Krystal Anderson lightly pushed open the door to the Grinning Skull. She'd been to the bar a few times in the past couple of weeks, and despite its grimy appearance she was starting to like it. It was situated right in the heart of the Gray Sector of Altair City, where the law enforcement barely bothered to go. As such, it was an excellent place for criminal gangs, drug dealers, and humble street urchins such as herself to live.

It had been a long day today. Krystal hadn't been able to pick as many pockets as she'd have liked, and only narrowly avoided a confrontation with a cop in the marketplace. Overall, she needed something to wind down with, and the Skull was the closest option. She strode over to the bar and nearly collapsed into a seat, glancing around the dimly lit room. Nobody had paid her any attention when she walked in, but she got a few funny looks when she sat down.

"Long day, huh?" the bartender asked. He was busy wiping down some glasses left behind by customers.

"Long week," Krystal replied flatly. "Whatcha dishin' out tonight? Need somethin' to take the edge off."

"I've got just the thing." The bartender slid her a glass of cloudy yellowish liquid. "House special. Nothing too heavy." Krystal eyed the drink for only a moment before downing nearly half the glass. She winced and coughed.

"That doesn't go down so smooth, does it?" she choked out. That was an understatement.

"Hey, it's not top shelf booze, lady. Either it hurts your throat, or it hurts your wallet. Pick your poison."

"Point taken." She grabbed the glass and gulped down the rest of it. She winced again and felt her eyes tearing up, but this wasn't her first drink. She'd get used to it. She always did, on nights like these.

She pushed the glass back to the bartender, who caught it without looking up. He filled it wordlessly and slid it back, but it didn't quite reach her hand. Someone else had grabbed it on its way back, and Krystal looked up to see who'd denied her the glass of liquid relaxation.

The culprit was a barrel-chested man in a leather jacket, square-jawed and stern-faced. He leaned over and looked Krystal straight in the eye. "Now what have we here?" he said quietly. His breath didn't smell of alcohol; he must've just walked in.

"A really tired-ass girl who wants to be left alone so she can have a drink," Krystal deadpanned. "I believe you have something of mine." She gestured to the glass in his hand.

"I believe you have something of mine," the man growled. His voice was deep and sounded like he was gargling gravel. Krystal tilted her head; she didn't quite get what he meant. She'd never seen him before, as far as she could remember.

"He means his seat. He always sits there," the bartender called. He was busy serving another customer at the other side of the bar, but he continued to watch the two out of the corner of his eye.

Krystal chuckled a bit to herself. "What's wrong, Tiny? You usually sit here at lunchtime with your friends?" In most other circumstances she would've been more accommodating, as she didn't like making trouble where she didn't have to. Tonight, though, was the first night in a long time she'd had to relax. She wouldn't stand for having her seat taken by the bar's equivalent of a playground bully.

Tiny, evidently, didn't like his new nickname. He set the glass down, his anger barely controlled. His face twisted into a snarl. "Now listen here. That is my seat," he said, poking her hard in the chest. "Nobody sits there except me. I've had a tough week, and I want my beers in my seat. Now are you going to move, or am I going to have to make you?"

Krystal reached for her drink, careful not to make any sudden moves. Calmly, she drained the rest of the glass. The alcohol didn't sting anymore. "Fine," she said. She rose from her seat, dusted herself off, and stepped aside so Tiny could sit in his ever-coveted barstool. "Go ahead." She sauntered back towards the door at the front of the bar. A glance around showed that a few of the customers in the bar had turned to look at the altercation with mild disinterest. Clearly, Tiny had evicted more than a few people from his seat.

Krystal decided that she'd be the last.

She reached for the door but didn't open it. Instead, she latched the door's top bolt closed, bending down to repeat the process for the lower one. She stepped over to the neon "OPEN" sign in the window and unplugged it from the wall.

"Hey, whaddya think your doin', lady?" the bartender called over. Arguments and squabbles were bound to happen in any bar in the area, but someone messing with his bar was a step too far.

"Relax, pal. This is for the best," Krystal responded. "You know, there's an old movie where something like this happened." By now she had the full bar's attention. "Anyone remember what comes next?" Silence. Tiny was glaring at her with a mixture of annoyance and confusion. Krystal sighed and shook her head in mock disappointment. "No respect for the classics…" she muttered. She picked up an empty glass from a nearby table yet to be cleaned by the bartender. Krystal tested its weight for a second before hurling it as hard as she could, right at Tiny's head.

Tiny, to his credit, wasn't inebriated yet, and managed to avoid a direct hit. The glass glanced of the side of his head and shattered against the wall behind the bar. The bartender, now certain he couldn't stop a fight, ducked for cover. Many patrons did the same.

"Goddamnit, lady, you asked for it!" Tiny sprang out of his seat and lunged straight at Krystal, swinging a hard right hook at her face. Calm as ever, Krystal ducked back and just barely dodged the punch. She kicked the now off-balance Tiny hard in the side and sent him stumbling into the wall. An unpleasant surprise came when Tiny rose from the floor and pulled a knife out of his jacket, gleaming wickedly in the dim light. He dove at her once more, slashing and stabbing wildly. Krystal was forced to jump back out of range of the blade and grabbed at behind her for something to defend herself with - she was good, but a knife was a knife.

Her solution came in the form of a barstool, which she swung around in front of her to block a deadly overhead stab that would've taken her eye out. The tip of the knife stuck fast in the seat of the wooden seat and Krystal pulled it back, disarming Tiny. He didn't have time to recover before Krystal raised the barstool over her head and brought it down on Tiny, hard. The old seat finally gave way and splintered into pieces, leaving Krystal with two chair legs in each hand. Tiny was fazed but recovered quickly, snatching up the knife that had been knocked loose from the impact. He lunged again, but Krystal was armed this time. She crossed the chair legs in front of her in an X shape, catching the knife between them. In a move she'd practiced so many times it had become muscle memory, she bent her wrists and twisted the knife out of Tiny's hands, throwing it to the floor once again. Krystal sent the knife skittering off into some dark corner of the bar with a kick before smacking Tiny in the jaw with the end of a chair leg. He staggered back, sizing up the tall, lithe girl that was beating him almost effortlessly. He was already out of breath, while she was still standing straight with little more than a bored expression on her face.

"Jesus, lady, where'd you learn to fight?" he panted.

"Mean streets, these are," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "None too kind to people who can't defend themselves. Honestly, though, I was expecting a bit more of a fight out of you, Tiny. You're like double my weight and had a knife, and here I am kicking your ass with a barstool."

Tiny did not like that. Fully giving into rage, he swung wild punches at Krystal in an attempt to do anything to her, to make her sorry for taking his seat at the bar. Infuriatingly enough, Krystal calmly backed away and dodged every punch he threw, delivering swift jabs whenever she saw an opening. Tiny's stance became sloppy, and Krystal moved on the offensive, first hitting him with a swift jab to the throat before sinking her fist into his gut, sending him reeling into the bar. The second hit knocked the air out of his lungs and he grasped the bar counter for support, coughing and wheezing. Krystal stood over him, haughty and aloof.

"I'll give you one chance, Tiny. You can get up and get out of here right now and never come back. Or," she continued, leaning over to look him in the eye, "you can stay here and have me drag your sorry ass out."

Tiny snarled at her. "Go to hell," he said. He grabbed a beer stein from the table and swung it at her. Krystal ducked the blow easily - he was worn out and his movements were sluggish - before grabbing the back of Tiny's head and slamming it as hard as she could against the corner of the bar. The beer stein slipped from Tiny's hand and landed with a thud on the floor, an unconscious Tiny crumpling next to it.

The room fell dead quiet. Everyone in the bar was either staring at Krystal or cowering behind cover, and nobody made a move to pick up Tiny or apprehend Krystal. Clearly he didn't have many friends here. Krystal dug through Tiny's pockets and found his wallet, taking it back to her seat at the bar. Her empty glass was still sitting where Tiny had set it down earlier. The bartender was staring at her wide-eyed, only peeking up after the fight ended.

"What the hell, lady? Look at what you did to my bar!" he said. There was, to his credit, a fair amount of damage left over from the fight. Tables were knocked over or smashed, and the infamous barstool laid in pieces. Krystal dropped Tiny's wallet in front of the barkeeper.

"That should pay for it. And drinks for me for the rest of the night," she added. "If he shows up again after tonight, tell him I plan on coming back here a lot. Should keep him away." She slid her glass across the bar to him. "Gimme another shot of whatever that house swill is.