger for a long moment, then spends another (equally long, if not longer) studying the ground beneath her feet. He's in no rush.

Nor will she be. Lucky, she's missed stepping on at least three of Junkrat's party favors already, and he reckons the next closest is hiding about a meter ahead of her current position, from what he can gather. Far enough that he'll omit telling her about the minefield for now.

"Got business here?"

[hallaifyouherd]

So he's got himself a guard now. That's interesting, but not a deterrant.

Biting her lower lip for a moment, she reaches back into a pack that's been slung onto her back, the effort with one arm minimal thanks to how she's positioned it. Out of it, she draws what is very visibly an explosive, though contained in ceramic and a good deal more primitive than anything Junkrat's cobbled together.

At least, in appearance.

"I've come to bargain," she informs the hulking figure, brow lifting. "Provided he's taking visitors, of course. I can always come back."

[snoutback]

Most people'd see someone reaching behind their back and think nothing of it, keep on going about their business.

Junkers, though? They duck for cover.

The moment Marjara goes for her pack, Roadhog raises his right arm, bringing his bracer over his vitals. His boots plant flat in the dirt, ready to roll all forty of his stones behind Junkrat's old, gutted Mayhem humvee if it turns out he's in for an old-fashioned Junker greeting.

It doesn't come to that, however, and since his ass has already gone from comfortable to hanging halfway out of his seat, he finishes standing up to go and take a closer gander at what she's brought. Roadhog halves the distance and stops. In her hand is simultaneously exactly the kind of thing Junkrat would be bribed by, and the one thing he shouldn't need a lick of anyone's help to procure. It also looks like something Rat would've been churning out at the tender age of four.

Which means it's Roadhog's turn to cock an unseen brow.

"Pretty sure we're full up on fireworks."

[hallaifyouherd]

Now is the perfect opportunity to turn the sharper edge of her tongue outward. But she bites back the urge, even if there's a tightness around her eyes that voices her displeasure just the same, and the hand holding the grenade lowers.

"Your friend seemed to think differently. We'd already discussed terms. My magic for his technology. I understand if he didn't relay that information to you, but my inquiry is genuine."

Still, she's respecting the boundaries here, staying precisely where she is and not a step closer. She's just not going to let herself be chased away that readily.

Sim Room

[araignee_du_soir]

"It has been a while since I have worked with a battering ram."

Widowmaker had already moved to perch upon the lowest branch of the behemoth trees that the simulation had surrounded them with. Supposedly there was a 'monster' deep in the forest, neigh impossible to track down before it turned the tables on its hunters. At least this was an interesting simulation compared to some of the others.

"A pleasure, Roadhog."

[snoutback]

Mm, fancy that.

"And along came a spider," Roadhog goes for the obvious quip, coupled with a dark little chuckle.

"Who set her sights on her,
And blew Miss Muffet away.
Hhh, hhh, hhh..."

It's amusing to him, at least.

Under normal circumstances, he'd never take his eyes off a sniper, but with what was left of his once-status quo fading fast, the Junker chooses a direction and starts walking - not running, slow and steady. Each of Roadhog's movements is accompanied by a ripe sucking sound as his steel-toed boots pull out of several inches of mud, while numerous tall, leafy shoots choke his path, shuddering loudly as his bulk displaces them.

There was no way a man of his size would be passing through here quietly. Talon's huntress had him thoroughly trumped in that regard.

[araignee_du_soir]

How original, Widowmaker thought. Then again, who knew what kind of nursery rhymes the Aussie had heard on that barren stretch of land her and Junkrat came from. There was a place she preferred to never be sent to on Talon business; she disliked not being the deadliest thing around. Australia seemed to be teeming with wildlife that could and would kill a person.

As the large man proceeded through the flora, making her battering ram comparison quite apt, Widowmaker moved easily through the trees. Whatever their prey was, it would be drawn to Roadhog easily. It was her job to see it before it attacked him... or he fell through the ground.

"There are underground tunnels up ahead large enough for our prey. Some close to the surface," she said as she moved past Roadhog's head. Her visor wasn't down, so how she managed to know about the tunnels was a mystery to him. But she didn't know what the Time Trapper gave him either.

[snoutback]

Ah.

Perhaps this was one change of pace he could learn to despise a little less than the rest.

Instead of frenzied, frantic squawks, the tone that offers him direction is perfectly controlled at just the right volume, and the words themselves more straight-forward than Roadhog could ever have asked for.

Below, the line of shaking, thrashing brush veers off, as Roadhog goes from bulldozing the median between the trees to treading carefully along their bases, one large hand braced to the bark. It doesn't much seem like he plans on asking where she's getting her info. Ought to, maybe, but this was all just pretend. Their goal, the environment, his conduct.

Eventually... or perhaps a better word is already, given that they haven't been at this for long, Roadhog stops to take a breather, his back fortified for now against a tree trunk that's monolithic even compared to his broad expanse. With his quarter ton, slogging through mud ensures that each step is several times the effort.

"Target?" he rasps. While he waits on an update, he's cracking open the barrel of his shotgun, a little belatedly making sure he remembered to fill it back up with some of that Legion-prescribed shit.

Sim room

[isthisapidge]

Oh, the random number gods just HATE her, don't they?

Either that or she pissed off someone in charge. Her assigned sparing partner is huge. She could probably fit inside one of his arms. With room to spare. And she knows basically nothing about him, so figuring out his weaknesses is going to be a lesson in trial and error. Error that could leave her stomped into the dirt and sat on, probably.

OK, he is a Legionnaire so probably not, but she's still intimidated. The data points flicker and change until they form a kind of alien dock on the ocean, illuminated by only the moonlight. The only life are a few night guards, watching over the giant cargo crates that make up most of the terrain.

Let's get this over with.

[snoutback]

Good to know aliens were still in the habit of leaving enormous amounts of cargo sitting out in the open air with minimal supervision.

As their shifting surroundings cease to entertain him, Roadhog looks down, and down, and down some more. When his eyes finally hit their mark, his chest is immediately wracked by something that could be laughter, although it sounds an awful lot like a pig snorting. No matter someone's size. No matter their age, their sanity, or their sickliness, all it took to pose a threat was the arm strength to lift a gun, the manual dexterity to pull the pin out of a grenade. He knew that better than anyone, but in a contest that condemned the use of lethal force, well.

There's only one way he can foresee this going.

So slow it's clearly meant to be patronizing, Roadhog begins to lean as far forward as his center of gravity will let him. His snout dips to a little over half his height before he begins to struggle, and at that point he remains completely still, daring her to take the free shot at his face.

After all, sheila's gonna need it.

"Boo."

[isthisapidge]

The behemoth she's been set to fight is moving slowly and deliberately, and it's giving her a lot of time to think. Which is bad for him because Pidge is very, very good at thinking.

She's definitely intimidated by him, because of course she is. She'd have to be out of her mind not to be. He's huge. But that doesn't mean she's terrified of him. She has no illusions about her size, but she also has no illusions about her abilities.

'He thinks I'm not a threat,' she realizes. 'Good.'

He gets right up close close to her and says 'boo' and she narrows her eyes as if she's bored, as if her pulse isn't racing right now. She puts her hands up and wiggles her fingers as sarcastically as she can.

"Oooh, scary," she says, and then vanishes right before his eyes. "What about you? Afraid of things that go bump in the night?"

She makes sure she's backed up a few steps before she says that. Out of punching range, at least. She has a minute or two to get to the high ground before she loses her stealth.

[snoutback]

It takes him about four to five seconds to unhitch it from his belt and yank enough chain from the winch, but Roadhog's answer is a horizontal lash from his hook. The steel is reduced to a blur, painting a cross-section of the air in silvery afterimages.

He'll make her go bump, all right. Or clang! That also happens to be the sound a man-sized steel hook makes when it's sent on a second, much longer arc, only to ricochet off the broad side of one of the shipping containers nearby. The impact bites through the rust red paint, leaving a shallow gash in the metal beneath.

But it's all in good fun.

Inviso-girl's got on all that nice armor, so a hard knock like that wouldn't have killed her. Probably. A Legion regulations officer with a handy cutting tool even made a point of removing the sharp nails that used to line the tip of his weapon.

Clang!

He's not trying to guess where she might be, as much as he's methodically covering the most area possible, making the ground level a place no one with any amount of self-preservation should want to be.

Though, he won't be able to keep it up for much longer before he'll have to deal with that AI security. They've heard the racket, flashlights (or whatever passed for them) strobing down an adjacent path.

[muroieda]

He's heard that noise countless times since arriving here. When he forgets where he is, when he forgets why he's here, Junkrat's brain goes into a comfortable default state, a warm kind of tingle runs down his back and he can hear it echo in his skull: heavy footfalls beyond typical proportions, labored breathing, the persistent rattle of heavy steel chain.

He falls for it every time, whipping around to endeavor his train of thought into a friend that isn't there. His heart breaks every time when it's nothing but empty space to greet him.

Junkrat likes going to the mess hall when he's trying to work up ideas, while his workshop is reserved for actually giving life to them. A sketchbook, some markers, a busy atmosphere, and quick access to food and beverages, a perfect equation for sitting around and generating ideas. It's a habit he picked up on day one and hasn't let go. It's easy to fall into that comfortable zone here, chattering and tittering to himself as he works until the mental ghost of his bodyguard visits.

As soon as he hears it, he turns away from the direction that his brain perceives.

"No no no no no, I ain't gonna fall fer it this time..."

There's a very different tone Junkrat uses when he's talking to himself opposed to anyone else. No one would know the difference better than Roadhog.

'Bout time...

Junkrat lets out an uncomfortable, distressed laugh, still refusing to turn towards the sound of his voice.

"Yeah, I'll say mate!" he responds, clearly still talking to himself. "Holy dooley, it's getting worse. Maybe I should talk ta someone about this..."

[snoutback]

Behind his mask, Roadhog is all teeth and weary lines. It doesn't take long for them to deepen when he realizes he's listening to half of a conversation Junkrat is having with his own thoughts.

"Not now, Rat." An unsympathetic hiss. They don't need to both be losing their minds. And the fitted jacket Junkrat is wearing really isn't offering much of a reprieve from the unreality of the situation.

In fact, the thing looks like it was made specifically for him, and as though whoever did it was privy to more than just his measurements. One of Hog's massive hands chases Rat and attempts to drag him back around by the collar. It might not be the wisest thing he could have done while Junkrat was in this state, but Roadhog wasn't seeing a grenade launcher, nor any other weapon that could momentarily be shoved in his face.

"You wanna talk? Let's talk. Hell, I might have plenty to say for once, but not here." Even though his stomach's a gurgling mess. If there were ever a Calaveras for vigilante types, they've found it. "C'mon. Up." Hog gives the tortured fabric another tug, of the more vertical directionality this time.

c-word warning

[muroieda]

There's a tug on his collar. This isn't a hallucination. This isn't a hallucination.

Instinct has him reaching into his bag in the same split second it takes for him to whip his head around and finally take a look at whatever metahuman thought it'd be funny to get into his head like this.

But it's actually--

...

It's--

Junkrat's mouth opens to say something, but everything he could say ends up in a 16-car pileup in his mind. Nothing's getting through, even though his mouth desperately makes an attempt to posture itself for speech but it comes out as an unintelligible, choked silence as his eyes glass over with unwelcome moisture. There's too much going on his head for Roadhog's words to really sink in, and by the time he's practically dragged from the booth he still hasn't been able to sort out his thoughts.

Eventually his foot and peg manage to grip the floor and he's able to wrench his collar from Roadhog's grip. While Roadhog would rather take the more rational route of taking their conversation to somewhere more private, Junkrat's ability to cause a scene is both a gift and a curse.

Something eventually has to give in, and one of the cars finally explodes.

Junkrat slaps his flesh hand smack dab between Roadhog's fuzzy pectorals, and it sounds a lot worse than it actually is, because it's not really a strike.

"Ya bloody drongo!"

An unsettled hush waves over the rest of the mess hall. With more bravado than anyone in this cantina would ever have with someone like Roadhog, Junkrat jabs an angry prosthetic finger into his leather snout, leaning in with aggressive passion.

"What was the big idea, huh?! Makin' me wait around like that!! Too busy gorging yer enlarged heart's content on all that fancy prison food, I reckon!! Ya useless lardy cunt, I oughta wear your colon like a boa!"

Oh yeah, he's absolutely livid, mad like a cut snake, but there's no ignoring the wet columns streaming down the edges of his face. By the second his aggressive posture crumples more and more, and two fat tears roll down his sharp features. There's another beat before he reaches out, clinging to the sides of Roadhog's harness with his fingers in a death-grip as he presses his forehead against the very place he'd landed his hand earlier.

He lets out a noise that simultaneously sounds like an angry scream and a heartbroken wail.

[snoutback]

To those watching, the giant appears to endure the littler one's sniveling insults and limp-wristed blows without obvious recoil. That is, at least until Junkrat looses a visceral screech that Roadhog would sooner expect to hear from someone being flayed alive.

He shoots a glance over his shoulder, already knowing what he's going to find: droves and droves of eyes pointed at the two of them that haven't got any right to be staring, no matter how intent his boss is upon bending over backwards to expose his ugly underbelly.

Really, he's just been stunned and seething in confusion this entire time, and those eyes only make it worse. There's wet heat streaming from Roadhog too, but it isn't born from his eyes. It wells up from his gums and rides his heavy breaths through his unseen snarl. In seconds, his bottom lip has become home to a glistening pool, and the next word out of his mouth would paint the inside of his mask in frothy translucence. This whole thing's really pissing him off; he's tired, ravenous, possibly delirious, and to top that off, he has no idea what Junkrat is trying to accuse him of.

Roadhog snaps.

Suddenly an arm hitches under Junkrat's ass, lifting him up off his feet and crushing him to the crest of Roadhog's huge, tattooed belly, because it was only a matter of time before he turned Jamie's little scene into a real incident. He whisks them both out the bulkhead whence he came and doesn't stop, not knowing where he's headed, only that it's not likely they'll be heard on the move.

The dam doesn't hold for much longer, and when it breaks, Roadhog almost feels like he's taking a shower in his own spit.

"You got another thing comin' callin' me useless," Roadhog growls, trapped in a sauna of his own making. "Just what the hell was that?" A grown man throwing a toddler's fit? Even now Junkrat looked like one, no thanks to the way he was swaddled in Roadhog's beefy, all-encompassing arms. "Cause you're right: I'm gonna be the only one dining Supermax, 'cause the cops aren't lookin' for no 25 million dollar baby."

At every crossroads, he whips in whichever direction looks the most deserted. If anything, exerting this much energy all at once was taking care of some of that anger.

"Been two days," he says in disbelief, panting a little now. "Always knew you had a few screws loose, but you're unbelievable, Jamison."

Habitat - after JR's message

[justice_from_above]

Fareeha arrives just when she said she would, walking into Junkrat's habitat. Her hands are in her pockets, and by now she knows exactly where to step to avoid his mines; it's almost a subconscious dance to get to his altered vehicle.

Inwardly, she's not nearly so calm; though both had their checkered histories, it was easy and true to say that Roadhog carried the intimidation factor of the both of them.

If she'd seen him sitting alone in the cafeteria that day instead of Junkrat, she's not sure if she would have treated the situation the same.

There was also the concern of what they would do together. So far Junkrat had behaved himself here in Legion, and she trusted him to a point, but Roadhog was an entirely different variable. Throw in her own relationship with Junkrat now, and she's not exactly sure what she's walking into. It could be a happy welcoming, or it could be death.

She looks over at the 'new' broken building and the behemoth waiting outside of it, and comes to a stop a respectable distance away.

"Greetings." She pulls a hand from her pocket and gives him a little wave. "Is Jamison around?"

She's not going to impose directly on Roadhog himself, not yet.

[snoutback]

Lo and behold a living breathing woman actually does show up.

As she makes her way on over, the shovel carried by the outlaw stabs into the ground and becomes a prop for his hand. Just his hand, as Roadhog didn't have the luxury of leaning on something so much smaller and skinnier than he was without causing a very memorable scene.

Yeah, Jamison is around, the answer rings exclusively through his own skull. With no comment from the man behind it, Roadhog's stitched-on frown goes lopsided, his head twisting to regard her at this new, much closer angle.

And he stares.

As Roadhog is wont to do.

Part of him just wants to make her stand there sweating in the simulated heat until Rat's done preening or whatever, but his hazing ritual isn't entirely without purpose; he's still looking for the marionette strings — any indication that she hasn't come here out of her own free will.

Eventually, without taking his eyes off of her, he balls a fist and bangs on the tarnished, industrial-scale steel door behind him, vigorously enough that Junkrat would surely be able to hear it no matter how far he'd wandered inside.

[muroieda]

The bang on the garage door has Junkrat springing into action. There's a few seconds of silent pause before there's a soft bang behind the steel door before it squeals open. Out steps Junkrat, dressed in his Legionnare cams, having done absolutely no preening since coming back from his class.

The one he was in when he was texting Fareeha.

"Fee!" he exclaims, closing the door behind him--believe it or not the garage actually is some semblance of air-conditioned--and standing beside Roadhog with his arms akimbo. After a beat, he holds out his flesh hand in front of Roadhog, snapping a thumb and ring finger together twice before holding out his palm expectantly, smirking as he never once looks away from Fareeha in the distance.

"Toldja she was real."

[justice_from_above]

The Australia Outback isn't too much hotter than her Egyptian city corner, so the sweat here is entirely figurative. She stands with her hands clasped loosely in front of her, shifting her weight periodically from foot to foot as she looks at Roadhog.

She keeps her face expressionless, in part waiting for either Junkrat to show up or for Roadhog to make some move. Fortunately for both of them, probably, Junkrat shows up before either really moves. Seeing him, and his exuberant greeting, Fareeha relaxes slightly and actually smiles, finally taking steps to move over next to him.

"Do you want to let me in on the deal, or I am better off not knowing?"

Habitation Area

[jonesiseverywhere]

Casey didn't have to know Junkrat that long to know the guy is crazy enough to booby trap his own habitat area, and that he probably shouldn't get too close unannounced. On the other hand, Casey is already really close to the area without a lot of apparent concern. He's right on the edge of Junkrat's "property," and he's trying to gauge how he's going to get to the other side of whatever trap he's got planned. One big jump and hope for the best, maybe?

But then he spots Roadhog, visibly and obviously sizing him up until he breaks into a grin. This guy is awesome, just as much as the mutant monsters he usually encounters in post-Kraang invasion NYC. He looks like he should be tearing up the highways on the coolest album cover in the world.

"Yo, big man!" he calls out, "Seen the rat?"

[snoutback]

When Casey stops right about where he should to avoid getting blown up, Roadhog appears to lose interest, snout drifting back toward his clearance-locked, civilian issue Omnicom -- which happens to be small enough compared to his hand that it ends up looking a bit like he's just staring vacantly into his palm.

He does, however, answer right away:

"Ain't here."

By now he's learned that tight lips and weighty stares don't make these people turn tail quite so well as they should.

"He's off learnin' how to be a good guy."

There's something very tongue-in-cheek about the way he says that, and not for Casey's satisfaction. More like the kid just happened to be present when Roadhog thought of it.

[jonesiseverywhere]

Casey smirks at that.

"Hey, maybe he can. Guy turned out to be cooler than I thought he was, and I'm a pretty good judge of who's cool."

It's an oddly earnest statement. A lot more earnest than anyone has any right to be about Junkrat, but it's true. Takes a big man to forgive someone for nearly killing them. And if anyone knows about that, it's Casey.

"Whatever, I'll wait." For as long as it takes him to get bored of waiting, at least.

[snoutback]

Odd maybe, but odd's what gets Roadhog's attention, leaving him to ponder and wonder just what Junkrat's done to earn someone vouching for him like that.

With the flick of one too-large finger, Roadhog minimizes his light reading and taps another widget on the Omnicom, bringing up the weather module. While, easily, he could've come up with his own number for the purposes of fucking with Casey's head, the truth was all that was really needed.

"It's 38 °C," he states, flatly, before reaching for the tall, sweating glass of ice water he's got sitting in the dirt next to his chair.

The whole thing shimmers in the blazing midday sun as he tips it to the scrappy-looking teen over yonder. On the opposite side of Junkrat's highly-explosive perimeter. Where there was absolutely no shade, nor really any real reprieve from the heat, barring the occasional puttering breeze.