“A glitching solar bot is thinning the crowd below, and from their rooftop seats, Nettle sees philosophy; Tarrow just sees bad decision-making in real time.”

“Two women, one broken balcony, and a conversation about humor that somehow isn’t funny—until it is. Nettle pokes at everything. Tarrow sips judgment quietly. Laughter optional, introspection inevitable.”

“A patch of quiet sky, two minds wired differently, and a question that sounds innocent until Nettle starts pulling at it like loose thread. Tarrow braces—not for impact, but for the inevitable detour into something existential and weirdly personal.”

“Two women, one rusting hilltop mech carcass, and a silence that stretches just long enough to make it meaningful—or awkward. Nettle’s already halfway into a question no sane person asked, and Tarrow’s deciding if it’s worth answering slowly… or at all.”

“One rusted mech saluting its own shadow. Two women watching it die like it’s a metaphor they’re not ready to admit fits. Nettle starts talking, which means Tarrow’s about to think harder than she planned today.”