The Green Mile [Pamela]

[payne]

Payne was having a bad day. Ed North, one of his senior officers, had asked how he was doing for the third time already, and the artist merely stared at him before blinking and shaking his head slightly. – “I’m sorry. Sorry. I’m just… Tired.” – In Arkham it wasn’t nice at all to look or act too out of the ordinary, people started getting worried you might be losing it. Not that they were too far off the mark. Payne had had a rather violent nightmare with the night his father came back and killed him, and it seemed as if Vorpal sensed that - he could feel them pushing at his mind, scratching, whispering, trying to come out. And with the fact he hadn’t been able to sleep at all, they probably thought it’d be easier. Wouldn’t happen, though, he wouldn’t let them. Luckily, since he looked at least lucid, if not entirely present, and had given a coherent answer - and since most veterans were aware of how the constant noises and interactions could get to the new guys - Ed quickly dismissed him, telling the young officer to take a break and resume duty later. The artist wanted to argue, but he had nothing, so did as instructed. He had a different destination in mind, however.

Payne waited until he was far enough before taking a detour, his vision blurring for a second as he rounded a corner. The artist stopped for a moment, fighting down whoever was trying to get into the driver’s seat with all he had. After a few minutes, he was moving again, breathing deeply. Didn’t take very long to get to the lockers and retrieve his package, but it did take longer than it should’ve. Pushing that thought aside, the newcomer was back on his way to a very specific cell, hoping he could maintain control until he was there, his head having started to really hurt. – [Don’t you fail me now.] – It was a somewhat complicated wish, but then again, whenever he really needed something, it seemed to have a positive effect on the outcome. But that could be just wishful thinking. It didn’t matter, he needed to see her, no way around it. And so the artist’s eyes filled with red for a moment. And there he was. The hallways were completely empty, the other cells silent and dark. It looked like the only person other than him in all of Arkham was now Dr Pamela Isley – aka Poison Ivy – and he could see her through the reinforced glass, just being perfect, right there. The artist let his back rest against the wall opposite to the woman’s cell, sliding down to the floor and trying to keep both the pain and his breathing under control. Without thinking about it, his hand found the white-gold rose pendant that had belonged to Payne’s mother, and he clutched it until the metallic petals dug into his hand, blood trickling down and onto his uniform.

A minute went by. Then another. Payne wasn’t sure if Pamela could see him well, every single light in the hall seemed to have been dimmed. But he could see her, and it helped. That was probably the worst part about it, seeing an insane murderous criminal helped him feel better, helped him find himself inside that broken mind of his. – [Maybe I should get my own cell here.] – It sounded a lot less funny than he’d hoped, and left a bitter taste in the artist’s mouth. Still, some moments later, he was basically in complete control of himself again, still staring at the redhead. She was beautiful. He had always thought that, even when she was completely human. – “Thanks.” – Payne knew she wouldn’t understand – nor care – but that wasn’t the first time he’d been saved by her. If Vorpal came out while he was inside Arkham… He closed his eyes, feeling a shiver crawl up his spine at the thought. – [Thank you.]

[Pamela Isley - Poison Ivy]

Poison Ivy is in a miserable place. And not merely because she's at the Arkham Asylum, but because her mind is possibly in a worse spot than her body. Well, perhaps from a purely psychological standpoint she's improved a bit upon the psychotic episode she was experiencing when she first arrived, but in some ways being in touch with reality is less pleasant. It means that she actually has to deal with things, and she'd really rather not.

She's sitting in her cell on the bed, leaning against one wall and staring at another. Staring off into space is one of her favorite hobbies anymore, letting her mind drift off into nowhere, though just as often her thoughts boil in a stew of misery. A part of it is a physical misery - in spite of the fact that she's completely incapable of getting sick, she's feeling rather unwell. Mostly because the asylum is not providing adequately enough for her unique needs, but then again she hasn't told them what they're doing wrong.

What would be the point of that? Does she really deserve to feel well? After she left all of her precious babies to die again? Of course, she didn't exactly go down without a fight, but she should have managed. It was Nightwing for pity's sake! She's beaten him before - easily! At least losing to Batman would have been halfway respectable. But what is the point of anything she does if it can be taken from her so easily? If she's not strong enough to face those who oppose her, shouldn't she just give up now?

There are some sounds outside of her cell, but she ignores them in favor of staring at the walls. Whatever is going on outside is not relevant to her. Asylum staff moving around, perhaps the occasional patient being led past. None of it matters. But then she hears a different sound - a single word, distinctive enough to have been spoken right outside of her cell, though no sign that anyone else has responded to it. Her eyes shift to the glass front of her cell, where she can just see a lone figure sitting against the wall across the hall.

But he's right - she doesn't understand or care why he's there. In fact, after only a second or two her eyes shift back to the blank wall she was staring at before, preferring to look at that over some meaningless person who has randomly chosen to be outside her cell.