Blaine found himself facing a rare bout of restlessness, and Lee was working the bar that night, so he had to find a different use of his time. Luckily, his gym wasn't far from his house, and it was open twenty four-seven. The good news about it was the gym was fairly empty so he basically had the building to himself, but the bad news was that he didn't have a sparring partner, so he was stuck working the bag. If he said it once, he said a million times that he hated having to hit something that couldn't hit back. But...such was his predicament.

So, he stood in front of the bag, wearing his old fighting gear: Black and blue shorts, and a black muscle shirt that seemed to be at least a size too small, that rippled with every punch, every move he made threatening to rip it. But miraculously it never did. His hair tied back in a ponytail, he kept his steel-blue eyes focused on the bag as he'd land a punch, then move and fire off a kick.

His movements were fluid, fast, and dangerous--or they would be if he was fighting an actual person. But it was just practice. He envisioned the bag as being somebody as he kept unloading, unable to feel the sweat pouring off of his brow; he had no idea how long he'd been at it at this point. His muscles couldn't ache and his body didn't get sore, so there was really nothing telling him when it was time to stop. And so he didn't. His knuckles were slightly pink from the time he'd spent wailing on the bag, but it didn't bother him.

This was his stomping ground, and since he'd given up fighting illegally, this was the only way he could unleash his pent up adrenaline and aggression; the bar was much too peaceful for his liking sometimes. Which was good for the bar's reputation, but bad for his attention span sometimes.

Sometimes, a man like Blaine just needed to hit something.

Devon didn’t visit the gym often. He jogged often, but when he wasn’t working he’d likely be found training in CLASS at Haven. He couldn’t recall now what had convinced him to join a gym for a little lifting, but now it was also a way to get away. No one knew him to frequent the gym here and they wouldn’t expect it either. A little weight training, some good lifts, and getting a sweat going were good for him. He truly was having trouble putting work aside, and he knew why…

But he didn’t have a solution yet. In a simple pair of black shorts and a baggy gray t-shirt, ear buds connected to his phone played music distractedly as he went to the incline press and got to working. It wasn’t long before he went to the pec-deck and started pushing himself a bit harder. He’d always been a lean person, and his mutation made him a nimble man who preferred to be light on his feet. But Halloween had shown him the possibilities of a larger battle – even if it was imagined – for the memory was still there. Some more strength to his punch was a good idea.

Devon preferred hitting the gym at night and enjoyed that it was typically empty. Not tonight, however. There were always those who worked second or third shift, but they usually came later or pre-dawn. He didn’t mind it and paid it little attention, though he would never ignore someone to the point that he wasn’t aware who was sharing his space. It was an older, good-looking man with brown hair pulled back and light eyes. He was either frustrated or angry, pounding away on a punching bag when Devon spotted him while going for the pec-deck.

Considering his background, Blaine wasn't one to lose his focus very often; in a professional fight, the moment you lost your focus was the very moment you lost. He kept his pace, hitting, moving and hitting again. Every now and then, he'd toss in a kick or a knee for good measure. Though the bag wasn't his preferred training method, he had to admit tonight, it was doing him some good.

But not being able to feel and being invincible were two different things. Sure, he had no idea how long he'd been wailing on the bag, but his stamina wasn't limitless; it just took him longer to realize when he was getting tired. He'd noticed he was getting a little sluggish, but he decided to land a few more blows before stopping. And when he did stop, he noticed a few faint red stains on the blue bag, and a few more on the floor. Blinking in confusion, he looked at his hands only to realize he'd been at it so long, it'd opened up a few scabs on his knuckles. On the one hand, he probably should have brought his gloves, but he'd figured since he wasn't doing this for money anymore, he'd only ever use his skills here, or bare-knuckling it at the bar. So it'd help.

Nonetheless, he was bleeding, and until looking down to see it, he'd never even noticed. Most fighters had a high pain tolerance, anyway, but Blaine was different. He never even flinched, never made a wince, nothing. Walking over to his gym bag, he pulled out a stained towel that looked like it was specifically for this kind of occasion, and cleaned the spots on the floor before sitting down and wiping off his knuckles.

As he did so, he saw someone on a machine nearby--he never really fooled with those much, but to each his own. In a split second, Blaine had the guy sized up, but that had become a force of habit by now. He was young, a little shorter than himself, and a lot leaner. Maybe he was trying to put on some muscle, gain confidence, maybe even try to make himself more appealing to his preferred specimen of choice. Blaine had seen all types.

After getting his knuckles cleaned, he tossed the towel aside, at least in the area of the gym bag, and gave the man a nod of greeting. He didn't go back to training just yet; he knew he needed to give it a rest, and aggravating wounds was a lot easier, and sometimes more dangerous, for him.

Devon was focused on his workout so he paid the other gym-body little mind, that is until he stopped. The constant motion of the wailing on the bag caught his attention. The guy was staring at his hands and they looked a little raw. Where were his gloves? There was a story there; many people came to the gym to get out some frustration, burn off energy, or work out aggression. Maybe this was the case.

That didn’t seem likely, however. The guy cleaned his hands and then offered a nod of greeting as Devon finished his last set. His upper chest was pumped and he could feel the tension in his upper back and shoulders from the stabilizing control. If the guy was pissed off or frustrated, taking a moment to take care of himself and even give a bro’s hello didn’t make sense. Of course, maybe he’d finally beaten the thing enough.

Next up was the bench press. He’d finish with the cables. The gym had both weights and the machine bench and with how quiet it was; the machine would do nicely for isolation. Devon may not have been the most avid lifter, but he’d done his homework. He spent perhaps too much time up late recently, his bedroom alit by his cell phone though that wasn’t what was keeping him up…

Devon tapped his ear buds to pause the music as he stood. Moving toward the machine bench press while rolling his shoulders, he offered a, “Hey. Quiet night eh? Looks like you gave that thing a lesson,” to the resting fighter.

At the machine he adjusted the weight to 220. It was more than he could really do, especially safely on the free chest bench but he was building and everything he’d read said to start heavy and then work down as you got tired, especially if you had the machine to work two areas of your chest and without the threat of weights crashing down on you. Devon easily assumed the other guy laughed at 300. Once ready he took a seat and rolled his neck a few times before taking hold and beginning a small set.

Blaine gave the guy a smirk as he spoke, nodding again. "Yeah. Bag's the closest thing to a sparring partner I could get tonight," he remarked with a slight chuckle. Once his knuckles seemed to heal up, he decided he wasn't done working out for the night. After all, he still had some adrenaline going.

While most people could feel their adrenaline pumping through their bloodstream and feel their heartbeat, it was different for Blaine. His heart seemed to beat in his ears, and he could hear it, though he wasn't sure why he was so pumped up. Maybe the night away from Lee had left him with surplus energy. Who knew?

Standing to his feet, he stretched a little before walking over and picking up a fifty pound dumbbell. Just like everything else, even lifting weights was different for him. As he curled with his right hand, he watched his entire arm move: every muscle, every vein, every little flinch with each rep. He was looking for signs that he was reaching his limit, though he knew that was a ways away. Even though working out was one of his favorite things, he had to be more careful than normal people. After all, he had to pay very close attention to what he was doing, as a pulled muscle would cause him a world of trouble that he'd never even know about.

After about thirty reps, he smoothly transitioned to his left hand, his eyes not losing focus.

>> "Yeah. Bag's the closest thing to a sparring partner I could get tonight,"

Devon chuckled and nodded. As he turned away to adjust the weights his eyes widened and he blew out a slightly exasperated breath. Sparring partner? The guy was beating the bag bare-handed to bloody knuckles. Maybe others at the gym avoided him and that’s why no one else was here. He seemed nice enough to take the joke, so maybe it wasn’t fear…

Eventually he transitioned to some weight-lifting and bicep curls with what Devon presumed to be a light amount of weight for the man. He seemed so intent on the movements that Devon was getting curious. With the bench press machine’s weight eventually too much for another set, it got adjusted down again. The guy switched arms and it didn’t really seem like he was getting tired, just watching or maybe studying himself.

Maybe it wasn’t fear others had. Maybe it was that this guy didn’t know quite what he was capable of and that’s what had led him to beating the bag bloody.

“Hey,” Devon asked as he stood from the machine. Working out was one of the rare times he would sweat as he internally got warm from the work rather than feeling the heat externally. He wiped an arm across his brow as he wiped down the machine with a towel. “You okay? I mean, your focus is impressive but is everything alright?” his concern seemingly sincere.

Blaine finished out his set and put the barbell down as the guy walked up and spoke to him again, showing concern. This made Blaine smirk a bit, because honestly, that wasn't exactly common.

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine, actually. Thanks." He paused a moment, but he wasn't exactly ashamed of the reason behind his focus. Especially not as of late; he was who he was, after all. "I kind of need to have intense focus. See, I can't feel. Not pain. Not anything. Most would call it a mutation, or a curse. But anything can be a gift if you know how to use it," he explained, standing to his feet and looking his arms over for anything out of place, but everything seemed to be in order.

"Because of that, not too many people want to spar with me; and the few that will have other engagements. So, I'm just working off some excess energy." He paused again, holding a hand out to the guy. "Blane. Blaine Sinclaire," he said simply, introducing himself.

Devon’s expression went from concern to an understanding, if apologetic smile. He nodded along as Blaine spoke and then took the man’s hand as he offered it. “Nice to meet you Blaine. I’m Devon Hadden,” he said warmly, making no particular attempt to show his strength with the grip of the handshake. Instead he focused on clearly holding it while smiling brightly.

“That makes more sense,” he chuckled. “I was wondering if you scared people off with your strength or more you didn’t understand what you were capable of. It would seem it’s a variation of the latter,” he nodded and gave the taller man another appraising look.

Blaine was tall, at least a few inches over six feet. He had ink showing from around the confines of his tight muscle shirt. His musculature was defined but not bulky, looking more like the stature of a working man. Maybe he was former military? His stance seemed trained when he was fighting at the bag. All of Devon’s training continued to be in avoidance, quick hits, disarming, and take downs. If you could get someone to the ground it was usually pretty easy to get them to breathe, relax, and maybe calm down enough to talk. It helped when you had an angry kid threatening you with a knife or a mutant thrashing about as their powers emerged…

Unless of course they could control the very ground and sent spikes shooting at you. Ah, what a day at the beach that was. He needed to check in with Jorge.

But Blaine here looked strong, capable, and – as Devon had thought before – good looking.

Devon grimaced a little but grinned, “If I offer to spar with you, are you going to be able to know how much strength you’re throwing and not just break my arm or my jaw?” He chuckled again, “I get in some training here and there but I’m more of a disarm ‘em and take ‘em to the ground type. If there were, per se, a club, where people were to fight, allegedly, I would not last long in a round of hard punches. I am trying to put a bit more strength to my frame though,” he nodded, glancing over to the bench.

Where most would judge someone from the handshake, to Blaine it was a formal greeting--granted one he didn't often use. However, he was learning to understand the whole 'contact' thing. While these simple public formalities did nothing for him, they were integral to society; as much as he hated to admit it.

"Oh, I know full well what I'm capable of. The problem is more or less a trust issue. I've been learning how to dial back against someone who can't handle it, but that's not to say you'd come out scratch free," he said with a slight shrug.

"Well, are you looking to spar, or would you prefer learning a few things? I work as a bouncer, and I used to be a fighter--semi pro--but I still keep in top form," he said, very subtly throwing in his almost-fame. Sure, maybe he clung to that sometimes; he wondered what it'd be like if he'd achieved his dream.

But then he realized in the world he lived in, if he made it to that level, he wouldn't have his powers; and being able to feel what went on in that ring would suck. "Obviously, I'm more of a striker; hit fast, hit hard, end it in time for lunch." Walking back to his bag, he pulled out a pair of grey gloves; they weren't his usual ones, but he always carried a spare pair. Slipping them onto his hands, he walked back to Devon. "Alright, so if we're sparring, I promise I'll take it easy on ya," he slightly teased as he sat on the edge of the ring. "Besides, how can I see what you can do if you're out cold?"

Blaine wondered how much of it was a trust issue of others and how much it was Blaine learning to trust himself. His next immediate comment about learning to dial back, how to hold his strength made the intense focus the older man had shown earlier even clearer. He was constantly training to get better, not only with his capabilities but in his control of them. Considering his ability to not feel that was admirable, if not a little sad for the other ramifications.

Devon simply nodded at the idea of a scratch or two. Some of his trainings had gotten him some minor cuts and serious bruising. He was training even harder now, since Halloween. “A little spar, a little learning seems best. If you’re not learning from whomever you’re sparring, then you’re both doing it wrong,” he said with a wry grin.

The knowledge that Blaine had been a bouncer and a semi-pro fighter was interesting, useful even. Maybe Devon had an idea… Calcifer wasn’t around as much lately and they did have the thing they didn’t talk about. Jack would appreciate another good bouncer for the Hellfire. Ranger valued good security team members… And if there was real interest in making a difference for mutants…

Devon laughed at the lunch comment, pushing his ruminating thoughts aside. He accepted the gloves with a nod and started doing them up, fumbling only once; he had fitted ones in CLASS. Blaine would probably really enjoy CLASS and the digital information telling him how much force he applied, what was being done back to him…

>> "Besides, how can I see what you can do if you're out cold?"

“Heh. Thanks, yeah, you hit too fast and too hard I’ll be unconscious I bet,” Devon lightly chuckled. A concussion sounded like a terrible night and he didn’t want to imagine being stuck in that nightmare. So many claws and indescribable appendages he needed to banish, needed to know weren’t real. And yet everything was possible if rifts were possible.

“I’ll try to avoid, get in quick hits where possible, and position for a take down when I can,” he explained, climbing up into the ring. He rolled his shoulders and then took a simple starting stance: knees bent, one foot ahead of the other though both ready to move. Devon held both hands out before him, elbows bent and ready to guard his face or midsection. Of course, he started with the wrong foot hoping to surprise the man with which side was his dominant.

Blaine chuckled as he stepped into the ring. "You seem to have a good head on your shoulders. The first step is knowing what you're built to do," he said with a nod as he weighed the younger man's words. But after that, Blaine was done talking, and his steel blue eyes were now focused on the younger man taking a stance. Blaine took his own stance: relatively high guard, knees slightly bent. It was a stance taken by someone who intended to stay in the thick of things.

His eyes began to size up Devon again, this time based on his stance in just the split second he had. One's stance said alot about intended strategy, confidence level, and intended style. And Blaine learned to read it like a book. Since it was late, there wasn't exactly anyone around to ring a bell, Blaine just gave a simple nod, obvious enough to start this session.

He approached, rather light on his feet for his build. He faced Devon as he approached, opening up with a right kick towards his side, intending to follow up with a left punch to the midsection. It was a basic opening, meant for feeling him out; and he intended to minimize shots to the head, for obvious reasons. After all, it was best that he remember this sparring session, right?

>> "You seem to have a good head on your shoulders. The first step is knowing what you're built to do,"

“And building yourself into something more.”

Devon’s blue eyes watched the man closely as he came into the ring. He’d learned long ago and through continued practice – especially with Haven now – that the eyes of an untrained person would lead you into their movements. Someone trained, like Blaine here, could lie with their gaze but then it seemed he needed to focus on what he was doing so as to pull some of that strength. Devon would remember that as he studied the stronger man’s initial position.

A quick nod and they began. Blaine was surprisingly quick, coming right in with a few fast steps. Oh and they weren’t just boxing; Blaine went to kick from the right. He began with an opening maneuver that would lead with one side’s kick and then a punch from the other. It was nothing fancy; Blaine was testing him. Good, at least the man wasn’t trying to knock him right out.

Normally Tempest would have ridden the winds upward, backward, sideways or knocked Blaine aside with a gust of a thought. But this wasn’t that kind of practice. Much as Blaine might have been trying to get a feel for Devon’s skill, Devon Hadden wanted to understand this possible-bouncer, possible-fighter’s skill and behavior. He wasn’t interested in a bully nor a single-minded brute afraid, but someone who cared about control and teaching while learning of another person? That was a good person, a valuable asset.

Devon didn’t retreat. He needed to show Blaine that their spar could be something more. His right arm moved to catch the coming punch while that hand cupped to grab and push aside any quick movement Blaine decide to make with that left punch. Meanwhile, the younger, smaller, and certainly lighter-footed man stepped in but to his left. His left hand quickly grabbed and pushed at the older man’s kick so as to turn him away to one side while Devon shifted left and around to the other.

A basic response might have been to simple jump back quickly, but Devon was more advanced than that especially where jujutsu was concerned. He wasn’t about to try any holds or takedowns. Obviously Blaine would be better than that and of course, Devon wanted to see more. A few bruises would be worth it.

He needed to be the best, wanted the best…

Blaine was surprised at how quick the other man reacted, and that he'd staved off both attacks. But it was a pleasant surprise; it meant the smaller man knew what he was doing, and that he was no push over. Besides, as mentioned earlier, Blaine wasn't looking to pummel anyone, just a little tune-up.

As his right foot landed back on the ground, he very quickly shifted his weight onto it to deliver a side kick to Devon's midsection. But he'd already moved as his kick connected with nothing. Oddly, a light chuckle escaped from his lips as he took a couple of steps forward then pivoted; he knew not to keep his back turned on an opponent for long. That was another quick way to lose. Or find yourself in a choke-hold.

He regained his stance, waiting for Devon to make the opening gambit this time. Normally he didn't wait, but this wasn't a normal fight. Even still, as he stood there, facing a younger opponent he'd never met before, it was almost as if he was in his twenties again, and he could visualize a moderate crowd cheering. It brought a smile to his face, though his eyes still meant business.

Blaine chuckled and Devon grinned slightly; he’d surprised the guy in a pleasant way. Good. This didn’t have to be a simple dodge and punch session. Besides, Devon actually wanted to learn something. If he pretended to be less trained than he was than where would he be? This guy clearly needed a little more excitement in his routine tonight.

As Devon turned around behind him, Blaine was already pivoting. Good again. No half-way decent fighter would let anyone slide around behind them with that much ease. Devon would have to be faster for that, especially as Blaine was now watching, carefully regaining his stance and clearly waiting for an opportunity.

Devon’s blue eyes studied the older man’s. A quick step forward and Devon glanced to his left and at Blaine’s right shoulder. He started to move his left arm as he shifted his weight with the movement, but Devon had no intension of hitting or grabbing Blaine’s shoulder. Instead he anticipated Blaine would shift his right side back while raising his right arm and punching forward with his left. That’s when Devon planned not to punch or strike, but fiercely grab at his opponent’s left forearm and push violently into his chest.

Hopefully it would catch the man off guard once more, let alone make use of the shifting weight for an expected dodge and send Blaine turning faster and farther than intended.

Blaine saw the man coming toward him, but he just stood there preparing to take the hit. But...something was off. Devon kept going with the momentum and he saw him grabbing for his left arm. And, he let the kid have his moment. But it was just a moment. As soon as he was sure Devon had his left arm, Blaine turned, pulling said arm towards himself as he lifted his right knee.

If all went to plan, it would catch Devon in the midsection, and set Blaine up for a takedown. If it didn't, then that would depend on how the kid decided to counter. Either way, someone was likely going to end up on their back.