January 30, 2016:
David finds a little kinship in Ivy.
Giella Gardens
Characters
NPCs: None.
Mentions:
Plot:
Mood Music: [*\# None.]
Fade In…
The evening crowd finally leaves a section of the domes of the Giella Gardens, where they showcase the most rarest of plants that were gathered from around the world and showcased and grown with synthetic nutrients with the efforts of S.T.A.R. Labs. There was a chance that Dr. Isley had a hand in this, for she enters, usually nightly through a secure entrance by a worker who was charmed and enthralled to her wiles with the promise of something greater in the future. A new strain of plant? Or a chemical compound that is rare enough but not beyond Ivy to duplicate. Or possibly a well written dossier on plant life in the Congos that the person could get recognition for?
Usually, Ivy would have something more sinister in mind but she had to appreciate the man and his dreams for the Green.
Her routine is simple; she would take the time to water each and every single plant, devoting her time and obvious conversation to the species, taking great care and overseeing their growth to the point it was obsessive. And then, it was story time. Which was simple, little coos and cows as if she were reading to a newborn babe who was upset and in need of a soothing voice to calm the nerves and senses. She sits upon a well placed rock, legs curled, an effigy of Mother Nature she was with blood red hair that curls down the length to tickle the thigh of her body suit. Vines easily hang at the sound of her voice, swaying, like they were dancing with each vowel phonetically spoken.
"And then the little girl took her prize.. and found that her prize was in fact, lacking.."
Himften times it is less about about what you do than it is about how you do it. This is why Ripper's behavior is so outrageous, and it is why David's behavior is so mundane seeming - not so people don't connect the two identities, but so that nobody pays attention to the actual details. A person with a crowbar and a skimask found somewhere they shouldn't be is going to jail as a burglar. A person with a packed lunch, a water bottle, and a guide to plants is probably an enthusiast, especially if they lack any containers with which to steal anything - nobody just digs out a bush and carries it over their shoulder after all. As a general rule David doesn't like going into places that log visitors in any fashion, but he has heard some rumors about the gardens. Nothing specific, but when it comes to plants and crimes, it was usually about drugs. Or Poison Ivy, but Poison Ivy leaves a VERY obvious trail as far as he knows.
So before the tour is over he slips away from the group and makes his way through the foliage. Even if he can't find any sign of a drug lab or recently disturbed earth, this just might make a nice place to stash things in secret for himself.
Or it could be that nothing was going on except for somebody who loved their job. David hears the singing and eventually locates the singer, yet sees nothing out of the ordinary at first. It occurs to him that the person is dressed rather oddly for their job, but more in the sense that somebody who isn't wearing a blue shirt or vest isn't REALLY a Walmart employee. Really, he's not sure what it is that makes him take a closer look; intuition that something wasn't right about the person. He's no forest ranger, but he knows at least how to avoid stepping on branches and leaves as he tries to navigate closer to better observe her. And to confirm if the vines are swaying from, well, he doesn't know what makes vines sway indoors, but he bets there is a proper explanation. He just wants to make sure.
'There is someone else here.'
'We're always alone.'
'No we're not, she's here!'
"Hm." Ivy stops in her praising to cant an ear to listen. The foilage was speaking, talking to her. Alerting her that she may be in danger or they. Maybe they were going to be picked and cut down and pruned for one lover to another.
"My sweetlings.." She murmurs quietly, the vines slowly drawing still, uncurling from their full lengths to lend Ivy a hand, her gloved fingers wrapping around the thickness which helps to pull her up to her bare feet. Shoes were left by the way side. She wanted to be au-naturale without being too obscene, of course.
Why go to Arkham for being naked when you can just go for being mad?
She gives a faint tug as the vines themselves curl, sectioning itself off wisely, giving birth to new as it begins to coil around her arms. Her dark green eyes a pierce within the light provided, following the way the roses and plants bend towards the direction of the intruder.
"Who. Goes. There." Her voice was a soft lilt, seduction and a threat wrapped in one. She didn't like her private time disturbed, not one bit.
The watering system. Yes, that is what likely makes vines move indoors, he realizes. A small tree or a large bush - he couldn't care less which - provided a good bit of cover for him to take a closer look.
No type of hose or misting system makes plants move that way. Another glance at her takes in a few more details that normal people would have picked up upon right away - namely that few if any employees would ever wear something like that in front of their collegues, no matter how flattering it was to the person wearing it. Combine that with the fact that the plants are unmistakably moving and suddenly everything adds up to Poison Ivy.
Even before she calls him out he is starting to worry. It's not the primal, heart-pounding fear of imminent death, but it is the understanding that his journey is likely going to come to an abrupt end and his Work will be left unfinished. Also, poisoned by Ivy is just a really stupid way to go.
A quick analysis of his options makes it clear that his only hope of survival is, ugh, talking his way out of this. At least he didn't step on or damage any plants.
"Uh, hi." He forces a more mundane, mild nervousness that is only appropriate if somebody did not know who they were dealing with. Stepping around the tree and more fully into view he adds, "I'm David?"
His face scrunches up slightly, showing confusion and even distraction. As if something was actually more attention-commanding than an angry Ivy staring at him.
Face to face with the intruder, Ivy stops her stride towards him with a foot planted purposely upon the ground. Her hands go right to the sway of her hips as she glances up towards the ceiling, the mental note to command the vines to slowly creep down behind him to snatch him if he runs was given, and with a leathery groan and creek, they do as they were told.
"David." She murmurs, her head tilting slightly towards the side, her lips pressed into a thin line as her gaze snaps towards the ground in a hint of anger.
"I WILL NOT!" She was talking to the rose that seemingly cringes away from her loud words, folding into itself and drawing it's leaflets upright to cover.
"David.. David.. David.." She was stalling, that much was clear. But that didn't stop her from taking those few steps closer, and the closer she got the vines upon her forearms squeeze and curl towards her elbows as the others draw tickled wisps at the nape of his neck. "..You shouldn't have come here. David."
It's like a dull whisper, or a chorus of whispers, but no words can be made out. The "noise" in his mind is just barely at the threshold of consciousness at first. When the vines move into position behind him however the noise level increases. It is not helping him as he racks his mind for what he knows of Poison Ivy that would be useful in talking his way out of this. At least she paid attention to his name, which means that he is listening to his responses.
Then the fear hits. Not concern. Not understanding that a project is doomed. Actual physical fear, the kind that comes from having a sense of self preservation. He hasn't felt that kind of fear in years. And then there's the voices. Or something like voices. The young man is picking them up from all around him.
His mask slips. He's not a clueless tourist. He's not a young man who still has all his marbles. He's a damaged individual who seems to be rapidly descending into a psychotic delusion. The fear on his face could easily be misattributed to the knowledge that Ivy was going to do something horrible to him.
Is Ivy talking? David doesn't notice; when she's calling his name he's saying with increasing volume, "Shut up! Shut up shut up SHUT UP!" Is it one of her powers? Is he hallucinating? She's getting closer and then things are /touching/ him. He doesn't like to be touched under normal circumstances.
"LET GO OF ME!!" he shouts, not to Ivy, but to the vines.
And they let go of him.
So close.. so close… so close.. She was within distance to reach out and touch the man. She could smell the fear wafting from his bones, so much that she was enthralled by it all. Her skin shifts, the typical green that she draws upon turns her skin to a pale, her fingers reaching up to nearly grab at his cheeks to bring him in to inhale…
But then he shouts before she even touched him. Her eyes gone wide, backing up as the vines roll up and curl out of the way. She was no dummy when it comes to this, she could feel them obey him. She could hear the voices just like he and notice, notice that when it first happened.. the reactions were the same. Their reactions.
"You…" She starts, then looks around her..
"QUIET!"
"QUIET DOWN!"
"STOP!"
The foilage around them begins to bend and whimper loudly within the shared minds of the two, not quite silencing, but enough for her to think. Was, he just like her? Wonder was apparent, no longer anger, and she crosses that distance to draw arms around him in an embrace, her hand lifting to smack upon the tops of his head to viciously pet as if he were an animal that needed a praise.
Emotion: He had finally plunged into the abyss he had circled for so long. Nothing mattered anymore, because he was now divorced from reality.
Logic: Maybe it was temporary. Giving up would not help in either case.
Emotion: If this was real then he was in danger and vulnerable. Fight and then flee.
Logic: He can't use violence when he can't trust his senses - he might attack Innocents.
Emotion: A woman is touching him. A MADWOMAN IS HOLDING HIM!!
Logic: Stop, think; only act when certain.
The young man doesn't actually cry, but he comes fairly close to it. Actions that might normally result in a physical altercation just result in a terrified and distraught killer allowing himself to be held and treated in an almost-comforting but mostly demeaning and worrying manner.
"Is it always like this?" he whispers. With physical contact to Ivy, his connection to the plants grows even more solid.
"Yes." She whispers quietly, her eyes darting back and forth, drawing away from that hug to keep a tight hold upon his shoulders. Would he feel the poison in his veins too? Would he touch something or someone to only have them whither away and die as she had when she first.. tried? That grasp was held as she backs, tugging him with her.. to the rock that she once perched upon and with a turn she gives him a light shove into sitting. She was rather forward with the closeness, not wanting to leave contact, feeling so.. tied to something greater than touch from one to another. With a straddle of his lap, knees digging into the rock, she leans back to keep her eyes upon him to study.
"There is no peace here.." And it was true. You step outside you're met with the green. The way they cry when they're plucked, clipped and damaged. When someone steps upon them. When the smallest of critters ravage their bodies. "What do you feel?"
The fact that she answered him helped stabilize David, even if her response was less than encouraging. It was a sign that maybe it was real. The distressed young man allows her to lead him to the rock, most of his energy, his concentration, on maintaining and verifying his sanity. His gaze is distant, only halfway paying attention to his exact location or the surroundings. He instead uses that brief time to process some clues as his face goes from looking like a lost child to someone furiously thinking. Ivy was surprised by what happened. She likely didn't cause it. He manifested powers on three separate occasions before and he was convinced it was due to someone having that same power. Is that what was happening here? Were the voices real? A result of borrowing Ivy's nature?
His focus drifts back to the immediate physical world and he discovers himself sitting on the ground, facing the killer plant woman. No, that's not right. She's sitting in his lap. That… his brain isn't entirely sure how to process that, and for the moment places it under the category of things David Ironheart was too damaged to understand.
"None?" The plants were somewhat settling down - the edge of fear had been taken off at least. It helped. Deciding that Ivy was now a source of information he forces aside the rest of his fear. Green eyes meet even greener eyes, "I feel emotions." As if that explained everything. His mask is still down however, so his surprise at the very notion of emotions is visible. "Like I used to feel." Yes, he was feeling a number of things he had not normally felt - or ever felt, in fact.
"None."
Her words almost seemed final, as if she brought the truth with those words in spades. There was no peace, rest was for the truly wicked and the damage had no place there. Not like them. The settling upon his lap was shifted so that she draws closer, curious in his feelings of emotions. Did he mean from the plants? Or him overall? Who was this man and what could he do?
"Are they yours.. these emotions.." Now it was her turn to study, the gloves soon pinched by the finger and tugged, pulled until they were off and tossed to the side where her shoes remain, bare hands careful at touching his face, tilting his chin upright to study. Looking into his equally green gaze, thumb pressing against the bottom of his lip to pry it open ever so slightly. This examination; she treats him as if he were a treasured pet, a plant that needs that amount of gentleness and care.
'Do it Ivy.'
'He's one of us!'
'Make him stay!'
'We need you!'
She closes her eyes, drawing away from him to press her hands against her head, shaking it so much that her red curls slap against her shoulders.
This changes things. Before, David /knew/ that plants did not have feelings - science told him so. But now? He doesn't know how they have them, but they do. He knows about pain and suffering. How does he rank them when it comes to human and animal suffering? His world view needs to be recalculated. The weight of the momentus task shows through his eyes, at least until he starts to pay more attention to what her hands are doing.
Tension is evident throughout the enigma of a man; if not fear, at least caution and indecision. He has to reign in his instincts of shoving her the heck away from him; with reluctance his head tilts back, his mouth opens, his face turns to some extent.
The plants' conversations are doing absolutely nothing to help calm him down at this point. Do what? Make him stay? Staying on her "good" side, or at least keeping her talking and interested, motivates him to answer her questions instead of demanding what she has in store for him.
"I don't have these feelings anymore." The mask is still down; even if it were not, there's little point in lying about this to Ivy. She knows he's different and she's not going to worry or call Arkham because he's half crazy. "Not like this. It's their fear that I'm feeling. Or felt," given that they seem to have calmed down.
What on earth is she doing now? It's making him very uncomfortable. Time to be blunt: "What are you doing?"
He didn't have feelings anymore. That changes everything. There is so much she could accomplish if she could set aside her feelings of hate, and right the world as it truly is. There is a moment of thought, whether if she could adapt, to clean to take on those lack of emotions and rid the world of the human menace and choose the select few to rule at her side as they rebuild anew..
"SHUT UP!" She snaps at the young man, her left hand patting her head furiously as she tries to block out the sounds of the plants begging and speaking to her. She knows she needs to keep him. But she can't damage him. He's an ally. He can -hear- them. Just like her..
…maybe he's trying to steal her crown..
..maybe she should kill him…
..kill him and feed him to her carnivorus babies..
"What's your blood type?"
* OOC Time: Sat Jan 30 19:49:30 2016 *
There are a number of things occuring to David that he really hopes the other psycho in the garden doesn't find out. Such as the fact that if given the chance he'd happily murder Ivy - because insane or not, she had killed many people who didn't deserve it and showed no signs of stopping. Or his suspicion that his newfound plant powers would only work while he was near her.
At least he /would/ have happily killed her before. Now that plants have feelings it potentially alters his entire system for determining who he can kill. And then there's these feelings. The plants love Ivy - when they're not scared of her. While he can separate their feelings from his own, it is still an emotion that he hasn't experienced in a very long time as anything more than a memory. It feels… good. Even the sensation of normal fear was, in retrospect, enjoyable. In a certain way, Poison Ivy could almost make him feel Normal.
Of course, none of that mattered if she was planning on frying his brain with her pheromones or ripping off his limbs so he'd never leave, and her dismissive shout indicated how little she cared for his opinion on anything. Unfortunately he didn't give himself good odds against Ivy. His assets consisted of his housekeys, which he can't get to wit Ivy positioned like she is, along with a water bottle, a PB&J sandwich, and a book, all of which he apparantly dropped while he was freaking out earlier. And, even with his plant-telepathy, the plants would definitely side with her. If he attacked her, it was as good as committing suicide.
But if she can make him feel almost Normal, maybe he could do the same for her. That would be Good, right?
Poison Ivy's sudden question is worrying; he probably does not want her to do whatever it is she needs to know his bloodtype for. Time to try something radical and different. For the first time he looks into her eyes to look at /her/, a person, as opposed to a danger to analyze. Someone to talk with, instead of at. Though first he probably needed to answer her.
"A-positive." He immediately follows it up in a soft, genuinely inquisitive voice. "Do you ever wish that you could feel like a normal person?"
"Good!" Ivy chirps out, her mood a varying degree of tortured and excited. She was dancing somewhat, a half dance within her perch upon his thighs, those hands slowly creeping up towards his chest and he hits her with a question that no one has ever thought nor dared to ask. Dared.
The smile she wore upon her face fades as her eyes seem almost a little too shined, a slight glint of sorrow within that gaze, her lips forming into a thin line as those hands drop to her own thighs to squeeze. One would consider this a moment of clarity, clarity that comes few and far in between in her line of work, and life over all.
"You can't change the past on wishes and dreams alone." She states plainly, shoulders slumping ever so slightly, her gaze soon turned with a slight hint of shame, fingers lifting to press into her lips to bite the edges of her flesh. There was that thought, the memory of that time when she did try to pretend that she was normal. But she hurt someone..
…what was his name again..
Oh well.
"Do you?"
Even though his emotions were mostly stable - or as stable as they ever get these days - now that he had determined his psychosis hadn't gotten worse he is far from happy or even comfortable. Most men would probably enjoy being in his position, perhaps even in spite of the danger. David? He's trying to figure out the best way to put some distance between them. His danger instincts were just screaming at him because of another person's touch - and this time they're mostly correct.
And just like that her focus on him dwindles, or at least changes. His face watches her with almost a neutral expression - controlled rather than apathetic. The pain he sees gives him hope. As does nail biting nervousness. Honest self reflection was always difficult for people such as them.
The scarred face loses some of its rigidity, his expression softening, deliberately yet honest showing empathy towards her.
"Not until tonight. I don't waste time wishing for the impossible. But what I'm feeling…" He lifts one hand and gestures it vaguely around the room, particularly the ground and the plants. "I wouldn't have thought it was possible." A pause while he considers his next words; normally he'd make fun of somebody who spoke such drivel, yet it finally seems to be true for him. "It gives me hope. Maybe I can be different. Maybe I can be better." He knows that normally a person was supposed to make contact in a comforting gesture, probably a hand on the shoulder, but he decides he's being sufficiently uncharacteristic of himself as it is.
"Maybe I can't. If I can't, I'm ok with it. But… I don't think you're happy how you are. And I don't think either of us are going to change for the better on our own."
She searches his expression, right up until the point that there was a sense of softness, a sense of honesty. She would suffer nothing less; for she showed her cards a little too quick, a little too soon to make it all comfortable. Ivy had a heart even though it protruded thorns, produced venom. It beat like the rest of everyone else with her passions, her whiles, her own hopes and dreams, even if she said that they often do not change the past. In her case.. the future as well.
"Hope." Ivy mutters consideringly, her gaze falling down towards her fingers, curling them slightly, and soon clenching into a fist that allows her fingers to rub against one another in a considering motion. And out of no where, that hand soon snaps up to grasp his jaw roughly, a hit that nearly would possibly send the two sprawling onto the ground if she did not keep her stance.
"Don't you -dare- presume to know my happiness.." She nearly snarls, her features leveling with his own, close enough to breath in the scent of his breath that beats from his nose. And she holds him there, fingers retaining the same pressure that presses against that jaw line, threatening to break the inner cheek against his teeth as her lips soon crush against his own. During that forced kiss, she draws herself upright, shifting one leg to join with the other as she breaks and swoops down to gather her gloves and boots alike.
It was like this motion was practiced time and time again, for she doesn't stop, she continues to move, clutching her items against her chest as she turns to watch the man, lip upturned wishing for the pain and venom from the kiss to sink into his bones and bring his muscles to a seize.
Though it was too bad she didn't poison him. At least not in the way he thinks. "Stay away from me, David. Your only warning."
Did he push too far? Maybe. That sort of thing was based upon emotions, upon intuition. When it came to compassion, kindness, and helping, he had little experience and was operating almost blindly.
Anger, hurt, hostility: that was his field of expertise. The prospect of having his skull crushed in her hand is one of the least disturbing thoughts he's had this evening; hell, threat of violent death was practically comforting. His expression hardens with her grip, the lack of emotion other than self restraint.
Until she kisses him. That is a novel experience for quite a number of reasons and his state is no longer so collected. Instead of deliberately holding himself still to avoid setting her off he's more or less rigid with confusion and jumbled emotions. Was this how he was going to die?
Even when she releases him and stands up he is practically immobile, locked in the same posture that he was shoved into when she kissed him. She was dismissing him now, so it was likely that a fatal poison had been delivered into his system. Except she talks to him. Warns him. You don't want a deadman.
"Happiness," he replies in an initially shakey voice, "is something I know little about." His eyes are upon her, but now they are wide and slightly unfocused, still trying to process everything that just happened. Or his awareness, as opposed to clinical knowledge, that Poison Ivy was, in fact, female. "But I know pain and loss. Anger, hatred and vengeance. I know that killing people who have wronged you or what you care about doesn't ease the pain. And I know that you don't like being the only person in the city, or maybe the country, who can communicate with plants like that."
She stops at a nearby tree, his words echoing through the dome of the enclosure, stopping for just that moment to lift a foot to slide her boots upon them, and then the other. She shakes her head silently, teeth gritting, the nearby foilage recoiling as if it were instinct. The boots themselves put them at a taller stature, and with her turn upon her heels, her fingers wrap into a fist, stalking towards the man just so.
"It gives me an -edge-." Being like her, the only one like her, does. Nevermind the loneliness that was tinged around her nature. She was together with it. The entire world was her baby that was scored and scoured by men just as he is now and he was but a babe in a ballpark.
She stops short, her hand lifting, fingers uncurling at a slight point, the tree nearby groaning as if it were to move that very instant for cover. "Don't presume to know me, do.. not.. dare…" She hisses out. "You've had your warning." Why was she stalling? She truly didn't want to hurt him, but at this point, she wanted to be far away from him as possible.
David pushes himself back into an upright position, albeit it still seated on the rock. If he's going to accidentally provoke her into murdering him, the dark haired young man would rather it because of what he said rather than because standing up sets her off. He's not sure why he hasn't given up on trying to help her - her coming closer to him with a clenched jaw and a great deal of mental issues being poked at was a bad thing by just about any measurement.
"I don't even know your real name," he points out in agreement to the her assertion that he doesn't know her. Yet he sounds more sure of himself, more stable, if only because he's had a few moments to adjust to the fact that a mass murderer had just given him his first kiss. It certainly isn't because he thinks his safety is assured. "But I know that we share some of the same problems and that we're both missing some pieces."
On impulse he pulls up the front of his shirt, revealing his belly up to the sternum. They're old and pale, but definitely scars that form a vague cross almost across the width of his stomach and just as long vertically. They're not surgical scars either, being far too jagged. "In my case both literally and figuratively. I lost something irreplacable when I got this. Killing the person who took it was damn fun and satisfying, but it didn't ease the pain." He lets the cloth drop back down.
"And you won't have that priviledge." Ivy snaps back, though she does settle in the moment at the quiet urgings of a rosebush near by. They were the sweet ones, the ones that see reason even though their bodies were meant to damage the attackers. Thorns, they were dangerous and prick without notice.
Her eyes slowly draw down upon the scars of his middle, her brows lowering just a hint, her lower lip curling within to bite upon it, worrying it so much that a slight hint of pain causes her to hiss. Yet there was nothing. Nothing for her to offer towards his words save a pop of her bottom lip which purses tightly against the upper, forming a sweet and succlent pucker as her step strafes backwards.
Hands calmly join behind her back as she turns, walking a slow pace towards the exit way, thinking better of herself to keep going but..
"Lets go." The shift was about to start, and they would have to vacate lest something bad were to happen to those workers. And for once, Ivy only saw the people who kept her babies watered and fed an asset. A true asset.
There was a moment where she waited, and should he catch up to her she'd see them both out of the domes, the emergency exit that was left as an ingress for her was made for an exit for two.