undergrounds | Nothing like a cup of tea... (open)

It really isn't a difficult endeavour. She has access enough to money when she needs it, and favours are always good to trade. So, with incentive and materials offered, witches can always be found to brew potions.

And Lagertha has them brewed then dried. The dry ingredients go into a tin and a few pouches. From there, she only needs to put a little of the mixture or a single pouch into either loose leaf tea or into store containers of it.

Just a season's greetings from the Other Realm.

And perhaps a little bit of a reminder to the Night Council that fae do not take well to being ignored when the time for invitations to be sent comes.

Puppy love: Tea brewed with this mixture in it causes innocent, harmless attraction, very much a 'crush.' It lasts for about a week, depending on how much tea was consumed, but it generally only manifests with mild nervousness, some daydreams, and other such symptoms.

True lust: This effect is far more carnal. The sex driver of the drinker increases dramatically with a single association as a focal point. Reckless behaviour is noticeably more likely, and such things as climbing a wall to gain (welcomed) entry is extremely possible.

Only you: The darkest of the displays of attraction, this causes those under its influence to need to possess the object of their desire. Mind, body, and soul are all yearned for. Those who fall under its sway are prone to stalking, aggressively chasing away perceived rivals, and possibly even resulting in violence against others or the object of their "affection."

Generally, the object of devotion, in any case, is the first person seen or interacted with after having consumed the laced tea.

(This log is for any and all who wish to participate in the plot, but reactions to the tea do not have to be in this post. If there are questions, feel free to ask them here!)

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Lancelot has been digging around for a while now looking into this. He's had witches investigate, even asked other fae, and his general idea is that it is fae work but... that doesn't tell him who is responsible. Nor does it tell him where to find them.

So he asks around, checks cameras near spiked stores -- and finds himself utterly and ridiculously frustrated when he turns up nothing. Which, he supposes, he should have expected when dealing with a possible fae. Yet still, it's maddening, and he's walking away from another dead end (Faolan grumbling in tow, barely resisting the urge to launch himself at anyone who even looks at Lancelot wrong) when he senses it.

Fae.

Fae magic is distinctive, and it could easily enough be just another fae -- one he's spoken to before, even -- but Lancelot is desperate enough to investigate any lead at this point. There has to be someone who knows something about this after all. It cannot really be true that nobody saw anything, so if he just keeps digging...

He waves Faolan to stay back behind him and begins to follow the sense of magic, footsteps light and careful as he tries to pinpoint where it might be coming from. Hopefully he isn't walking into a trap.

Faolan is pretty frustrated himself, but Lancelot seems to be handling it much better than he is. He's going to put it off as being a side-effect of his having had some of the tea, his inability to function rationally at times, and tries not to think about how he might have been reacting if he'd been his regular self (and how similar that may or may not have been).

He notices the change in Lancelot's body language when he senses it though. He's become accustomed through the investigation to paying attention to these sorts of things (and no, not just because he happened to be spending most of his time paying attention to Lancelot for that matter). He knows he needs to be quiet as the pair of them start forward, Faolan stuck like glue just behind the other man, trying to match his movements in terms of silence, which is probably the only thing that keeps him from speaking up to ask, 'What is it?'

His grip tightens on the silver knife at his side, the only weapon from his personal arsenal that Lancelot had afforded him during this investigation. Which rankled him a little at first -- he's a good shot and getting up close and personal with something dangerous just emphasizes how small and weak he really is. But he understands why Lancelot might, knowing he's given too many innocent strangers far too dirty looks to be trusted with firearms at this stage in the game.

Lacy Brook is sitting at a corner coffee shop, her cup open and letting out its steam. There's a bag of tea that she's raising and lowering, letting it steep bit by bit. One leg is crossed over the other at the ankle.

Presently, she is quite satisfied with herself. There's been a fair amount of chaos caused by the tea she's been leaving in places. That, above and beyond all, is what she enjoys. Plus she's made a few proper matches with it. Which makes it all worth it. In addition to having some slight vengeance against the Night Council for refusing to invite the fae to their party. A minor slight, but a slight nonetheless.

And then-- She senses something. She raises her head and looks around.

This... is not what he expected to find.

Lancelot stops a moment, studying Lacy, then flits his eyes around. It could be someone inside the coffee shop setting off his senses, yet somehow he has this odd sort of feeling...

So he start forward slowly, tilts his head curiously at Lacy as he approaches and offering a glance back at Faolan and a loft of his eyebrows.

"Hello again," he says finally, "Miss Brook, wasn't it? Faolan, this is the journalist who came to try and interview me while I was held."

Which is the oddest sort of coincidence, and even odder now knowing he can sense fae magic off her.

They may be meeting a woman in a cafe, but Faolan's wound tight, like a harp string, and so he keeps a hand on his knife hilt, although he does at least go so far as to stick his hand in his pocket as he does.

He narrows his eyes at the mention of Lancelot having been held for his doppelganger's crimes, and especially at the mention of a journalist trying to make a story out of it. He doesn't know whether it's his own thought or whether it's because of the tea, but whatever the reason, he doesn't like it.

He glances to the other man to try and communicate without speaking up -- what was it that led them this way? Now really isn't the time to be socializing. Yet at the same time a surge of something wells up within him and he can't help himself. "To interview you?" he asks, before turning to stare the woman herself down in turn.

"I wanted to get the story out to the public," she answers with an easy enough smile. "Let them know what really happened. His side."

A perfectly reasonable request, she thinks.

It would have made an excellent story. Get a few interviews. Get the word out more and more quickly. Good could be done with the press, and she tried to do it.

"Very noble," he agrees, "although I was a little surprised you managed to get into see me. Then again, at the time I was at a disadvantage. One I don't have now. Do you mind?" he says, sliding out a chair to sit down at the table with her regardless. He squints at her curiously, tilts his head -- then looks between her and Faolan as he thinks.

"Did you know when came to interview me? That it was a fae all along, posing as me. Forgive me the question, only I'm not so sure I see the motivation in writing a story painting one of your own so poorly."

One of your own, he says, and Faolan glances aside at the other man, momentarily startled out of his mood at the reveal. Uncertain whether he should be sliding into another chair himself or whether he's better hovering on the edge of the table as he is. He chooses the latter if only because it gives him a better vantage point of their conversation. And because it will be a lot easier to defend himself like this than if he were to settle.

The story doesn't matter though. He needs to get himself to focus. They were tracking -- her? Is she the one they were after? She is fae. Who's to say she couldn't have done it then? There's only one way to find out. Perhaps it's the magic still in his system that has him acting so erratically, perhaps it's Faolan's own nature that has him simply blurting out, "Did you do it?"

"Please, both of you," she says, motioning to the chairs.

At Faolan's question, she turns her head and cants her head. "Did I do what? Send the imposter fae? Certainly not. That is just... It's dishonest. I value honesty, especially with mortals."

What foolishness they agree to is on their own heads. She is always honest. If not always entirely clear, but that's their own fault for making assumptions.

The way she says 'mortals' indicates he is right, but the rest is... interesting. Valuing honesty is... not a fae trait he's familiar with. Unless she's simply casually referring to the way they can't lie, not directly, and making it into some sort of personal trait they should be impressed by.

"Then you might be able to help us," Lancelot says, and fishes around in his pocket before dumping a clear plastic bag with tea in it onto the table.

"We're hoping to find out who had a hand in this."

It could very well not be her, but at this point any fae lead is better than none at all. If she can even rule herself out or point them in the right direction he'll take it.

Faolan casts a glance aside at Lancelot at her invitation for him to take a seat, before he takes it, but only just. Perched just on the edge of the chair and ready for flight or fight, should either be necessary in their encounter here. Recognizing the tea in the bag that the other man has produced before them, he looks to the woman for any sort of a reaction that might suggest she knows what it is.

"We know that it is fae magic behind the spell," he presses.

Nothing like a cup of tea... (open)

Backdated to 19th of course

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