[DALTON FINN ELLIS]

Dalton felt like he lived his life at the gym, and he basically did - if he wasn't here, it was the other one anyway, much for muchness. At least at this gym, he could generally put his earphones in and get on with life, rarely bothered by anyone, even those that knew him. If anything, they were least likely to bother him than strangers. He gave a nod to the guy behind the desk when he swiped the code on his phone to check in - Jerry or Terry or something like that, Dalton hadn't paused long enough to commit it to memory, but he'd seen the guy underground a few times, had seen him place some bets. Hadn't seen him fight though, Dalton figured he wasn't the type - it was why he hadn't bothered to learn his name. If he wasn't a high flyer, big spender and didn't throw or take a punch, then he was just another in a sea of nameless faces.

There were a surprising amount of people here that also vacated the underground, and an even bigger surprising number of people who had nothing to do with the gym that enjoyed the heat of below the deck. If you thought your innocent looking bubblegum blowing girlfriend or your balding, boring, middle aged straight laced father didn't enjoy flashing the cash to watch some blood shed and hot sweat, you were sorely mistaken. Dalton began to roll his shoulders on his walk toward the row of bags, already getting started on his warm up and ready to threw some punches when he realised that all the bags were already taken. He frowned, forehead creasing in frustration as he took stock of who was working the bags. Nobody he knew, nobody he could look at and have them nod and walk away in understanding. Fucking typical. Guess it would have to be a weights day, what a waste of time.