After Ali smashed the glass over her former captain's head, she discovered he was far more drunk than she'd anticipated. Instead of shaking it off and coming after her as she'd expected, the man staggered backward and collapsed, unconscious.
"Well..." she muttered. "That was hardly the goal... not so quick anyhow."
The rest of the crew hesitated, unsure of what to do now that their commander had been rendered useless.
"I got me some bad bruises from last time we had to fight her..." one of the gunners mumbled. The mechanic took a step back and lifted his left arm, bound in a sling.
"She broke my arm, as I recall," he added. Ali grinned. Looked like a fight wouldn't be necessary after all. But then, two of the hired muscle hefted the table she'd been seated at and tossed it at her. Eyes widening in disbelief, Ali swore in three different languages, wished briefly that she had an ally in this squabble, and then cartwheeled out of the oncoming table's way. It smashed into the wall and splintered.
"Wanna get me?" she challenged. The bartender screeched his protests, but the words fell on deaf ears. Ali shook her head. "Best do as the man says," she encouraged. "This sort of conduct isn't looked upon kindly in places like this. Harassing an innocent female could get you arrested."
The thugs seemed to consider this for a moment. Then, deciding it was still worth the trouble, they came toward Ali. Anticipating their movements thanks to the two months she'd spent watching them, the young woman executed a swift handspring forward and then drove both fists into the first thug's stomach. He grunted and froze, giving Ali plenty of time to thrust a fist upward, slamming into his jaw and knocking him flat on his back, just as out of the fight as the captain.
"Next?" Ali challenged. At seeing both the captain and a muscle taken down with such ease, the rest hesitated. But Ali could see it in their eyes. They weren't done with her yet...