If it weren't for the mask, Pretty-boy Chris would have seen Beth's mouth hang open in surprise at the sudden nutting-up. Did Fisty-Mcgee really just tell her to 'calm her tits'? In the grand scheme of things, she was perfectly calm: rationally calm, even. She'd shot in the air, she'd made sure the clerk hadn't pressed the police button. Instead, the asshat had decided it was best to act like the good guy or some shit; maybe flirt with the blonde bimbo and bust a nut in her sorry ass?

She grumbled under her breath as she turned to the crowd and started patrolling around, making sure none of the hostages decided to play hero. It wasn't exactly unheard of for a new yorker to have a gun stashed away in his crotch or some shit. "Hope she has the clap, you dumb fuckwit." She called back to Chris, not really caring for the man or his sense of bravado. She wouldn't have to work with him after today, after all: he'd get the goods, she'd lose any heat in the follow-up getaway, and then they'd split the cash and not have to deal with each other any more.

Already bored of the patrolling, Beth decided to open up the security booth and pull the unconscious security officer out of the way so that she could take a seat. Inside was a number of cameras, and she decided to watch Fist-o's progress through the bank: blonde bimbo just in front of him. "What do people even see in a woman like that: fake tits? flat ass? I bet she does the limp fish in bed, too." She grumbles under her breath as she looks around the other cameras, making sure there wasn't any surprises on the way. She was a little shocked that she couldn't see any other security guards yet: and a thought crossed her mind: how come this place didn't have any cameras in the john?