There were very few things that could trip Marcus up in conversation. Whether or not the opinion was shared by anyone else, he considered himself a master of rebuttals; a true unshakable. Even if the response was as simple as go fuck yourself, there was at least a response to be found and thrown back.
So it was odd for him to struggle to find one. He'd never heard anyone be so self-deprecating in that particular way. Her tone and expression sounded haughty to him. Part of it was the accent, which immediately raised his hackles and alerted him to the possibility of self-righteousness, but the choice of words was throwing him, as well. He stood and stared at her, eyes narrowed, trying to decipher a hidden insult to him in her statement. If there was one, he couldn't find it, which just served to frustrate him further rather than put him at ease. She was standing there calling herself a weakling, and somehow making him feel like an ass. What the hell?
His response was wary, and he kept his tone neutral, measured. "Well, that's a shitty fucking work-out."
It occurred to him that maybe she was just afraid of being alone with him in the gym and trying to brush that off like a joke. That made sense. She was very small, comparatively, and it wasn't like he'd never scared off people by just being present before. Though it irritated him a little when women automatically went on the defensive around him, especially when he was making a token effort at politeness. He shrugged, and tossed the towel he'd been using to wipe the machine down over one of the weight bars. "Whatever. I get it. Run the fuck away. I'll be out of here in twenty, chica. It'll be all safe for you then. No lobo feroz in the gym."