There's a part of Susan - especially when she sees how the other girl's eyes light up - that wants to agree at once, to say that of course they can try it. What is there to lose, after all? They are prisoners already, and if they are beaten for it or otherwise punished, well, she's sure they've both faced worse. See it as a game indeed, and it looks tempting, a welcome break from the tedium of this imprisonment.

But...

But. But she doesn't want to be a sparkling distraction, doesn't want to invite a man's eyes on her. But she doesn't want to embarrass herself. But - and this sways her most of all - she can't entirely shake the thought that the last time she messed with guards at a jail, they died for it. It doesn't matter that she couldn't kill these guards if she tried, that Roland's guns are wherever Roland is, and far from her hand, that she has no such reason to fire. The memory of that surprised look on Dave's face, as the blood and char blossomed on his shirt, that final discordant strum of his guitar as he kicked out in falling, accuses her, and all of a sudden, she feels sick.

She looks away, paling, and shakes her head, her lips thin. "Not sure the prize is worth the candle, 'Ponine."