One-shot. Dated to a couple weeks after arrival.

Raleigh had found the gym on accident. He's never lived in a city quite like Darrow; it feels more urban than places he's been stationed before and a lot bigger than the places he trained at. He never had time to enjoy the local flavor of places like Hong Kong, so he's just been wandering the streets, taking it all in and learning his way around. 
 

He's about to turn back and head home when he sees the gym's front window, an unmistakable symbol and the equipment he sees behind it practically calling his name. He's been spending most of his time working out in his apartment; it'd be good to get some of that energy out on a punching bag or in a spar. 

He wouldn't mind some spare cash, either. 

When he heads inside, he's met with the same weird level of attention that so many of the natives seem to give him. Both the receptionist at the desk - a kid barely over eighteen - and a bigger guy, a trainer obviously, stop what they're doing to look over at him.
 

"Can I help you?" The receptionist seems eager for a yes, already grabbing a membership contract from off the desk while the other man (shaved head and Under Armour and all) crosses his arms, looking Raleigh over from head to toe.

Every place he's looked for a job around here is so damned thirsty. It makes things seem almost unfair. "Yeah, looking to sign up. Basic membership's fine." Raleigh leans on the counter and lets out a breath, looking behind the desk toward the rest of the gym, gaze floating from machine to machine until he spots a man and a woman sparring at the mats on the back. Both of their form is a little sloppy (and isn't everyone's), but neither of them is bad.
 

The receptionist seems to be falling all over himself for the sale, but the trainer puts a hand out to stop him, eyes steady on Raleigh. "Bullshit. You wanna train with me." 

"Do I?" Hard sells are Raleigh's favorites. He raises an eyebrow and does his best not to let his face split into a shit eating grin as the trainer jerks his head toward the back, obviously expecting him to follow. Pulling his sweatshirt over his head and going barefoot at the edge of the mat, he rolls his neck and waits. The trainer doesn't gear up, so he doesn't either. It'd just slow him down.
 

Someone calls a start to the spar, and it might as well be in slow motion. Raleigh can see the swings before they come and hardly has to do more than step out of the way. A few quick, well-placed jabs to the sides throw the bigger man off balance and the high kick he tries to deliver to end things quickly is too slow. Raleigh grabs the man's calf and brings them both down to the ground with a quick sweep, nearly bringing his ankle to his shoulder when he gets him to the mat.

It's embarrassing, really, and years ago, Raleigh would have taken the opportunity to gloat, but he's more focused now. The trainer taps the mat and Raleigh is on his feet again almost immediately, offering his hand and pulling him up by the wrist.
 

"I think we need some new trainers," the man says as Raleigh pulls him up, the two of them making their way to the water fountain. From his tone, he could be talking about the weather.
 

The smile that had been threatening to take over his face when he walked in spreads across his face and Raleigh laughs, not unkindly. 

"I think you do. When can I start?"