Herbalists' Cache i who have always been unbecoming am becoming un

an easy enough request, although truthfully, anything that removes samothes' sense of control makes him anxious. he could refuse and walk away now. instead his limbs find themselves arranging, lowering him to the earth below, ignoring every screaming impulse to do the sensible thing, samothes, are we not blessed by your strong sense of practicality?

his tongue curls around the poppy, drawing it into his mouth. the taste is mild, floral -- about what he's expecting, maybe, having never consumed the tricky little plant himself. the effects are not immediate -- of course they aren't, he's too on edge, looking for the moment when his control slips -- and so of course he won't notice it at all, pillowing his head on blonde-stocking legs to allow his won prize to wash over him.