Roadhog seems to choke for a moment, something indistinct rattling out of his filters as leather compacts against solid steel; it was the sound a quarter ton feral murderer made when he was trying not to laugh at his own expense in front of a bunch of strangers.

"Plenty of idiots 'round here doing the work for me," he snaps back, leaning forward to make it especially clear that Junkrat would be receiving a dead-on stare if eye contact between them were at all possible. To follow up, he latches on to the front of his reedy cohort, giving the bottom of his very conventional looking shirt a tug. "What's this?"