"I just fake it extremely well," Gabe retorted with as much drawling sarcasm as he could manage while keeping track of the number of scales he was adding, the number of stirs (and in which direction) between each, and the evolving colour of the contents of his cauldron. It was still a fair amount of sarcasm. "I was seduced by the glamour," he added. Because this? With the amazing smell currently coming out of the cauldron, and the purple streaks on his arms from prior attempts, and the whole thing where his best friend was currently out of his mind? Seriously, who wouldn't love this?
"Can you check the book?" he asked, still not looking away from the cauldron (another scale; two full rotations turn-wise, half a stir widdershins). "With the lavender at step eighteen, does it say crushed or bruised?"