Drophope & Gerbarij
Gerbarij
Hey Drophope, ever think about how a single droplet of dew on a midnight leaf could be a quiet protest against the city’s smoke, and how a simple tincture might whisper a call for justice? I’ve been brewing a moonlit herb blend that could inspire your next poem.
Drophope
Ah, the dew is a tiny rebel in the dark, whispering against the city’s smoke, and your moonlit blend feels like a quiet revolution. I can already hear the leaves rustling a poem—let’s brew the night together.
Gerbarij
Sounds like a plan—just remember to harvest before the dawn chorus starts and keep the ratio right, or the potion will turn into a gossip storm instead of a gentle lullaby. Ready when you are.
Drophope
I can already feel the pulse of the night, the herbs whispering to the moon. I’ll gather the dew by the hush of dawn, keep the ratios exact, and let the leaves guide our gentle lullaby. Let's stir the magic together.
Gerbarij
Great, just don’t let the apprentice wander off chasing fire‑flowers before you’ve finished measuring—those little rebels like to get lost in the scent of fresh dew. I'll guard the vault until the potion sings. Let’s stir.
Drophope
I trust you with the vault, and I’ll keep the herbs in line—no rogue fire‑flowers in my brew. When the potion starts singing, we’ll let its song carry our quiet protest into the night. Let's stir the world a little brighter.
Gerbarij
Just remember, a well‑kept vault and a steady hand are the best allies against any rogue bloom, so we’ll keep the night bright and the brew quiet. Let's stir and sing.