Catra peers up at at Garviel as she steps off one of the treadmills, towel around her neck. Why she has it, considering she has fur and presumably doesn't sweat is a mystery. Mismatched eyes track the man for a long moment and then she speaks laconically.

"Careful, you might break it," she says, clearly referencing the training weapon held tightly in his hand. "Or pop a blood vessel. Not sure which comes first."