To Cause Some Hell

October 04, 2015:

Ivy and Dent plan to cause some hell for the angels of the night.

Giella Gardens

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Even in Ivy's gardens, Two-Face remains utterly himself. His bisected suit cuts through the greenery, black and white, although there's a fine, misted spatter of crimson on the lapels, evidence of some of his activities before he arrived. He blows smoke from his cigarette, but is on his own for once. It's not so much that he trusts Ivy as he's irritated with his molls at the moment - and the Twins he's allowed to rot in jail for a while, to pay for their failure on Ivy's behalf.

He waits as patiently as he can for the lady of the garden to make her presence known, knowing better than to push too deep. It's an easy way to end up wrapped in vines or dissolving in a venus flytrap. He casually draws his coin, flicking it along his knuckles and finally flipping it in the air. He looks at the scarred head gleaming up at him and grunts. Someone was going to bleed because of that flip when he got home.

It didn't take long for Ivy to meet at the designated meeting spot; arriving alone and without her sentries for now, her garb the usual velveteen dress, complete with bare feet and vines that line her ankles and wrists. Her hair remains up and tied, sticks keeping the bun in tact as silver eyes premate the perimeter to look to see and feel if anyone, or anything was afoot. Nothing.

So she finally allows herself into view with a few swaying footfalls, arms traced behind her back, fingers interlocking above the swell as she keeps her chin held high and lips pursed in thought. Surely, he would bring up her failures, and while she's apologetic for his twins being captured, she did not apologize for a test gone well.

"Mr. Dent. I trust you are well?"

Two-Face grunts and takes a long drag on his cigarette, blowing smoke in twin plumes from his nostrils. "You should know by now, Ivy - I am good and bad, well and ill. I deal in extremes, yes, and of late there has been much agony. Much suffering. Some of it my own. Most of it at my hands," he says.

"I should thank you. I have found weaknesses in my organization, weaknesses that came clear as they failed you. And I owe you an apology for those failures, since they were my resources and should have been more reliable. They know I do not tolerate failure. Or, rather, sometimes I do, but not out of mercy. Simply out of a sense of justice."

He tuck his coin back in his pocket, approaching the beautiful madwoman, his own twisted features moving in and out of shadows cast by the tall plants, "Are you pleased with your formula, in spite of the chaos that ensured? Or, perhaps, because of it? It seems to me we must find a way to keep more of these costumed interlopers at pay - they gather around our schemes like flies around sugar water."

With each cadence of his nature; Ivy bobs her head slightly left and right, counting the ways he could paint himself diverse out of amusement, which shows with a tilt and a slight smile within her eyes. "Self masturbation." Ivy murmurs, a slight wink gone out as he stands and approaches, one hand reaching out to press against his shoulder, lifting up upon the tips of her toes towards the taller man to press a cheek kiss against both sides without prejudice.

There was a slight wince, a twinge, something that made her feel sorry for those that he was to punish, but she was going to ignore that for now. She was no hero, she was not about to risk neck nor hide to save them from their fate. But she is.. saddened, after all.

"I am quite pleased with the formula. The delivery method is versatile, and I do believe it is ready to take mainstream. Gotham is just the start. The shipment for it all will come in a week, Friday night, to be exact." She loops an arm around his, pulling him into a walk around the garden, one hand looped, other resting upon his bicep. Didn't matter the side she took. "I suppose we ought to do something about that." She wonders loudly, gaze nearly vacant. "Perhaps dosing them with my modified version of CC-CV1. The police and SRD if not disbanded will have no choice but to take them down with lethal force."

Two-Face accepts the dual kisses as his right, letting Ivy lay her flesh upon his. She is one of the few he permits the privilege or, at least, those he allows to do it on their own terms. He flexes a hand, thinking of the brass knuckles he'll wear later while laying his own flesh into another - the bruises that will blossom, the screams that will fill the air. Heaven and hell alike, all in one.

"Forcing their hand would be quite pleasant, especially if we can cause those who think themselves above such matters to take it into their own hands. Strange, isn't it, how in a city that swims in darkness, so any of its so called dark saviors consider themselves untouchable, angels basking in the light, never getting their hands dirty? Let's teach them how to soak to the elbows in the blood of their work, I say. Make them vicious, doctor, make them monsters. That way, when the knights errant to go clean their armor, they won't realize how far they've fallen…until it's too late," he chuckles.

"Mmnh." Ivy murmurs quietly. "The only problem is, that they are almost nearly elusive as the great, black bat. To draw them out of hiding, we must put ourselves out there for the taking." She leans against him then, cheek pressing against his shoulder as a means of a hug. "Yes. Dark angels. We will clip their wings with just.. one breath.."

A hand lashes out and snaps, just to show how easy it would be for them to fall. "Though, the only problem and question is.. which of us is the more wanted. And which one of us is really to risk hide and tan for this plan to work."

Two-Face smiles, "I like clipping wings, so long as I get my turn wielding the shears," he says, an arm snaking around to help support the wicked botanist as she clings to him a little bit. "The bat remains elusive because he spends so much time in his cave anymore - I wonder if he isn't getting decrepit or worn down. Or perhaps he's simply grown afraid and uses his children and bitches to do his bidding," he mutters.

"As for which of us is more wanted, that probably depends on the definition of the word. But I haven't raised hell in some time - I think it's past time Gotham remembered why it fears me."

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