The side of Junkrat's mouth quirks upward into a cocky smirk. "Y'll do wot I need ya to do."
It's not a question, it's a statement. Junkrat will tell him what needs to be done, and he'll do it, because that's how it's been for years now. The job description never really ended at "keep Jamison Fawkes alive." For what it's worth though, those packs are going to be feel like near-empty baggage to both of them from now on.
He won't bother trying to fill the air with vacant chatter; even a blind man could tell the poor bloke was slaughtered. Within reason, too; it's not like showing up on this place and wandering this giant ship was easy. Junkrat simply busies himself with food prep for a few minutes, humming a cheerful tune to himself in the process.
By the time the salad is done, so too are the sandwich fixings. On a polished hubcap that would be a rather proportional plate in Roadhog's hands, he places a sandwich (halloumi, tomato medallions with black salt, and eggplant crammed between slices of rye) and a large portion of salad (iceberg, mesclun, and arugula mix, topped with chopped mushrooms, faux-hardboiled eggs, carrot sticks, tomato wedges, sprinkled with feta crumble and a hand-made Italian dressing). Holding it between both hands, he takes it over to Roadhog and, unsure if he's asleep or not with that mask and naturally uneven breathing, makes an affectionate clicking noise with his tongue as if beckoning a pet. If the guy's dead asleep, he'll let him rest instead.
no subject
It's not a question, it's a statement. Junkrat will tell him what needs to be done, and he'll do it, because that's how it's been for years now. The job description never really ended at "keep Jamison Fawkes alive." For what it's worth though, those packs are going to be feel like near-empty baggage to both of them from now on.
He won't bother trying to fill the air with vacant chatter; even a blind man could tell the poor bloke was slaughtered. Within reason, too; it's not like showing up on this place and wandering this giant ship was easy. Junkrat simply busies himself with food prep for a few minutes, humming a cheerful tune to himself in the process.
By the time the salad is done, so too are the sandwich fixings. On a polished hubcap that would be a rather proportional plate in Roadhog's hands, he places a sandwich (halloumi, tomato medallions with black salt, and eggplant crammed between slices of rye) and a large portion of salad (iceberg, mesclun, and arugula mix, topped with chopped mushrooms, faux-hardboiled eggs, carrot sticks, tomato wedges, sprinkled with feta crumble and a hand-made Italian dressing). Holding it between both hands, he takes it over to Roadhog and, unsure if he's asleep or not with that mask and naturally uneven breathing, makes an affectionate clicking noise with his tongue as if beckoning a pet. If the guy's dead asleep, he'll let him rest instead.