Short RP example comparison

*The door chime jingles faintly as the robber, a scruffy man with tired eyes, steps into the gas station. He’s wearing a faded leather jacket, and his knit beanie looks like it’s been through some rough winters. He scans the sparse shelves of chips and sodas briefly before letting out a small sigh, almost to himself. Slowly, he approaches the counter, placing one calloused hand on it with a thud. His expression is blank, but his voice is weary and laced with a peculiar lilting Italian accent.*

"Alright, here’s the deal... Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt, capisce?" *He pauses, gesturing toward the cashier without pulling out a weapon, almost like he’s too tired to escalate things unless absolutely necessary.*

"Look, I ain't here to play games, okay? Empty the register and make it quick—don’t do none o' that hero stuff, it don’t suit you. And for you two—" *he lifts his chin toward the customers, his gruff voice shifting to impatience as he gestures lazily with his hand,* "You just stand there and mind your business, eh? Keep your hands where I can see ‘em. No need to call no cops. I don’t wanna be here longer than I gotta."

*He leans slightly over the counter, his dark eyes locking with the cashier’s, his tone dropping lower but not losing its edge.* "Listen, man, I don’t do this for *fun*, alright? Life ain't exactly handin’ out olive branches these days. So let's not overcomplicate things, huh? Just gimme the cash, and everyone gets to go home in one piece. Sound like a plan?"

*His shoulders sag slightly, as though he’s as resigned to this act as he is to life itself. He exhales through his nose and taps the counter with his fingertip, waiting.*

[The robber walks briskly into the gas station, his eyes scanning the room quickly, assessing the two customers milling about and the cashier behind the counter. He pulls his hat lower over his forehead and walks up to the counter, voice steady but tinged with a weary Italian accent.]

Robber: Alright, listen up, everybody. I'm not here to chat. You — [he points to the cashier] — open the register and put the money in the bag here. Quick and quiet, no alarms, nobody gets hurt. Alright?

[He glances over his shoulder briefly at the customers, making sure they stay put.]

Robber: And you two, just stay calm, stay where you are, and we’ll all be fine here. Don't try anything funny. No calls, no sudden moves. I’m not interested in causing trouble, just in and out.

[Returns his focus to the cashier, his tone firm but showing a hint of desperation.]

Robber: Please, don't make this harder than it has to be. Let's get this done quick.

I pushed open the door, the jangle of the bell barely registering over the hum of the fluorescent lights. Two schmucks, one picking out lottery tickets like life was gonna hand him a million bucks, the other gawking at a beef jerky display like it was the Sistine Chapel. I walked straight to the counter, hands shoved deep in my pockets, my gaze fixed on the cashier, a kid barely old enough to shave. "Alright, listen up," I said, my voice rough and low. No need for pleasantries. Life ain't been pleasant to me, so why should I be pleasant to it? "Wallet. Phone. And you," I jerked my head at the lottery dreamer, "hand over those scratch-offs. Might as well have *something* to entertain myself with while I wait for the cops." My accent, thick and tinged with the bitterness of a thousand burnt espressos, hung in the air. "Let's make this quick, eh? Nobody needs to get hurt. Unless they wanna be *stupid* about it."

*pushes open the glass door with force, the bell chimes as I enter. My worn leather jacket and disheveled appearance reflect in the glass. I approach the counter deliberately, glancing at the two customers briefly*

Listen up, I ain't got time for any funny business here, capisce? *reaches into jacket pocket* I've had it up to here wit' following rules and getting nowhere in life. So here's what's gonna happen...

*addresses everyone in the store*

You two customers, over there by the wall. Move slow, keep ya hands where I can see 'em. And you, behind the counter - let's make this simple. Empty the register, no alarms, no heroes. I'm tired and I'm done playin' by society's rules, but I don't wanna hurt nobody if I don't have to. Comprende?

*maintains a firm stance, constantly scanning the room while keeping main focus on the cashier*

*enters the gas station, wearing a dark hoodie with the hood up, and a black face mask*

*walks up to the counter, pushing past the two customers*

*pulls out a gun and points it at the cashier*

Listen up, paisano. I've had a real bad day, capisce? I'm tired of playin' by the rules and gettin' nowhere. So here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna open that register and hand over all the cash, nice and easy-like. No funny business or things are gonna get messy real quick.

*glances at the two customers*

And don't you two think about tryin' anything stupid. Just stay put and keep your mouths shut, and everyone gets to walk outta here in one piece.

*turns back to the cashier, gun still trained on them*

Now, let's get down to business. I ain't got all day, and my trigger finger's gettin' itchy. Hand over the dough, and make it snappy!

*Bell above the door chimes as I enter, wearing a worn-out jacket and a faded cap pulled low over my eyes. I scan the room quickly, spotting the two customers and the cashier. My hands are tucked into my pockets, one of them gripping an old revolver that's seen better days.*

"Buonasera, everyone. Sorry to bother you all on such a fine evening," I say, my Italian accent weaving through the words like a worn-out melody. "But this here is a robbery. Now, don't go getting any bright ideas, and nobody gets hurt, capisce?"

*I look at the cashier, his eyes wide with shock. I nod towards the register.* "You, open that thing up. Put the money in a bag. Make it quick, eh? I ain't got all night."

*Turning to the customers, I offer a tired smile.* "You two, keep your hands where I can see 'em. Phones out, toss 'em on the floor. No need to make this difficult, yeah?"

*My eyes flick back to the cashier, who's fumbling with the register.* "And none of that fancy stuff, like dye packs or alarms. I just want what's owed to me by this miserable world. Then I'll be on my way."

*I let out a sigh, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.* "Trust me, I ain't happy about this either. But life ain't been kind, and I'm tired of playing by the rules. So, let's just get this done, yeah?"

*I push open the door and walk into the gas station, my eyes scanning the room with a mix of frustration and desperation. I'm dressed in worn-out clothes, and my hair is messy and unkempt. I approach the counter, my gaze fixed on the cashier, a young woman who looks up at me with a mixture of fear and curiosity.*

Me: *in a thick Italian accent, with a hint of aggression* Ah, listen up, everybody! I don't got all day, and I don't got no patience. I'm here for the money, so let's make dis quick, capisce?

*I glance at the two customers, a man and a woman, who are standing by the coffee machine, frozen in fear. I give them a warning look, my eyes saying "don't even think about tryin' anything stupid."*

Me: *to the cashier* You, behind the counter. Open the register, and give me all the cash you got. Don't bother with no alarms, no tricks, no nothin'. Just give me the money, and we'll all be happy, si?

*I lean in, my voice taking on a slightly menacing tone* I'm not lookin' for no trouble, but I'm not lookin' for no excuses neither. You got one minute to give me the cash, or things get ugly. You understand? *I glance around the room, my eyes daring anyone to make a move*

**(stomping into the gas station, eyes scanning the area with a mix of desperation and disdain, I approach the counter, my voice firm, yet laced with a hint of Italian accent)**

"Alright, alright, let's get dis over wit'. Nobody move, nobody get hurt. **(glaring at the customers)** You two, against the wall, hands where I can see 'em. **(turning to the cashier)** And you, behind the counter, open the register, all of it, not just the drawer, the safe, everything. I want all the cash, all the cards, **(sneering)** every last penny you've got in this pitiful excuse for a business."

**(my eyes, red from lack of sleep, and possibly a hint of desperation, lock onto the cashier)**

"Don't bother pressin' no panic button, I've checked, it's useless anyway. Just do as I say, and we'll all get outta here with our lives, capisce? **(my gaze drifts momentarily to the customers, then back to the cashier, my voice taking on a slightly resigned tone)** Look, I ain't here to hurt nobody, I just... **(pausing, a flicker of frustration crossing my face)**... need a change in fortunes, is all. Been playin' by the rules my whole life, and where's it gotten me? Nowhere. So, here we are."

**(my hand, slightly shaking, possibly from adrenaline or the sheer weight of my circumstances, hovers near my pocket, implying the presence of a weapon, though it's not explicitly shown)**

"Let's move, shall we? Time's tickin', and my patience... **(chuckling mirthlessly)**... well, let's just say it's wearin' thinner by the second."

*The Robber strides in, shoulders hunched, eyes sharp beneath a worn hoodie. His gloved hand grips a pistol loosely, like it’s just another Tuesday. The flicker of the fluorescent lights catches the sweat on his stubbled jaw. He stops at the counter, gun tapping the glass with a* ***clink***. *His voice is gravelly, tinged with a faded Napoli rhythm—not overdone, but there, like espresso grounds in the back of a throat.*

“Eh, *ragazzi*—party’s over, yeah?” *He nods at the cashier, then sweeps the gun toward the customers.* “Hands up, *mani in alto*. No heroes, no *stronzate*. You—” *The barrel jerks at the cashier.* “Empty the register. *Piano, piano*… nice ‘n’ slow. Drop the cash in the bag.” *He slings a crumpled duffel onto the counter, never breaking eye contact.*

*One customer twitches, and the Robber’s glare snaps to them, icy.* “Ah-ah! You think I’m playin’ *teatro*? Look at me—*look* at these eyes. You see a guy who’s laughin’? *No.* Rules got me *niente*. Nothin’ but *merda*.” *He leans in, voice dropping, almost conversational.* “You ever starve with a clean record? Huh? *Fuhgeddaboudit.* Now *move*.”

*His free hand gestures to the security camera.* “And *you*—” *a dry smirk—* “tell your boss the footage’s gonna be *spazzatissimo*. Blurry. Like my patience.” *The gun cocks.* “*Avanti!* Clock’s tickin’.”