"Plenty to go around, don't be selfish," She replies, cocksure and casual, fists up in a boxer's guardas she steps back from the wild flailing produced by the wet thock-impact of his cane. The man goes down and doesn't come back up again, the back of his head suspiciously shiny; scalp wounds always do bleed like a bitch. More relevantly, it produces an opening as the crowd, both observing and participating, pulls back from the impact, oddly dainty, "Besides—"

Necessity makes a hesitation, and she pauses to duck a thrown table-leg, stepping over sprawled limbs and splinters with a glance for the footing. It's winding down, if only for lack of continued participants— It's sad, really. But for everything bright and joyful there's always that unfortunate bite of after-climax. Alas, the real world always comes 'round eventually.

But not yet.

"...I'm not even trying," Shepard lunges towards the man with the club, driving the air out of him and throwing him bodily towards Kaz. You hungry for more, kid? Fine, have another, eat until you've had enough.