What kind of answer is that meant to be? He supposes? It feels like a dodge, a way to provide a watered down answer without telling an outright lie. While she couldn't really say that she knew Anduin in any sort of significant way, it didn't take much to assume that he's probably someone who wouldn't want to be untruthful unless he had to be.

She knows his type.

Catra scoffs.

"Your uniform?"

She flicks her finger towards the folded up piece of fabric resting nearby, gesturing to it as if there were something immediately obvious about it that would make his statement questionable.

"You don't look like the military type, Blondie. School uniform or something?" she continues to ask, poking at it just a little further. She knows that isn't how it works, that anyone can get swept up into a unit, that it isn't always a close, but Anduin. . . just feels too soft.