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If some smirking stranger thought they were just going to waltz into Po's gym, they had another thing coming. Maybe if the place was bigger, or attracted more young folks, the punk of a teen would have gone unnoticed. Unfortunately for Layne, this was a rather tight knit little establishment, and the youngest person to frequent it also happened to work there and spent a great deal of time there. She knew all the members. This guy with his bold hair cut and lovely piercings was not in the books.

Coal eyes watched him as he slipped past Gus at the front counter and let himself into the main area of the gym. Porsha was wrapping her left hand, winding tape around her wrist and between her fingers before binding her hand entirely. When she was finished she bit it off, tucked the corner, and pulled on a pair of finger less gloves. Long fingers flexing before she stepped around the heavy bag she'd been about to work over and made her way towards the stranger.

She never wore much when she worked out, and today was no different. High slit shorts rested on her hips. Black with green piping. She was also wearing grey sports bra with a loose, violet tank top over top of it. Since she hadn't started her work out yet her hair was till nicely voluminous and moved as she walked.

"I haven't seen you before, are you new?" Straight, to the point. She tended to favor the direct approach to things. "We don't get a lot of the younger generation here. Not enough amenities." They didn't have a pool, they didn't have top of the line machines or a tanning beds. There was no smoothie bar. But there was a boxing ring, and there were multiple heavy bags set up. They had a connection to the local MMA league, and being privately owned, weren't opposed to trading memberships for people willing to work for the gym itself.

It wasn't fancy, but it had everything Porsha Webber had been looking for in a gym. They'd never had such a loyal employee.

Violet brows shot up as he made eye contact then blatantly ignored her question so he could climb up into the empty boxing ring. It left her lips twisting in irritation, arms coming up to fold beneath her breasts as she as trailed after him. When he glanced back down at her he'd be met with narrow eyed smile that was only about a quarter amused.

It was hard to argue with his logic considering it was exactly how she felt on the matter, so she didn't even try. Instead she uncurled her arms so she could place her gloved hands on her hips. That sounded an awful lot like a challenge.

"Yeah, looks pretty bad a**, right?" The irritation melted away as she smirked, head tilting so her bangs fell over the left side of her face. "I got the basics," she offered up. It wasn't technically a lie, she did know the basics, but that didn't even come close to the scope of her abilities.

She accepted his challenge by way of hoisting herself up and into the ring. Usually she was a little more forthcoming with her opponents on just what they were coming up against, but usually those opponents didn't sneak into her gym or call her 'girly'. Removing that smug grin from his face would be very satisfying. Petty, but true.

"Come at me, bro," she mused, chuckling before dropping into a ready stance. Either hand up and loose, waiting.

God, he was cocky s**t, but from the way he held himself, the way he moved slowly towards her, she could glean that he at least knew what he was doing. He'd be a decent challenge, she could tell, but what had her smiling oh so sweetly at him as he crept ever closer was knowing just how bruised that big ego was going to be by the end of their match. Porsha played to win, and it had been sometime since anyone worthy had stepped into her ring. The regulars knew better, and as she'd said before, they didn't get a lot of new faces around here.

She would enjoy bloodying this new face. She would enjoy it very much.

The careful, harmless mask crumbled as he came at her and she deflected his first jab with little more effort then swatting away a fly, swiping his arm away with her own as she rolled forward on the balls of her feet. The second jab was simply avoided. Fist breezing harmlessly over her shoulder as she bobbed down and to the side.

The third connected, but not solidly. She folded around his fist, hands closing around his wrist before she was turning away from him and taking his arm with her, twisting it back and to the side and using it as a level to gain some distance before darting back in to bring the closed ridge of her knuckles up against the curve of his jaw, then dancing back and out of reach to avoid any blind swipe that might have followed.

"You'll have to try harder then that if you wanna see me all doc'er up, bro." The gloves were off, the act was over. She was a predator, a force to be reckoned, and she would make him regret his folly.

Out side the ring the regulars had begun to gather. Wagers were made, and money exchanged hands. It was always worth watching when someone stepped up to challenge Poe.

She was grinning as that wince cut across is features, and grey eyes followed the arc or the spit before it hit the mat. "Classy." Now that she didn't have to pretend any more she'd fallen back into an easy crouch, comfortable and familiar. Not anything concretely connected with any one school of training, but a hybrid, something evolved and adapted over time and experience.

He started forward, and she mirrored his steps. One foot sliding back for everyone one he moved closer. Not a retreat, but to maintain their careful distance while she considered him. He was no amateur. The cockiness that seemed to ooze out of every pore was, unfortunately, hard won. If she wanted to beat him it wasn't going to be the quick exchange she'd originally planned. This was both annoying, and to a much greater extent, exciting. Porsha always did love a real challenge.

"Eight years of boxing, 3 years of various martial arts, a life-time of brawling. That's what I'm packin', babe." She grinned at him, feral and dangerous, then he was moving again, bouncing back and force. He certainly moved like a boxer, that was for sure, but if he thought a little fancy foot work was going to steal away Po's focus he was in for a painful surprise. The flurry of blows was a good maneuver, and the girl was pulling her in to protect her body, head dipping low beneath the cover of her left arm as she moved to make herself an even smaller target as she absorbed the hits with those less vulnerable bits of her body. Arms, ribs, shoulders. She let him beat on her, let him work himself up, and she kept her body solid, core tight, and took it. 3-2-3, nice rotation, an easy rotation. A predictable rotation.

There was strength in those blows, she could feel it down to her bones, and she knew her arms would look spectacular come morning. Full sleeves of purple and yellow, from shoulders to wrists. She didn't care.

Opening herself up would have been a bad move. It would have given him a chance to hit something vital, and with the power she felt with every hit to arm or the side she knew a clock to the face would have done her no favors. But the hits were getting lighter, not the varying intensity they'd been in the beginning, but steadily less brutal, slower. He was getting tired. All she had to do was wait him out.

There were whistles from the sidelines. Cries of encouragement or jeering remarks. Porsha ignored it all, attention focused down on the man she was facing, on the raise and fall of her own breath, and on the beat and pulse of the body that was assaulting her. She took her time, and paid attention. When the rhythm changed she was ready, and as his body turned her's turned with it. Arms came down to sweep his punch back and away, and her opposite leg came up, knee aiming for his stomach.

It wasn't a boxing move. It wasn't even sanctioned in a proper match, but Porsha wasn't just a boxer, and they hadn't taken the time to establish any ground rules.

The insult--or was it a compliment?--was music to her ears as the breath wheezed out of the young man that dropped to his knees at her feet. She stood above him and smiled, feigning an innocence that was absolute obscene in this moment. He'd brought this all down upon himself. This punishment. He'd earned it, and she was enjoy dishing it out to him. Immensely. This was her house.

A c**k o fher head followed the challenge and she couldn't help but chuckle as she took a half step back from him to fall back into that easy crouch again. "Oh baby, not by half." Condescension dropped from every vowel, but it was nothing to that smile. That sugary sweet, mocking smile she directed down at him. Every move, every step, she was playing with him. He was good, but she was still better, and she would grind that fact home one way or enough. If he wanted to see what she could do, then Porsha was happy to show him.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Sweetheart." Her movements were almost a blur as her shoulders turned, left arm dropping back before a cocked fist came arching at him from the side, blasting him in the cheek. She didn't aim for his face, she aimed for a point six inches beyond it. Knuckles turning at the last possible second to really drive the hit home.

But that was only a prequel.

She didn't give him time to recover before she came at him from the right, throwing her entire shoulder into the hit, slim body rotating with it. She didn't just want to beat him, she wanted to lay him out. To make him kiss the mat he'd spat on. To add that crimson shock of blood to the worn blue beneath them. It wasn't just about pride, or defending the gym she loved. She would dominate him.

The jarring shock of her knuckles connecting with his face was a thrill. The sick crunch of cartridge beneath her fist was more satisfying then she would ever know how to explain. This was what she lived for, what she yearned for.

He didn't make a sound as his nose burst like a ripe tomato under her hand and sent him down hard on the mat. No howl of pain, no curse, nothing. It was almost disappointing. Almost. If not for that glitter of tears rolling down her cheeks. He could pretend it didn't hurt all he wanted, but his body wouldn't lie for him. It betrayed the pain, spoke volumes where words did not. It told her everything she wanted to hear.

"Oh sweetheart," she gushed, lovely features falling in lines of sympathy as she crouched before him, balancing on the balls of her feet as she met those watering eyes and that pain filled grin. "You're an absolute mess." Whatever kindness her voice betrayed melted away before she'd reached the last syllable. It left silver eyes cold and glittering as she smiled at him.

Her head tipped to one side, spilling violet hair over her shoulder, as he asked her to snap his nose back in place for him, and she smirked. "What's the matter, can't do it yourself?" Without so much as an afterthought at the blood she catch the side of the towel and pulled it away. "You're gunna need more towels to clean this all up. You made one hell of a mess." She scoffed, dropping the bloody towel on the equally bloody mat. Then she brought her hands up to cup his cheeks, tipping his head back so she could give his nose a proper look over.

She'd really done a number on that pretty face. What a shame.

"Hold still," was the only warning he got before she set the pad of either thumb against the sides of his nose a pushed, forcing the cartridge back into place with a sound equally as sickening as it'd made when she'd busted it.

"So what's your name?"

She tried not to smile at the wince and the following bug-eyed flash of pain that took over his features when she'd shoved his nose back into place, but she probably didn't manage it. Specially not as she mimicked his hiss, chuckling softly under her breath at the innuendo laced compliment. "I should hope so, this isn't the first nose I've set."

As he pushed himself up she straightened as well, tucking her thumbs into the band of her shorts as her hands came to rest on her hips. She was definitely grinning now, specially as one of the regulars handed up a mop to the young man. Layne, no Piper.

"I'm Porsha, or Po if you'd rather." She nudged the blood soaked towel with the toe of her trainers, kicking it off the mat and towards a bin of other dirty linens. "And if you haven't figure it out by now, this is my house." Not literally, obviously, but there wasn't a single contesting remark from the men standing around the ring. "I'm the boxing instructor." Recently promoted from gym volunteer after the older teacher had retired earlier that year. She had however, been lending her skills in the ring for years.

Now that the fight was over, the regulars began to wander back to what they;d been doing before Piper had wandered in and unwittingly crawled into the ring with their star employee. She offered a grin here or there when a compliment floated up to her, but after a moment they were relatively alone, and her attention returned in full to the young man. "You know your stuff," she offered easily, tone implying she was mildly impressed. "How long have you been boxing?"

He had skill, there was certainly no denying that, and a delightfully wicked little idea was forming at the back of her mind. The Negaverse was always looking for new talent. Tenacious, talented individuals who weren't afraid to get their hands dirty in order to do what needed to be done. Piper would make a good addition, probably. He'd fall into that role easily, probably eagerly. It would give him ample opportunity to test himself.