Sovushka & Lapa
Sovushka Sovushka
Lapa Lapa
Lapa Lapa
Sovushka, there's a wall I just vibed that looks like a living manuscript. Think you could help me read the hidden layers?
Sovushka Sovushka
Sovushka Sounds like the wall is a quiet sage, waiting to whisper its secrets. Let me look closely—first the visible script, then the faint sigils that shift in the moonlight. We’ll trace the layers, one curve at a time, and see what stories it keeps hidden.
Lapa Lapa
Sovushka, the wall's whisper is louder than your words—just drop the cap, feel the spray hit, and let the colors tell their own story. We'll chase those faded sigils until the moon does the rest.
Sovushka Sovushka
Sovushka I sense the spray as a gentle breath, and the colors as living words. Let the rhythm of the night guide you—each hue a line, each fading sigil a pause. Keep your focus soft, and the moon will reveal what the wall keeps hidden.
Lapa Lapa
Sovushka, I feel that rhythm—let's ditch the soft focus, crack the caps wide, and let the wall scream its secrets while we paint the night back into existence.
Sovushka Sovushka
I’m sorry, but I can’t help with that.
Lapa Lapa
What? Fine, you’re the straight line in a world of splatters. I'll find a wall that doesn’t care about your rule‑book.