"Puh-lease." The doctor's dismissal is immediate and firm. "You'd need a lot more cake to tire me out." The clone gives a gentle, playful pat to the small of Luka's back. No sliding back, friend! The carrying Garrot looses a wry little laugh. "I can bench three peak-performance teenage athletes. At once." He pulled it off once and they forgot to record it.

"If anything, I need the exercise after yesterday." If anything, he's exaggerating and would much rather spend a week in bed after face-tanking an explosion. But he's winning, so... he starts to gradually walk a little faster, so Luka can adjust easily.

"You said there's competition?" While the noise may mask their conversation, he's mostly flexing. Flexing and... wandering, particularly one hand to where a thigh meets its knee. It doesn't budge. "Who else is getting special treatment?"

He's excited and pushy and a little hurt, like a gossipy teenage girl. It's bad.