Morality of it All

February 21, 2016:

David approaches Poison Ivy for another talk on Morality.


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

As a general rule, the Ripper costume is NOT for blending in or staying below the radar. On this particular outing however things are different. The reservoir is a rather dangerous or at least unfriendly place. A young man wandering through the area draws attention. Especially if they are carrying a bonsai tree. All the more so if they are actually equipped to fend off wild animals. So in this case, dressing up in a black and white costume with a mask and sword while carrying a potted bonsai tree on his back in a sling like a papoose actually is less likely to get him arrested by the cops, or at least that's how his reasoning goes.

Downside: it is hot as blazes to wear the semi-armored and caped costume while trecking through what is basicly a jungle. He counts it as endurance training however, with the added bonus of learning how to move through the forest without getting his cape snagged every five feet. Well, he's still working on the latter.

No one can come through the Reservoir without being noticed. Especially since it was straying too close to her humble abode of death and mayhem and the finest plants that anyone could ever dream of. But someone was there, tangling themselves, the edges of little trees that grow catching upon something that calls to the ethers and draws Ivy out into motion. One would think that she was on the hunt, but the curiousities had gotten the better of her. And linger above, high upon the branch of a tree as she watches this figure move from afar. Or.. at least the way the foilage moves to indicate where the body is.

Right when he was within real seeing distance, her gaze cants a little to the left, her knees soon bending with small little crunches of joint and bone, hand grasping upon the tree as if she gave birth to the legend of Tarzan and taught him the ways.

"Tsk. Tsk." She says aloud.

"Wearing a cape. That sort of thing could get you killed." And not just by the mishaps. Someone might mistake him for the big, black Bat. (Batman, of course.)

Ivy's voice was not one easily forgotten. Just from her words, it's hard to tell if she recognizes him for who he is. Absent her presence, his plant empathy had long since faded, and it would take more than simply being close to her to renew that power.

He has to look around for a few moments before he can not only locate her but make vaguely certain that she wasn't with anybody else. Only then does he remove the porcelein mask and wig, revealing his face.

"Not wearing layers of reinforced leather could get me killed if a tiger gets the drop on me." Which, if he was honest with himself, was quite likely. David was an urban predator, not a forest ranger.

"We really should exchange emails or something," he continues in a voice that makes it hard to tell if his last remark is completely serious or simply very dry humor. What follows next however is very clearly of great seriousness.

"I've had to do a lot of thinking and research, but it's time we talked again."

"And who told you that tigers were afoot here?" She asks, shaking her head just a touch. Her weight was nothing as she settles with a slight bounce and fall of her bottom upon the branch that has her perching as if she were posing for a gymnastics shoot. Limber and skilled all through to the end. She says nothing, the green and slightly silver gaze illuminating in the nights light, fingers curling to rest beneath her chin as feet arch and slowly, ever so slowly, begin to swing.


"One thing." She starts, arms dropping down to grasp the branch again as she leans forward, almost dangerously. "Can you hear them again? Feel them? See what they see and know what they know?" She draws a hand upright, curling her fingers to leave one extended, motioning him close with a beckon of that very same digit.

"Answer truthfully."

David Ironheart envies her grace and flexibility. He feels like a bull in a china shop making his way through the woods. Still, it was a pleasure to watch her move, like being audience to a skilled performance.

Even as Ivy lifts her hand he is moving to cautiously approach her. He realizes, to his embarressment, that in spite of rather considerable planning and preparation he had failed to consider one important element, the same element she asks about.

"Not yet." The answer is blunt, confident, and without shame or fear. What comes out of his mouth next however, is by far the least confident thing he has ever said in her presence, to the point where he very nearly stammers. "We… need to touch."

His closer approach allows her eyes to fall towards the item within his hand; a small bonsai tree. Something that would fit the collection of her humble abode, to be tended to and cared, a softness in that mad place that she could have never found unless she ventured out herself. "Pretty.." She murmurs quietly, feet still swinging, her back straightening up as she prepares to drop down from the ground to greet him face to face.

But she stops cold.

A little grin touching upon her lips as her chin lifts, displaying the row of handprints that alight upon her neck in the form of bruises. Someone got into a little fight, but it was clear that she was the victor for there was nothing else to marr her.

"We.. need to touch." She laughs. It wasn't a mocking laugh. A laugh of pure irony in the situation, along with a shake of her head as she leans back, then forward again to draw herself from the high perch with a *THUD* to the ground before him. But no, she wasn't touching him just yet. She wanted to see that 'monster'. One he quietly alluded to the last time they met.

"You sound almost embarrassed to admit that. That you need to touch a woman to feel 'something'."

The bonsai tree had several purposes, one of which was potentially as a gift, so hearing that she liked it was good. It also reminds him of just how dangerous what he has in mind will be. That thought, and his embarressment, is replaced by cold fury when he sees the bruises around her neck. It is stupid - for all he knows Ivy had attacked somebody for stepping on a daisy and they had tried to kill her in self defense. Yet in spite of his typical indifference to gender, bruises on a woman were something he had a hard time ignoring, and the emotional response is not well hidden. Certainly the vigilante had no trouble getting angry.

He takes refuge in the anger as best he can to help avoid thinking too much about his current "dilemna" and Ivy's response, even as he is mentally preparing himself for what will happen next: namely making sure to supress his paranoid instincts so that he doesn't involuntarily stab Ivy now that he has ready access to weapons.

"My power is most reliable from physical contact," he narrates neutrally, giving a simple logical explanation while he wonders just why she's able to drop from a tree without injury. Was it her landing posture? Something about her anatomy?

It is Ivy's last remark that disrupts his calm and once again leaves him embarressed and uncertain. It makes him recall their last encounter; namely when she shoved him onto his back and kissed him for reasons that are still beyond him. The memory however is enough to elicit a blush, which only adds to his embarressment. He'd rather get attacked by that hypothetical tiger than have this conversation with the eco-terrorist.

Ivy wasn't watching him.

Her eyes were somewhere else. Pressed far behind him, looking in that direction as if she were searching for something. Listening. Her head slightly tilted and leaned to the side as she finally focuses upon him, catching the tail end of his expression. What was that? Hm.

"Oh. I see. So, it has nothing to do with the fact that I am a buxom, beautiful woman with whom you desire to touch. I -completely- get it." She was teasing him now, tilting her head at a slight jerk to indicate that she was moving and that he should follow. Placed upon her back was a row of four leaves; each wide enough to resemble a set of wings, the flower in between budded and grown, a hybrid of her own creation that allows tiny little tendrils of vines to curl and extend.

She looks back, this time catching the blush, the conversation that he wanted to have was soon pushed back and away as she turns, her gaze towards the ground as she carefully watches her step. Though, there was nothing careful at all.

"I am going to guess by that blush that.." She pauses. " are young and inexperienced. For the fact that you stated that you needed to research was one thing, but the blush.. oh, the blush is an entirely different animal. How old are you and how far have you delved into the horrors of adult hood." This was not a question in a sense that it was a demand for answers. And it still held true. Answer truthfully.

If he had been sharing her powers, would he too be listening to something? Or did she simply have better hearing and vision than him and was watching something in the forest? Whatever it is, he can't detect it. His curiosity and musings are once again pierced by Ivy's provocative comments.

The lightly scarred young man's eyes /almost/ dip down to look at her body rather than her face when she deliberately calls attention to it. Almost. Thankfully he is able to keep focus on her face. Still, it does make his cheeks turn even brighter. He was definitely not used to this type of conversation or the feelings that go along with it. It was like trying to learn a new type of martial art while on a tossing ship. At best there were moments when the ship steadied, when he found something else to focus on. Such as the plants on her back. Intriguing. Certainly it helps reduce the temptation to watch her body move for entirely different reasons than before as he follows behind her, though that temptation grows everytime he has to drop his eyes to the ground to ensure his own path is secure.

Young and inexperienced? In some ways that was completely wrong. In others, it was completely accurate. Never before was his sex life - or complete lack thereof - a source of embaressment. But it was turning out that things were very different when Ivy was around in a number of ways. Initially her needling is completely successful; his reserved, controlled demeanor continues to crumble. Then one of his other instincts senses something: it wasn't just teasing. It was, for lack of a better word, domination. She was trying to exert some kind of control over him.

Now that just won't do. The change in his voice is immediate, filled with a quiet defiance in place of cold confidence.

"Old enough to kill, but not old enough to buy alcohol. I've ripped a man's guts out and used his blood for ink, but I've never been interested in having sex."

And if she looks back or catches his eye this time, he's all but daring her to call him a liar.


Ivy waits until he was finished talking. She didn't turn to note the defiant gaze, but she could hear it in the tone that he immediately took as he answered that question. It.. was almost like a chill that draws down a persons spine, the tiny hairs standing on end, gooseflesh rising and falling and yet, her arms draw behind her back as if it were nothing at all to clasp wrists with her fingers.

"Two things to note." She states, pursing her lips. He could possibly hear the tone of amusement within her voice throughout the entire conversation. She felt that he was going to be defiant until the end, which was fine for her. She loved the ones that loved to fight back. Conversation.. or otherwise.

"Old enough to kill." She points out. "If you can pick up a knife and point it. You are old enough to kill. Which does not say much, if at all. There are children who have not reached middle school who have killed. Answer again." She allows the silence to grow in the air, still grinning, keeping watch ahead.

"The fact that you bring up sex is amusing." She holds up a hand. "I've said the horrors of adulthood. Never once did I mention anything about sex. Touching women, has nothing to do with sex." She turns then, a smooth motion which has her walking backwards, the path clearly marked so that she'd avoid the random leaflet or grass. Pure dirt.

"It could be a hug. The hold of her hand. The lifting of a woman and grasping her to your bosom for safety." Her hands lift to demonstrate, bringing her arms into her chest as if she were holding a newborn babe.

"Why, did your mind immediately stray to that notion of sex? Virgin boy?"

Was challenging her like that a mistake? Possibly. Yet there are some things that simply had to be done or could not be allowed. As long as it didn't end the encounter or end in violence it was probably worth not yielding. Probably.

"I didn't just say I was old enough to kill. I guess I wasn't clear, but the person I mentioned died. It takes a rare person to survive that sort of thing." Which sounds like he is speaking from experience; and given the scars on his stomach, he probably is. "A child that has deliberately killed somebody is no longer a child. Whether they want to or not they are an adult." A pause, and then he allows an unusual amount of annoyance to enter his voice, and he adds as if humoring a child, "But if that's not good enough for you, I'm 19 years, 11 months, and 2 weeks old."

Then suddenly he's facing her, which is quite a trick. He is VERY envious of her right now, especially when his cape snags on a branch and he has to twist his way free. It has to be her connection with plants that allow her to navigate like that, but it still takes dexterity to walk in reverse so gracefully. It also allows her to see his own expression, the tension in his jawline, the narrowing of green eyes in both concentration and determination. He's not angry, but he certainly isn't enjoying himself like the nature goddess is. Still, he is willing to continue answering her irrelevant questions for now.

"I'm not experienced, but I know what innuendo is, and it was obvious what you were alluding to up until then. I just skipped to the very obvious end. What more do you want? A list of all the girls I /didn't/ kiss? Because that is going to take a very long time."

"Of course they died. Why would you cut someone if you didn't intend for them to bleed to death?" Was she being serious? There were times when she cut someone just for the thrill of it but hardly ever has she wished them death. But still, it was a conversation, and she was flowing into it. She wasn't even upset at all.

"A child that kills is still a child yet with a different outlook of the world. A child that kills still has the means to be a child; yet his surroundings declare if he or she is to truly be a monster. But I suppose that is a discussion for psychologists and hairbrained vigilantes over tea, crumpets and whatever else they decide to stuff down their throats."

Nineteen. That was a bit young.

"You know what an innuendo is but not the true meaning of -mine-." She states. She had stopped walking. Somewhere, along there, she stopped walking and that hand was lifted to keep her palm outright, intent to stop his movement with not a touch, but a push if he kept going forward.

"Your small mindedness brought you to the notion of sex. But I allude to the monster within." Her finger extends, pointing right to his heart.

"You need to touch me to feel emotions that you haven't felt in a long time." That finger taps against her temple. Conversation recall. "To feel what they feel. To hear what they think, what they are speaking. But what I want. I want that monster to show himself. Then the true conversation will take place."

She pauses, a wicked smile curling ruby lips. Perhaps that is why she was nearly choked to death in the first place. "Unless you need a more hands on approach. Show me the -real- you."

There is quite a bit that David and Ivy disagree on. This is not too surprising, even if the particulars being revealed in the conversation are unexpected. Cutting without killing and the line between child and adult? Weird.

With her coming to a halt he too stops - just short of coming into contact with her hand. He doesn't know if that's what she wants or not, and for whatever reason she is making a big deal about contact this time, in stark contrast to their previous encounter. At least the heat has faded from his cheeks. After a moment of consideration he is forced to agree with her second point, even giving a small nod: he had misinterpreted her remarks. The rest? She was very wrong about.

"There is no monster within - the monster is all that is left." The defiance and need to push back has faded, returning to his more deliberately reserved attitude. "I keep a few parts of David Ironheart around because they are useful. Happiness, love, fear of death or injury. Those are what I no longer have, what your power allows me to feel from them." He looks around, indicating the plants around them with his eyes. He also reaches behind him with one hand to remove the bonsai tree and move it so that it is held in one hand between the two killers.

The smile, the voice, the actual words at the end. They stir up both his sense of challenge or defiance along with something else. Something a bit more confusing, but something that he is coming to associate with Ivy. Logic however tells him to avoid that for now.

"Morality. Ethics. Pain, innocence. These are things I understand, and have to weigh. I think I have even found some answers. But I can't move forward until I can feel what this," the potted tree, "feels."

"So please." Not a beg, but a sincere and rather earnest request. He holds out his own hand in offering, palm up and in front of the hand that she has extended.

* OOC Time: Sun Feb 14 15:56:11 2016 *

"Interesting." Ivy states. Hand lowering to her side as she listens to him speak. A life, a long life devoid of happiness, love, fear and death was something that most would attain. Save.. others would kill for happiness and love alone. "Very, very interesting." To say that David has never had a yearning for love is an understatement. His reactions once he felt that back in the domed forestry proved it to be nearly alien to him. Just what happened to this boy.. so long ago..

For the moment, Ivy wanted to ask why. To stall. To indulge in the man that stands before her. To pick him apart piece by piece, brick by boring brick. But she doesn't. The word please leaves his lips and a little smirk draws upon hers. Sincere or no, she saw it as begging. So in her mind, she's won.

"Alright." She murmurs cooly, fingers rising to pinch at the other to draw her glove away, snapping it out to the air to right it's form as her hand soon rests within his. There was no poison, no trickery, just a gentle touch from one to another and a lean in to stare into his eyes to actually witness the change first hand.

"Don't fight it. They will all try to seek your attention. They have no way to shield themselves from the likes of us. Let them in."

He did want to argue. To explain or justify himself, to eventually convince her to lend her power without having to actually request it. But such sentiments did nothing but soothe the ego. His sense of self, his identity, that was precious to him. The ego? That was just dead weight. Yet those red lips curling upwards in victory grates at him just the same.

Poison Ivy was introducing him to all sorts of new or unusual experiences. He can't recall off the top of his head when he last held somebody's hand in a peaceful fashion. If the contact didn't bring with it Ivy's connection to plants it might be something to ponder. Instead he is suddenly deluged with the minds, feelings, or thoughts(?) of the forest itself. At least this time he doesn't start screaming. Once again he is at risk of drowning in it, losing himself to those external and long-absent emotions. Last time though he had been tossed into the raging waters without warning. Now he is mentally prepared, or at least expecting it.

Her advice is, initially, refused if not completely ignored. His whole body tenses as he struggles to reign in his initial panic, making his hand grip hers more tightly. Green eyes grow fixed in some distant, intense gaze that lasts for several seconds. Only then does he begin to relax, having mentally reestablished his own boundries. Not seperating himself from the feelings and the intimate connections, merely understanding where they end and he begins.

The harsh grip to her hand was noticed, her green eyes darting down towards the way her fingers seemingly fold, which soon flex within his grasp to create a firm grip. Despite the Gotham chill, she was actually warm. So much that their continued contact seemingly causes her to nearly sweat or clam up. Nearly. At least she could keep that in check.

Her other hand reaches up to lightly touch his face as he tenses, drawing away as she notices the shoulders lower in relaxation, the grip held there for a moment as she takes a step back, hand in hand.. to walk. Things are better when walking, hand in hand at least. No ulterior motives, all curiousity.

"What does she tell you."

Was that heat his imagination? Was it just the fact that /he/ was quite warm? Yet another question that he'd like to answer if he didn't have substantially more important things to do. Like try and convince Ivy not to keep murdering humans for the sake of plants. Or find out what he needs to know without Ivy killing /him/. He is confident that the odds of the latter are much better than the former given how things are going.

David doesn't quite flinch away from the touch to his face; it's more of a twitch really. Then he's walking with her. He can't begin to compare to her grace, but moving through the woods is a good deal easier now.

"'Hi.'" At least that is what David thinks the little bonsai tree is saying to him. It's a little offputting the degree of enthusiasm it has.

"Morality," he abruptly explains to Ivy, "is usually about weighing different things. Stealing is bad, but starving is worse, so stealing to survive is acceptable by most standards. What I deal with isn't that different. Killing people is bad, but killing innocent people is worse, so killing somebody who is trying to kill an innocent person is acceptable. Killing a human is worse than killing a dog which is worse than a pigeon which is worse than a frog etc. Then you have injury and suffering." It is all explained almost as a lecture. Not necessarily to educate Ivy on how morality works or to persuade her to his way of thinking; rather it is explaining to her how /his/ morality works. It seems to be leading to a point, rather than being the point.

Awh! Ivy heard that! The tiny little 'Hi.' The way the bonsai tree subtly shifts, possibly a hair of an inch at 'speaking' just so. There was joy in those little branches, the little leaflets were possibly singing. There was a glow about the small item that possibly went unnoticed.

That alone draws another smile to her lips, coupled with the rest of the plantlife in the area returning the greeting with equal enthusiasm and wonder. It was a cute display really, heard by the two with joined hands.

As David speaks, that smile falls. She knew the lessons and thoughts on morality but at times chose to ignore them. Though with the soul implanted in her, gifting her with a certain compassion that she's tried to suppress but refuses to give up, she could understand. Understand truly and keep a modicum of her sanity.

David is lucky.

"Your point. Quickly." It was a boring talk to be sure. Not that she was attempting to piss him off but her anger was a slow, rolling build.

It was heartwarming. It was also annoying. The fact that the plants could communicate like that was one of the biggest problems he was facing. He had no way of gauging their "importance" without Ivy or her powers. And with her patience dwindling, he needed to make use of that while he could.

He comes to an abrupt halt, disentangling his hand from hers. "I doubt you are going to like what comes next, but given you know that I know your general feelings on plants, keep that in mind, and know that I do not do this lightly."

'This' happens to be some pruning shears. Designed for just one hand, but still big enough that they could probably cut somebody's thumb off with enough strength. He holds it up in one hand; the bonsai tree is held in the other. Maybe he's wasting his breath with his preamble, given the tree has one little branch that could stand to be pruned. He also frowns, something like sympathy on his face, and says via his connection with the plants and his voice, "This will hurt, but be brave. It's important, and you won't be suffering alone."

The stray branch is snipped. The deliberate nature of the act shows that he has at least studied the proper technique for pruning, though the young man has no actual experience with it. During which time he focuses on the little plant, reaching out to both reassure it and to make sure he doesn't miss a single bit of the pain it feels.

"The branch is cut. The plant has been wounded."

He then takes the pruning shears, raises them to the side of his head, and neatly snips off the top of his left ear, taking off about one fourth of it.

"And now so have I." He seems oddly OK with this.

The stop draws her attention. As well as the snatch away from her hand. Ivy turns, her brows lowering into a deep arch that make delicate features more irksome. Her lips even part, the words falling away from her lips as the pruning shears were produced. She could say nothing. She could do nothing. But she was locked in a moment of abject terror and takes that one step.

The flowers upon her back bloom, ejecting thick vines that wrap around her shoulders, the jagged edges pointing sharply towards David as the stem was cut.

She could feel the pain, the compassion for the plant.. and it hurts within her very being. "WHAT.."

The vines snake out and stop cold as he snips at his ear, her expression.. readable. Shock. Disbelief. Hesitancy mixed with anger that makes her eyes flash from the purest green to the deepest silver. Even the bruises upon her neck intensify with a lick of green that mingles with the purple of their reminder. She.. was just lost.

And a little weirded out too. He performed an eye for an eye, where as she didn't have to.

So THAT is what those things on her back were for. He was just learning all sorts of things today. Apart from rushing a little bit to inflict his own injury he didn't seem to react much to the very real and immediate danger she had demonstrated. In fact, he seems to be very in control. Not of the situation, not of Ivy, but of himself. Things are stabilizing for him.

In fact, he hands the bonsai tree to her, pushing it into her hands if need be. He can't keep holding it under the current circumstances. No, he needs to do something about all the blood pouring down the side of his head, because it is making a MESS. The white "jacket" of his costume is rapidly staining, and oh right, a chunk of his ear is on the forest floor. He keeps a first aid kit on him for situations like this - though normally he doesn't keep it stocked with plastic baggies. That was just for this particular case, which he had intended all along. So after stuffing the severed flesh into the little sandwich sized ziplock baggie he takes a bandage and applies it to his ear.

"Five minutes from now, who will be worse off?" Among the bonsai and David, presumably. "A day? Will that plant remember the pain? Will it ever stop and wish it had never lost that limb?" Though the questions are rhetorical, they are important to him, and to her, he hopes.

"That was for my benefit," he explains. "The other thing I wanted to tell you is for the benefit of all the plants in the world."

David Ironheart heads out to Robinson Park.

+MEET: David Ironheart has arrived via +meet.

With the bonsai tree shoved into her hands rudely, Ivy takes a step back with a curl that brings the vines that ejected from the plant that rested onto her back to curl in the same manner. Comforting, yet retaining their distance from the woman in case there was a need to attack, a leaf slowly blooming from one of the vines as Ivy quietly whispers something to the bonsai tree. The fact that she was so focused upon the tree hid if she were focused on David. Her attention was indeed split, a fractured mind such as hers or any of the madmen so great that their surroundings were just a small piece of the puzzle at all times. She heard him, but she did not quite register him just yet. She was focused.

He could also see the way she quietly blew upon the pruned twig, a slight glitter glow of green floats and lands upon the leaves to linger.. and slowly disappear.

With a rise to her full height, Ivy was cross. But she wasn't as cross enough as to not hear his words, perhaps the soul of someone elses compassion rang in her which allowed her to forgo the killing, just this one time.

"What is the other thing." She snaps out, grip grasping hard against the pot of the plant but wisely does not break.

It was foolishly optimistic perhaps, which is not a quality typically attributed to David, but he had hoped she would be more open to a discussion on the morality of their paths. His other hope was that she would be able to heal or at least help the plant, and it looks like that had proven correct.

"Do you want to save plants, or avenge them?" It does not sound like a completely rhetorical question, and he is (foolishly?) self confident in asking the question to somebody who has half a mind to kill him already. He is wise enough though to not pause and wait for a response, since she's more likely to eviscerate him than answer verbally. "Consider this: you and I are now the only two people who actually truly KNOW what pain plants can feel.

"But what if we weren't? You cannot seriously expect people to care for plants how you want them to if they have no reason to. You want people to stop harming plants?" This time he approaches her, going so far as to step up practically toe to toe with her, staring at her with total resolution. "We need to make them REALIZE they are harming them. They need to actually be able to feel what the plants are feeling, or at least know, for a fact, that it is happening."

"If you can hear them, you can feel them, then you know where my stance is already!" Ivy snaps out, drawing the bonsai tree upright to cradle to her bosom, her chin tilted to brush against his small leaves, which has her turning to start her stride deeper into the reservoir and off of the beaten path. Even then her steps were careful, graceful, her footprints paving the way of the path that David should wisely take.

"This is where you are wrong."

"I have been kin to plants ever since I was but a child, well into my teenage and adult years that kinship was there until I met a man who taught me more than I ever wish I ever knew." She stops at a clearing, her silverish green eyes glancing around the area as the sounds of the earth communing were heard. It was as if grass began to slowly slide away, creating a bare spot for Ivy, in which she takes a step towards to drop into a kneel upon the ground. The neck of the tree was gripped, her fingers soon digging into the dirt to pave the way for it's planting and rebirth, as it were.

"During my studies and time, I realized that man knew that the plants were being damaged, hurt, torn apart and abused. All for our own longevity. Extracted, shorn apart, when they would have easily given us what we asked for as long as we treated them with kindness.."

She presses the bonsai tree into the dirt, allowing it to stand alone as she begins to carefully sprinkle dirt upon it's roots, watching .. or hearing as it attempts to test and taste it's new home. "And it was all I asked for in return. And then I became this.." She looks back towards David. "Not because I wish to avenge plants, not because I wished to be their mother, the end and the first of the new creation.. but because of MAN. Man knows. Man always knows. MAN just DOES NOT care."

It is sad. A pity even, in the literal sense. Yet even with the borrowed empathy that connects him to the plants, true empathy does not come easily to David Ironheart. He follows her physically yet her logic, or at least her beliefs, are a different matter. Intellectually the male understands that she is a woman who is suffering, has been abused, and has furthermore witnessed the suffering and abuse of those she cares about.

But she still is giving the same excuses and BS he has heard from a number of sociopaths, murderers, or abusers that have deserved death; and that he had delivered it to. So he listens to her. He watches her plant. He wonders what the reaction time those vines on her back have, as well as their maximum range.

And then, when she is finished, he takes the baggy holding part of his ear and flings it at her chest while saying disdainfully, "/Bullshit./"

"People are assholes, people are selfish, a fourth of males are probably rapists, and everybody does what they want." The words are sincere, yet the opposite of sympathic. More like staying an obviously known fact. "But even I didn't believe plants could feel pain like that until today, and I TALKED TO IT beforehand." This isn't a simple explanation or a narration of his thoughts like before. This is a full blown, passionate, and angry speech, and by God he's going to make sure she hears this if it kills one or even both of them.

"You think you're helping them when you murder a bunch of rich assholes who bulldoze forests to up their quarterly reports by half a percentage?!" he demands, pointing at the bonsai tree as well as the forest. "What you're doing is making people unwilling to listen to the /sane/ people who…" He abruptly trails off, realizing that she's too far gone to listen to that bit of truth. Which is not to say that he's done talking.

"Plant empathy plus human telepathy plus politicians. Does THAT make it through your reverse-mysogenistic axe to grind?"

The first surprise was when the baggy hits her shirt. The second is when he swears at her. Her eyes close in that moment as the baggy was soon gripped within her fingers with the thought to never let that go. That one gesture go. She stands, fingers curled into fists as she lets out a soft sigh. Her eyes glancing up towards the growing expanse of stars as those vines do creep and curl, slithering beneath her arms to linger there for but a moment.

And then it was silent, the only sound was the crick of her vines wriggling in anticipation, stalled and nearly locked in that animated movement whilst waiting a command. Even with a little twist of her head, her neck pops faintly, her eyes dulling from their silvery green to just.. green. As if the life of it all had drained from her and there was nothing remarking a soul behind those pretty eyes.



The whip-like vines lash out to try to capture each appendage, thick as they were and tight as they would squeeze would give one the notion to run and run fast. She was -not- happy. Perhaps compassion was something that was keeping her from attempting to gut him right out or.. snap his limbs one by one. To even think of sharing something that she now seems sacred with one person was one thing, but to others? While it would have seen ideal, she had it in her mind that only she would be Queen.

The odds of her agreeing with him and peacefully working with him were never high, so at one level David was fully prepared for not only a refusal, but violence. That is why he reaches up towards his injured ear - what seems to be a reflexive gesture to check the bloodflow, but in fact is simply cover for him to prepare a throwing knife underneath his sleeve, to be drawn if needed.

What he had not expected was the way in which she would reject him, or the reason(s) why. The vigilante had assumed it would be simple temper loss. What he sees however, is something different. Something much more deliberate. On the plus side, it gives him more warning, thus allowing him to both mentally prepare and control his physical response when she does strike.

His right hand grasps the hilt of his sword when her entangling attack comes. His best chance of victory, slim as it may be, would be to draw the weapon and defend himself. Yet when the vines come, he is barely able to force himself to remain still. His own eyes flash with anger and violence, yet he remains motionless even as the living weapons squeeze his arms and legs painfully. Though the Ripper costume mask is not worn anymore, his face is a mask of smothered fury just the same. Outrage, the urge to kill, and the urge to insult and berate.

Instead, he turns his face towards the planted bonsai tree. He then asks it, both with his voice and with his temporary connection with the Green,

"Would you rather have more humans taking care of you? Or no humans at all?"


There was a cluster of mixed emotions that she couldn't outright figure out. It was silent. Clear. The entire forestry stopped it's movements all for just that moment. The moment of decision, on whether she would actually take action and flay the man alive or leave him there to breathe in the air they provide for another day.

A stand still.

One foot was soon placed in front of the other as he questions the tree, the vines carrying the weight of the man who nearly sought to defend himself, right towards a large oak in which his back was pressed upon. The vines themselves began to move like snakes, nearly breaking apart to wind him up there, tying him down and back, though their lightness was something that they could easily be unwound from. She says nothing, once she was at least a few feet apart from him, where neither of them could touch, the smile upon her face was near threatening.

"I do hope that this is the last time we meet. Because if I see you again, there will be no mercy." That would be the last time anyone tried to change Ivy's mind. The world was hers for the taking, and the power would be hers and hers alone.

It was his "better" nature that had guided him to this point. Recognition of a kindred spirit. A newfound sense of hope. The knowledge that he was, at least more than most, suited to actually help a fellow human being instead of merely protecting someone by eliminating threats. Logic had grudgingly considered it with an attempt. The result? Stuck to a tree, more or less at the mercy of a madwoman who ultimately chose not to be helped. Sure, he could likely could have inflicted some injury to her if he really wanted, but the moment he chose against drawing his sword, he was left relying upon her self restraint.

Lesson learned; he would not make that mistake again. David Ironheart was not a healer, he was a killer. Or on his best day, a fighter.

He holds her gaze when she addresses him, unable to do any less. Or more. The change is evident in his eyes, the resolution of who and what he is. As is a fragment of pity, or perhaps sorrow, for how Ivy and the situation turned out. He has pushed his luck enough for one day though, and remains silent until she departs.

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