"Why not?"

"They'll sell they mother if they think it gives them a profit. They'll charge ya soul for a loan."

So the typical crimes of banks, then.

"I hear they're pretty good for the town's economy, though. Lots of outsiders coming here on their way to other places and using the bank and all that."

"We don't need 'em. We're fine without."

"You'll definitely know better than me, I'm just an outsider."

"And they keep having them big metal cars over to move money around and need security, always a right mess. Should be gettin' another car in a few days. Always a mess."

"Yeah, that does sound extremely troublesome."

It also gives the Frank Marlon story a little bit more context; the locals probably don't love that the bank attracts the kind of crime that requires this much security, and Marlon was probably an important character in that little piece of societal conflict.

Despite her words, Mearii is well received and well liked by the bank's employees. There isn't much small talk, though, since she comes over every couple of hours; just an overall cheerful ambiance and a very efficient handling of money born out of habit and frequency. The most remarkable thing there right now is Zash himself, his tall brightly-coloured self standing out as usual.

He helps her with her money (which she only lets him do once he assures her he wants no payment for it) but doesn't follow her when she leaves, opting to explore this building a little bit.

There isn't much that's straightforwardly open to visitors. There's a lobby, understated but pretty, and you can talk to an employee to open an account or access your funds, but they don't have the fancy machines the big cities do that automate money withdrawal and deposit. There are a few booths out back when you need to talk to an account manager in private about anything, but you can't just go there without permission. There's the "public" safes with a little bit of money—only a small fraction of what the whole bank has—and which employees have direct access to on their day-to-day. And then there's the "private" safes, which are only accessible through a separate entrance, and which are heavily guarded and armoured.

What might be interesting to Zash in particular, however, is a little corner on a wall where a gorgeous double-barreled shotgun is on display inside a cordoned-off glass case.

Ooh, he is interested in that, that's true! He walks over to it to read the little bronze plaque under it.

The plaque informs him that this is a SS-38 double-barreled shotgun made by Frank Marlon in the year of 106 A.F. and which was used later that year by Marlon himself on the event that became known as the Warrens Rise-up. It has not been used since, however, and is now a piece of historical interest.

"She's a beauty, isn't she?" asks a woman wearing the uniform of one of the bank's employees. "Every now and then I come here to just admire her." She turns to look at Zash and smile and offer her hand. "I'm Jill."

He shakes it. "I'm Z."

"I've heard."

"I only got here yesterday! How's my name all over everywhere already?"

"Not that big a town, and you're very attention-grabbing. Also Hilda's my mum."

"Should've led with that. Guess I must've left an impression."

"You did, you did. So, what are you in town for?"

"I've always been really curious about the mystery of Frank Marlon. I assume you would've been too young to be there for the big event...?"

"A flatterer, too. That'll get you places.

"Well, come on, grab a coffee with me, I'm on my break and Frank Marlon's a special interest of mine. You're paying."

"Put it on my tab? I lent John my credit chit."

"...John. John the drunk? That John?"

"The very same."

"What for?"

"Booze."