Once upon a time, Marc would have been won over by that. It'd been the not-quite-only reason he'd encouraged Frenchie to accept Bushman's offer despite misgivings, despite trepidation. It'd been the reason they'd kept on with the mission at Alexandria. It'd been the reason for so many things — the sentiment of 'don't worry about the danger, that'll be fine, just think of the payday'.

An easy proclamation to make, not so easy to keep to, it turned out.
(What else had he said? 'You know me, too dumb to live—'. That one had been true.)

It's an offer made with the sort of magnanimity and assuredness that says that this is something Joker's done before. Implies that he has — had, presumably, given the situation they're both in — the funds to back it up and suggests, too, that he might have even been good at it. It being unspoken between them, of course.

"That's a nice offer," Marc agrees in turn. He doesn't match Joker's smile, but he does meet his gaze. Careful. Level. "There's only one problem," he adds, the remark punctuated by a breath of a pause.

"I'm a priest." Accompanied by a gesture at himself, at the white shirt, the white tie, the white trousers and the white shoes, as if to say 'what else would I be?'

"And what good priest has want of money?"