Option 3. Write in.

Hans shifts his weight. The Mayor gestures to a stool. Hans sits as he rewords his statement.
"I have a propostion for you and the town itself. But I fear it is rather uncomforting."
The Mayor cleans a glass. His brow furrowed. Everything was excellent in the area. Must Hans waltz in with gloom and doom?
"I have no intention of procrastinating my cleaning."
He grabs another glass nearly dropping it. "I am listening Hans. Let me guess a place of worship so we can keep up morale or-."
He gives a pause and leans on the bar studying him. "A bank that can help us finacially."
Hans taps on the wooden bar. "Not quite. I fear it has grown too quiet."
The mayor cocks his head. "You fear peace?"
Hans scoffed. "I fear hardship. I think we are growing soft! It's like a bloody children's tale out there. What if our neighbors decide we should share our wealth and fortune. Half these imbeciles might lead them down the street. We need a sense of purpose."
The Mayor signed. "Are you wanting a war? Do you want me to go out there and forge swords, teach men to fight and send boys to die?"
Hans grimaced. And pointed to the keg. The mayor relented and poured a glass. Hans spoke. His voice echoing into the mug.
"This city needs walls."
The mayor stammered as his patron chugged. "Made of what? Grass and sticks?"
Hans smiled. A sight that made the mayors spine shiver.
"I have stone. Enough for forty towns."