"Yeah, maybe," York says, a little tiredly, but she doesn't take Marco's alcohol bait, not yet. She just takes another pointed sip of her drink, raising an eyebrow at him. "Then again, this is Omega. And I've pissed off a few drunks, sure, but I haven't really made anybody mad enough to want me dead. I'm pretty sure I'll know when that happens. Wouldn't be the first time, that's for damn sure."

She hesitates, though, thinking for a moment. That security racket she and Joker had run...nah. Wasn't possible. Nobody had touched that money, and she's pretty sure if it was about money, they'd want her dead for sure.

"Well, if somebody wants me dead, they didn't do a very good job of it," she says after a moment, grinning crookedly. It's not even so much that she doesn't want to shoot the kid down -- it's embarrassing to admit, and she never would, but his insistent action film paranoia is kind of an ego boost, in a weird way. Almost makes her feel better, listening to him talk about it. She knew there was a reason she always liked Marco. "And if somebody was trynna scare me, they're gonna have to try harder than that. Nothin' I haven't seen before." Maybe there's a little too much bravado in her voice, all things considered, but it's true, at least. That grenade didn't do anything to her that hasn't been done before. That pervasive feeling of cosmic irony is new, though.