Hilde had been about to open her mouth to agree to the Captain's request, at least once she established that food was included, when the brawl broke out. Alot of things were suddenly moving very rapidly, the volume in the bar rising like a great tidal wave. With a distinctly feminine squeak of panic she rolled under the table, a moment before one of the Middenheimer's companions bought a chair down where she had been sitting, smashing both to kindling with the enthusiasm of the blow.

There were different types of bar room brawls, in Hilde's unforuntunately extensive experience. There were those that were just a release of energy, as much enjoyment as altercation and then deadly conflicts fought between men intent on killing. Fortunately this seemed to be the former kind, at least for now. Judging that she was on Florian's side, by virtue of her nearly agreed to employment, Hilde aimed a vicious kick at the ankle of a passing attacker. The man went down with a curse as she swept his legs out from under him.

Bracing herself, she kicked off with her legs, using all her muscle and the leverage of her back to pitch the table into a trio of oncoming men. Another man caught her with a glancing blow and she staggered back towards Jan and Florian. Hilde wasn't big by the standards of the usual combatants in these affairs and her survival strategy was a simple once. Hide behind the biggest toughest son of a bitch she could find and kick anyone that came close enough.

Behind the bar the bartender drew forth a short barreled blunderbuss and pointed it uncertainly at the crowd of brawling men. Hilde couldn't imagine what he intended to do with the big coach gun. Maybe just to dissuade people from coming across the bar to loot his liquor. It was good that he had that restraint. Emptying a bunch of nails and glass in here wouldn't break up the brawl, but it would make it a hell of a lot deadlier as everyone went for steel rather than fists.

"Captain Florian!" Hilde shouted across the chaos, struggling to make herself heard over the chaos, even though he was only a few feet away. A thrown flagon struck her in the chest, coating her in ale and driving the wind out of her.

"If you throw in rations you have a deal!" she wheezed.