"...I mean, the way it is now, you're taking the same risk as robbing a bank. No, fuck that, you're taking more of a risk. Guild banks, they're under orders not to stop you in any way. Leave it to the skyguard - they're insured, why should they give a fuck?. You don't even need a sword in a Guild bank these days. I heard a story of a man, walking into a bank down by the Street of Spicers with a letter saying he had a hostage..."
Petra feels the transcript of the conversation tapped against her leg. She reaches for a bao. Her hand trembles ever-so-slightly. "No. We can't get up yet. We make a sudden move, and we'll get plugged first." Petra breathes hard, and speaks quickly, softly. "I just need a second."
It's easy to talk about danger, and say that you'll laugh in its face. Petra has seen greater fears than a robber, and survived. She has thought long hours about violence in the abstract - she's prepared for it, she's considered it, she's even accepted it as a possibility. She has even done violence before!
But to actually sit there, and feel it hot on your neck. To consider, in detail, the reality of facing down life and death, that is another thing. The leap between deciding someone should be hurt and actually hurting them... it makes Petra's skin crawl every time. And to know she is in danger, sitting right where she is...
Her hand shakes just enough for Knife to see. She takes an uneasy bite of a bao, and tries not to think about her odds of taking a bullet to the chest, just to be the example.
"...so you want to rob banks?"
"No, I'm just illustrating that it would be easier than what we've been doing. No more liquor stores. Besides, it's not the giggle it used to be, too many foreigners - they hardly speak fucking common! You tell them 'hand over your coin' and they don't know what you're saying - you have to kill them."
"I don't want to kill anyone," the man in red replies. Petra's hands curl in anger in the tablecloth. How dare he.
"I don't either. Which is why we're here, shortass. Nobody every robs restaurants. Why not? Bars, dispensaries, caravanserai - they're expecting to get robbed. You'll get your head cut off robbing one of them. But restaurants? Insured, worked by plebs, and with so many fat wallets to steal. We'll make more on the wallets than the register. Now, you ready?"
Petra tenses. She needs more time, wanted more time. She opens her mouth to tell Knife, warn him, but before she can, there is the scraping of chairs, the brandishing of swords and guns, and that terrifying, familiar shout.
"Alright everyone, be calm, this is a robbery! Anyone move, and I'll execute every last one of you!"
