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Post by sincereagape on Jan 24, 2011 20:45:28 GMT -5
For some reason the house loomed larger than before. Seeing Poison Ivy’s home during the day time accentuated just how magnificent the greenhouse was. The greenhouse easily appeared at least two stories tall, maybe three. The shape of the facility was dome or a continuous set of arches with a round top held together by strong reinforced beams made of vibranium. The panels and windows of the Greenhouse were cut and melded perfectly into squares. The wall surrounding the estate was covered with ivy and other forms of vegetation. There were a few beautiful flowers blooming at the top of the wall, making the estate seem pleasant and not monolithic.
It was around late morning on a weekday when the Ventriloquist had arrived at the gate in front of the residence. At this time of the day, the neighborhood was quiet with most of the residents at work making it a good time for the Ventriloquist to be viewed into public for a few minutes. The Ventriloquist was adorned in a grey suit with a white dress shirt and a red bowtie underneath. In his hand was a large athletic bag which he had somewhat of a hard time to carrying. Inside of the bag was Scarface. Scarface had slept the entire cab ride here. And when he meant cab ride, transportation was provided by the toughs owned by Rupert Thorne. There was also a few sets of clothing, a small brown bag of cash, and two or three purses from the heist. In his pocket he carried a small revolver which of course was loaded.
After narrowly escaping Batgirl and Robin at the bank less than 48 hours ago, the Ventriloquist and Scarface had managed to visit the hideout at the Lucky 7 Casino to grab a few precious valuables. The detainment of his gang had severely crippled the Ventriloquist’s operating power in Gotham. The Ventriloquist was never known to lead large mobs, instead he preferred a small gang. They were easier to control. The Ventriloquist did not have much time to clear out the area in fear of either the police or the costumed vigilantes showing up to investigate.
He had managed to spend the past two nights at a motel in East Gotham. But that was hardly the place for one to re-build their power structure. He needed shelter while things died down a bit, and decided to seek asylum with someone he could possibly manipulate. The Joker was too much of a wildcard and a powerful personality who was nearly impossible to coerce, and the Riddler was just hitting the pinnacle of his power. That left Pamela Isley, the newest player in town, and someone the Ventriloquist had recently interacted with.
The Ventriloquist approached the front gate telephone and out of the corner of his eye he spotted the security camera focusing on him. Picking up the telephone, the Ventriloquist spoke in a hushed and frantic whispers.
“G—g—good Morning Poison Ivy. This is the Ventriloquist,” he paused. Most likely his voice was resonating through an intercom somewhere in the house. “Let us in! Mister Scarface and I need help!”
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Post by Pamela Isley - Poison Ivy on Jan 25, 2011 4:08:13 GMT -5
Eyes focused on the screen showing the man standing outside of her front gate, it takes Pamela only half of a moment to decide what to do now. This wasn't completely out of the blue because she'd seen the news reporting on the bank robbery - didn't take a genius to know who it was based solely on the standard short clip of the surveillance video. The guys who entered her greenhouse were a rather distinctive-looking bunch, masks or not, and she got rather more acquainted with the appearance of a tommy gun than she'd liked recently. So when she heard that the mastermind of the whole thing got away she knew that Scarface, along with the Ventriloquist, would be on the run.
But when she wasn't contacted immediately she'd assumed that he either had a backup plan for this or had gotten help elsewhere. Now it appears that it was only for the short term. And she finds it rather difficult to come up with many reasons not to help - worst case scenario she gets double-crossed or caught helping him, and she's already expecting the former at any time, while the latter... well, how hard could it be to convince the police that she was innocent of any realwrongdoing?
"Help as a friend or a beggar, I wonder?" Pamela responds from the panel in her greenhouse, her voice quiet and full of mild amusement. It's not at all a serious question, merely her giving voice to her thoughts. Pushing the button to open the gate, she adds a bit louder, "Either way... Come find me in my lab inside the greenhouse and we'll talk." And she sounds just as relaxed about that prospect as she was holding that vial of sarin during their last meeting. Perhaps even more so because, while she doubts that he's come unarmed, the fact that he's not come pointing it at her first thing is promising. Not to mention that she's upped her security since then.
The greenhouse has undergone a remodel of sorts since the last time he'd been here; the majority of the touch-sensitive plants have been removed. Her favorites of those are still gathered in the back, but the greenhouse has been mostly taken over by other plants. Specifically, there are a few different kinds of thick-stemmed climbing plants going up the greenhouse walls, while the central parts of the greenhouse are mostly populated by a plant somewhat like long grass but with thick, cylindrical leaves instead of flat ones. The purpose of either plant isn't at all obvious.
But they represent a change of focus; keeping her work going at a quick pace means that she needs to devote the majority of the plants in her greenhouse to whatever major project she's working on. Which does not include any of the specialized plants she's been scattering all over Gotham; those are strictly small-scale projects based on familiar concepts. The presence of even one specimen of those is fleeting. The greenhouse is instead devoted to what still needs to be studied and tampered with.
While she waits for the Ventriloquist to come in, she pulls a necklace out of a drawer. It's unremarkable except for the clear cylinder pendant with a dark amber liquid in it - not unlike a small vial, and since it was bought specifically for this situation perhaps that was intentional. Making sure it's fastened securely, she returns to what she was doing: mixing small amounts of chemicals into a slightly larger vial. Apparently Pamela isn't bothered enough by her guest this time to interrupt whatever she is doing.
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Last Edit: Jan 25, 2011 18:07:52 GMT -5 by sincereagape
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Post by sincereagape on Jan 25, 2011 18:07:03 GMT -5
The gate began to open, slowly introducing the entrance into the Queen’s Court. The Ventriloquist felt very uneasy. Shouldn’t he have been feeling welcome? A famous quote by Lewis Carroll comes to mind, ‘Will you walk into my parlor?’ said the spider to the fly.
The Ventriloquist took his first steps into the front yard and paused. The house was a simple one. Roughly two stories high, the lawn and outer portion of the home had been maintained. There was no doubt in his mind that Poison Ivy had kept her house simple, not wanting to draw to much attention to her home. Behind him, the front gate began to close until there was a loud slam signifying that it had sealed. The Ventriloquist was slightly startled. He quickly composed himself then began his ascension up the cobblestone driveway. There was a fire engine red convertible parked in front of the closed garage door. He followed a path which leads to the backyard where the green house was. The sun was up in the air, but it did not bring rays of warmth on this chilly day. When he finally reached the sliding panel which served as the doorway into the greenhouse, it was discovered to be unlocked.
Upon entering into the greenhouse, the Ventriloquist found it incredibly hot and humid. He momentarily put down the bag, which he was pretty much dragging at times, to wipe sweat from his brow and rest. The villain un-fastened the bottom buttons of his tweed blazer to reveal and un-tucked shirt which he did not bother to fix.
Making his way through the greenhouse he observed that the vegetation and plant life was not the same as before. The thick-stemmed branches growing up the walls made the area feel eerie, and the cylindrical plants in the center of the facility were unlike anything he had seen.
Bugs and gnats began to congregate around him. This was no surprise because he had not had a clean shower in over two days, and the suit he was wearing was the same one he had worn during the bank robbery. The Ventriloquist slapped his neck to chase off a fly. Trying to swat the rest away only served as a momentarily solution.
Finally, the Ventriloquist had reached the lab area. It was familiar to him because this was the location where their first confrontation occurred. He thought about awakening Scarface. But the mob boss had explicitly said that the stress of the past 48 hours was beginning to wear, and that he needed the rest. Giving Arnold Wesker the responsibility to persuade, coerce, or force Poison Ivy into providing them with a haven.
“Isley?” The Ventriloquist called out. There was no answer.
“Isley?“ He called out again, still no response.
Maybe she could not hear his natural timid voice. He decided to abrasively project.
“Isley! This is the Ventriloquist. I know you can hear me! And I must affirm that you better be willing to hold up your end of the agreement!!”
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Post by Pamela Isley - Poison Ivy on Jan 26, 2011 3:15:48 GMT -5
Focused on what she's doing, Pamela is only vaguely aware of the Ventriloquist's presence in her greenhouse until he starts shouting for her. Biting back an exclamation of annoyance she glances up and around the bit of equipment between them and says, "I'm right over here." Which he would have known if he'd taken two seconds to look. Then again, if he's that nervous, so much the better for her. Must be because he's not holding Scarface. Odd that one could become so dependent on a doll for there to be that sort of a difference, but fortunately she well learned the lesson that this man ought to be considered dangerous despite all appearances.
"And of course I'll hold up my end," Pamela continues as she turns back to the mixture in front of her, "I'll do whatever you ask when it pleases me. And it does. Helping you get back on your feet is the least I can do. And you'd do the same for me, right?" The irony in her tone as she asks that question indicates that she isn't at all certain he would. But not one to make such an open-ended statement unless she's intentionally misleading someone, she quickly continues, "The basement of my house is finished and I rarely use it, so you're welcome down there. I only ask that if you have any 'business' to conduct that you'll take it elsewhere, and keep your presence here discreet - remember that I have a perfectly clean record, that is to both of our advantage, and if I end up in jail then I can't break you out if you get yourself caught too." Would she though? Well, maybe - it would depend on the cost/benefit analysis at the time. "With that in mind, is there any other help I can provide?"
As she talks she continues working, using a precision pipette to measure out small amounts of liquid from larger containers into a vial. The containers seem to be labeled only by color, are gathered into a tray, she's not referring to any sort of instructions, and her every movement is with the ease of much practice so whatever she's doing she's probably done it many, many times before. So many times that even though what she's doing is rather delicate work, it only took a little of her attention. Instead she's idly thinking through all the things that could go wrong (though most of them turn out okay for her) and how she might turn this situation even further to her advantage.
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Post by sincereagape on Jan 26, 2011 19:27:46 GMT -5
Arnold Wesker entered the lab area bag in tow. Listening carefully, he was satisfied with Ivy’s offer as the Ventriloquist. Anything that was isolated would work. The Ventriloquist did not have high expectations. Even though her star was rising quickly amongst Gotham’s socialites, she was still a relative unknown in the Gotham underworld, thus her place would be remote from others. More importantly, she held personal power, which for the higher percentage, trumps sheer numbers in this world populated by beings with super human powers, thus making the place secure. But what was good for the goose wasn’t necessarily good for the gander. Arnold Wesker’s partner had much higher expectations.
“Mi-Mi-Mister Scarface won’t be pleased with a basement. He is quiet the coinsure to a life of luxury,” stated the Ventriloquist.
He didn’t follow up with an answer to her later question about requiring anything else. At the moment there was nothing else she could materialistically help them with. The Ventriloquist and Scarface had managed to save up a decent amount of monetary resources over the past year and a half so that was covered. Providing protection from the police, the Bat Family, and other mobsters what they needed and were about to receive. The problem would be finding replacements for Rhino, Mugsy, and Ratso. They were a unique gang that had a balance of strength, brains, and speed. They would be difficult to substitute.
The Ventriloquist took a step into the lab area.
It was unnerving to the Ventriloquist that Poison Ivy was casually ignoring him. What was she creating that was so important that she would not give her full attention to arguably one of Gotham’s most influential villains? Was she displaying a sign of arrogance or was she simply showing him a lack of respect?
Scarface had deemed Poison Ivy a powerful ally. She was educated, dangerous, and beautiful. Her credentials as a botanist, backed up by her degrees in the subject was eye popping. And her small resume as a member of Gotham’s affluent circles was something to talk about. But the Ventriloquist thought otherwise. If she became a powerful player in Gotham City, she would be hard to control. She had the potential to be seen in the same light as Two-Face, the Joker, and Ra’s Al’Ghul. That is why, the Ventriloquist believed she should be eliminated soon before they became true enemies, but for now he needed her help.
He began to observe what she was doing. Isley was developing a new formula. It was at this moment that he realized she had not been bluffing about the sarin. By studying the ease and natural grace in which she manipulated chemistry, he was beginning to understand the possibilities of befriending her for now.
“Say,” he said taking a sudden interest into the vials and liquids she was handling. He walked over and leaned over her shoulder, “What exactly are you creating? What do you plan to use it for?”
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Post by Pamela Isley - Poison Ivy on Jan 27, 2011 0:39:08 GMT -5
The objection causes Pamela to give an amused exhalation. "What can Scarface expect while he's on the run?" she asks, but is quick to add, "But if he doesn't like my basement, then he won't like the rest of the house. It's just as nicely furnished; the only reason I don't go down there much is because sunlight makes me happy. And if you want to go to the main level in the morning that's fine with me, but you're likely to be seen at any other time; I'm in no way a hermit. Oh, and I'm having a small party on Friday evening that would be odd for me to cancel with such short notice. Though that shouldn't be a problem as long as you stay downstairs, I'll just have to give Terrance an excuse about why my pool table is unavailable." Her dismissal of that complaint isn't without good reason; her basement is nice, so if it's deemed inadequate after he's seen it then that would simply be a play for power and she won't play that game.
As she talks this time, she's apparently finished the mixture because she pushes the tray aside and pulls a thick syringe out of a drawer and starts filling it with what's in the vial. It's not at all a hygienic way of doing things, but if anyone can blatantly disregard the possibility of contamination, infection, etc. it's Pamela. And if it's disrespectful for her to continue working while talking to him, then she certainly doesn't see it - why would she have to drop everything just because he unexpectedly turned up? Though that she's not brandishing a vial of sarin or, especially, that she's so easily accepting of his presence is a definite sign that she doesn't find him nearly so threatening this time, quite likely beyond just the fact that there isn't any tommy guns involved.
The truth of Poison Ivy is that she's perhaps midway between Scarface's hopes and the Ventriloquist's fears: dangerous, powerful, and uncontrollable, and becoming even more so everyday. But does that mean she would crush the other power players in Gotham? No, not unless they get in her way. And as this situation proves, she's willing to be helpful if it suits her. Though the necklace she's wearing is subtle proof that she's also deadly when crossed. But peaceful coexistence is what she really wants here, and as long as she's likely to get it she'll encourage it further with her own actions.
When asked about what she's doing, Pamela hesitates for perhaps half a moment before she responds. But what she happens to be doing now is the least of her secrets - probably even legal, though it might raise an eyebrow. "It's for me," she explains, "I'm sure you don't know what beta-lactamase is - it's an enzyme that makes some bacteria immune to certain antibiotics. A new form of it called metallo-beta-lactamase has turned up in some bacteria recently that's even more effective; a friend of mine gave me a sample of it yesterday. My immune system can probably counteract it already, but if not this will fix that." And as she explains this she finishes filling the syringe, taps out the air bubbles, rolls up her sleeve, wraps an elastic strip around her left arm, and slowly injects it into her vein. And again, every movement is with the swiftness and ease of much practice; messing with her body chemistry is one of her main hobbies, after all.
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Post by sincereagape on Jan 27, 2011 10:54:40 GMT -5
“I—I—I’ll let Mister Scarface know about the accommodations to the basement,” the Ventriloquist responded with a backwards shuffle when Ivy injected herself with the serum.
Wesker was a child of the late 60s and early 70s. During that time it was not uncommon for a young adult to hold only a high school degree. In between the failures and emotional abuse he encountered as a teenager, it was almost a miracle the Ventriloquist was able to even graduate high school. Thus, much of Ivy’s scientific vernacular went over his head. Fortunately, someone who has a psychiatric disability, especially one as rare as his, was able to think outside of the box, making it capable for him to at least understand the purpose of her formula.
“Bacteria? What on Earth are you infected with?” He took another step back, dropped his bag to cover his mouth.
She appeared perfectly healthy. Then he remembered their earlier encounter, how the plants shifted ever so slightly throughout. Could it be that the movements of those plants was not a misdirected illusion? The possibility that she was infused with powers increased by 15% in his mind; making him 90% sure Isley is a meta.
Dummy…..Oh….Dummy…… The voice returned.
“Oh no.” the Ventriloquist whispered. “Mister Scarface woke up from his nap. Give me a moment.”
The Ventriloquist un-zippered the gym bag, and removed the Scarface puppet. He placed the white fedora on top of its head and rested Scarface on his right forearm. The mannequin’s eyes rolled open.
“How are you feeling Mister Scarface?”
“How’ do ye think ah’ feel? Ah’ve been sleeping in a suitcas’ for the past 24 hours,” Scarface snarled. “Stupid dummy.”
Scarface scanned the room, and spotted Isley. The Ventriloquist whispered lightly into Scarface’s ear, to update him on the situation.
“Ah’ so de dummy said ye were goin’ to help us,” Scarface began, addressing Isley. “Ah’ have to thank ye. Hidin’ out in dis joint is certainly ‘etter then a chea’ motel. Catch’ may drift? Say’ what do ye have to drin’ ‘round here?”
There was a momentarily pause. Very quick. Very small before Scarface continued. "Once drinks are served, Let’s talk business Cupcake. Yer doin’ us a huge favor righ’ now. So being the stand-up guy that Ah’ am………HOW can the dummy and I help YOU?”
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Post by Pamela Isley - Poison Ivy on Jan 27, 2011 13:41:42 GMT -5
What is she infected with? The very question is so flawed that Pamela can't help but burst out laughing. She's infected with nothing - that's the whole point. No bacteria, no virus, and no other such harmful thing can touch her. And yet, there is an answer to that question, and she gives it: "Poison." For to be infected was to be contaminated or corrupted by something, and what could be more contaminated or corrupt than the toxic blood that, harmless to her, flowed through her veins - a gift from dear Dr. Woodrue? It was that more than anything and in more ways than one that infected her.
And yet, that had only somewhat to do with the part of her that would be called 'meta'. After studying herself, she'd determined that more people like her could be made - not that she would do such a thing. But practically anyone would do; one doesn't need to be special to have this end result. However, the way Dr. Woodrue had done it to her was not repeatable; his method had been flawed and it was only her then-hidden affinity toward plants that saved her. And that she knew what he'd done wrong while he didn't was what gave her the last laugh. So the obvious parts of her - her immunity, her supreme knowledge of plants and toxins, etc. were not manifestations of any superhuman ability on her part. Though she has meta abilities, they are as yet as underdeveloped as seeds.
When the Ventriloquist announces that Scarface is awake, Pamela suppresses a smirk. The odd duality of the man is entertaining to her when she's in this kind of mood; later, it will probably be annoying. As the Ventriloquist helps Scarface 'wake up', she finishes the injection, lays the empty needle on the table, releases the elastic, and applies pressure to the wound with a fingertip in further disregard to sterile practices. "Nice to see you again, Scarface," she greets, working her hand a little to dissipate the feeling of blood flowing once again in her arm.
The question of drinks gets an impatient pinching of her lips. Who drinks at this hour? "Out here? I have water if you want that. But feel free to raid my wine cellar when you get to the house," she answers. If any small issue does loom large during his stay here, it will definitely be in the food and beverage department - Pamela eats an excessively healthy vegan diet (though only because she's been rendered herbivorous and not because she has any ideological qualms about hurting animals) so her supply of other things, kept only for the odd guest, is small and limited.
But the last question gives her pause, and she hesitates for just a moment before she replies. "The only thing I want from you right now, Scarface, is your respect and trust," she answers honestly. Not that she'll ever really believe that she has them no matter how many words or gestures of such he'd care to provide. Still, she forges on, "You underestimate me, and I don't like it. But failing that, it would be very helpful if you could tell me what information about me you had - anything written down and anything your men know. Anything the police might now be reviewing. I need to know what answers to give them." At the very least she knows that he probably still has that photo of her with Dick Grayson, and he tracked her down somehow. But she suspects that's not the end of it, even though she hasn't the slightest idea exactly how far that goes.
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Post by sincereagape on Jan 27, 2011 16:02:19 GMT -5
“Hah! Respect and trust? Heh. Ye alread’ have one of them toots,” Scarface said with a burst of energy. “And Ah’ll tell ye this. Ah’ trust ye more then Ah’ trust anyone else in this berg. If Ah’ didn’t trus’ ye just a bit, there is no way Jose’ Ah’d be here. It’s da Dummy here, dat don’t trust’, respect’, OR like ye.”
The Ventriloquist took a seat on a stool, and began to rest Scarface on his lap. When the villain sat down, he readjusted his bow tie after Scarface called him out about his feelings and thoughts towards their host. The mannequin’s square jaw snapped open and shut three times.
“Uncle Scarface is goin’ to tell ye something con-cern-ing trust. Don’t trust anyon’ completely. Faith’ is humani’ is a joke! Peopl’ are jus’ gonna let ye down, time an’ time ‘again. Yer a smart girl Isley, there is a good chance ye alrea’ know dat.”
Both Scarface and the Ventriloquist shifted their attention towards the empty needle on the table. The same needle Isley had just used to inject the counter-agent. The pupils of their eyes simultaneously moved in that direction. A sample of Isley’s blood could be worth a fortune. Science was an unknown realm to them, but a world full of unlimited possibilities. Science and religion are the two biggest sources of information humans have to understand creation and life. Isley was obviously a scientist, and there was something very unique about her biological system, just like there was something unique about his mind. “Yer right. Ah’ do underestimate ye. So does the Dummy. He thinks yer someone we could exploit,” Scarface let’s those words soak in. “I am understimatin’ ye ‘cause Ah’ have a’solutely no idea wat yer capa’le of. As for the in-fom-ma-tion we have on ye, Ah’ll share it….we had an entire medical’ portfolio of ye that the Dummy managed to swipe from Wayne Tech. “
The Ventriloquist pulls a small spiral journalistic notepad from his jacket pocket. He sets it down on the lab table in front of Isley.
"The medical profile contained this information.” Wesker said bluntly.
1. Reports showing that Isley was infected with a plethora of poison and toxins. There are medical reports that state she was in perfect health six months after the incident. 2. Results of her blood work which included that she still had all of the toxins in her health system, and the results of this was confirmed after multiple tests. 3. Documentation chronicling the numerous failed attempts to clean out her system. The reports also states that she was released from the hospital a year and half after the incident because of no signs of poor health.
The Ventriloquist left out the portion of the profile which contained her psychological profile. This was technically true, because that information was not left at the Lucky 7 Casino. In fact he had that with him, but he felt no need to divulge that information.
“There ‘as also dat picture Mugs’ took of you and Grayson in the park. Now all of dis information was left at our hideout in the Lucky 7 Casino. Whether or not my gan’ sqwhelled or not is unknown. So there is a 50/50 chance that the infor-mation is still in our hideout.”
Scarface turned back to Isley with a smile. The Ventriloquist looked at her with expression of stoicism.
"Ah was planni’ to hand over dis information over to ye after Ah’ collected it all of course. It was gon’ to be a sign of good faith….Helpin’ ye eliminate aspect ‘of yer life which could’ harm ye in the future. Heh.”
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Post by Pamela Isley - Poison Ivy on Jan 27, 2011 18:16:07 GMT -5
Oh, Pamela knows not to trust anybody, all right. Whatever faith in humanity she may have had died while she was in the hospital recovering from what the man she man she loved did to her. And the friendly advice advising her to stay that course only brings up unhappy memories. Memories that she only pretended to be okay with so that the psychologist would stop pestering her.
Becoming just a little agitated, she checks to make sure that her arm doesn't bleed when she removes pressure before she starts cleaning up this latest project: the tray gets stored away for the next time she finds something she's not already immune to, and the needle gets deposited in the sink. A small plant with yellow flowers and no discernible scent is placed on the counter next to where she'd been mixing chemicals.
It was true that a sample of her blood was worth a fortune... to the right person, of course. It would take nothing less than Dr. Woodrue or one of his students to actually be able to do anything with the sample besides be amazed that she was alive. And she didn't care to either give or sell it to any of them, especially the good doctor. She'd rather murder him instead.
But when he starts talking about a medical portfolio her cleaning spree ends and she turns her attention to the notepad. It's read twice - the first time it's glossed over because she knows all of that stuff and she's looking for anything else, while the second time is more careful and evaluative. And she considers Scarface's comments about it silently for a moment before she decides, "This does not harm me. So my blood is poison and I'm perfectly fine that way - it's not my fault, there's no crime against it, it doesn't show any weakness, and most people would look at that and not know what it really means anyway. At worst, a few people know not to try to kill me by poisoning me."
Glancing up from the notebook at Scarface, she adds, "If you want to know more about me and what I can do, look at my education." Which is perfectly sound advice - it was a matter of public record that she studied under Dr. Woodrue, who is the world's premiere expert in toxicology and plant hybrids, including plant/animal hybrids. And so is Pamela - basically, if it can be done with a plant then she can do it. Of course, to grasp the full meaning of that would require someone to have a very active imagination about what can be done with a plant.
Is she mad at Scarface for prying into her private records? No. It's only natural for him to be curious about her, and there aren't any records at all for her real secrets: the underdeveloped mental link with plants, the pheromones, that she's actually improving upon her immunities, and of course that she's responsible for all the odd plants that Gotham has been dealing with. The best way to keep something a secret is to keep it in your own head.
"Is there anything else I need to worry about?" she adds, not believing for a moment that he's told her everything. Then again, he could tell her everything and she'd still suspect that he was holding something back.
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Post by sincereagape on Jan 28, 2011 9:11:28 GMT -5
“This ain’t normal!” Scarface began as the Ventriloquist helped Scarface empthasize the point by using his index finger to hit the lab table twice. “No’gody and Ah’ mean No’gody lives through some’thing like dat.” The Villain was having trouble pronouncing the letter ‘B’ as usual.
“Ah’m not surprised no one has usher’ ye off to a lab to be studied, or some ape like Gorilla Grodd hasn’t come knockin’ on yer door to find out how and why ye managed to survive the way ye did.”The Ventriloquist and Scarface took a deep breath together. The Ventriloquist reached for a glass of water and took a deep sip.
When asked if there was anything else she needed to worry about, there was an awkward moment of silence.
“Ahem. Ye wanna tell her?” The Scarface said to It’s partner.
“Why do I have to tell her?” Replied the Ventriloquist.
“Cause Ah’ said so! Just so it!” Scarface berated.
A trickle for sweat formulated from his brow. The Ventriloquist was thinking of how to phrase this.
“Is it just me or is it getting hot in here?” The Ventriloquist let out a nervous chuckle. He adjusted his collar for circulation purposes. “Ever heard of the Batman?”
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Post by Pamela Isley - Poison Ivy on Jan 28, 2011 12:45:16 GMT -5
"Normal? Perhaps not," Pamela agrees, but quickly adds, "But Dr. Woodrue..." (the name seems to catch horribly in her throat as if she has to swallow a toothpick to get it out - revealing quite obviously that she was most certainly not 'coping well' with her anger toward him, regardless of what she'd tricked a psychologist into thinking) "...is a genius. A very risky procedure, but a percentage of anyone would live through it. I was lucky." That's her story and she's sticking to it. A horribly half-truthful thing to say: the flawed attempt performed on her was certainly not something anyone normal could survive, but if Dr. Woodrue found out what he'd done wrong with her then he could certainly do it again.
As to why she was never studied very carefully by anyone besides herself is no mystery at all; if you throw enough refusals, lawyers, and money at someone, they can become surprisingly uncurious. And it wasn't as if anyone who didn't already have a firm grasp on Dr. Woodrue's research could have figured out the full picture anyway - the man was lightyears ahead of anyone else.
But though she's eager to emphasize that one point, if only to keep one more thing in reserve from her ally, she's also eager to move on from that subject. It's always more pleasant when she can keep those memories comfortably buried. And when her question sparks silence and an argument she knows that whatever's coming next has got to be good.
But the question gets an annoyed, "Do I live in Gotham?" Batman was the whole reason why she was being so subtle with her own crimes, leaving as little by way of clues and evidence as she could. Why she was sticking to simpler plant hybrids when she was capable of much more - keeps the list of possible suspects larger. If she'd used any hybrids incorporating animal DNA, and especially if he's already noticed that whoever created those plants knows a thing or two about toxins, then that would point right at Dr. Woodrue and his students, and right to her doorstep since she's the only one living nearby at the moment. And she doesn't doubt that if she were to give out that one last clue that she'd have the pleasure of meeting him personally. But botanists who know how to splice a workable plant hybrid seem to be a dime a dozen these days, even though none of them have quite the same finesse and creativity she has.
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Post by sincereagape on Jan 29, 2011 16:23:06 GMT -5
That went better much better then he thought it would. Or maybe the Volcano was still waiting to erupt. If Scarface had been told that one of his allies had might have brought Batman to his door there would have been hell to pay. If the Ventriloquist had been informed of this news, a nervous breakdown would be the end result.
Scarface awaited her answer with a smug expression. The Ventriloquist swallowed deeply. Either way, there could be positive with revealing this information to Isley. It served as a test to determine how dedicated Isley was to this loose alliance. How wide, how deep, how long is the olive branch this woman is extending?
"Do I live in Gotham?" She answered.
This is when Scarface intervened. The Ventriloquist shitted the mannequin’s position so that It would be resting on the laboratory table.
“Ahem. Let me clarify, wat the Dummy meant. It was G’atgirl and de little ‘irdy whom were after us at da ‘ank. The ‘Gatman was no where to be found. Ah’m thinkin’ the ‘he left his little children’ ‘round to watch the city whil’ he went to play with dem Justice League capes high’ in da’ sky. So in fact, if ANYONE shows up at all. Most likely we’d be facing dat two of them.”
The way Isley had been answering the questions. About the legality of her condition and the fact that ‘technically’ there was no evidence proving that she had committed any crime, suggested that if any authorities or members of the Batfamily arrived, she would act like a Spanish Matador and let them be captured. Which was actually very smart thinking, but not exactly what the Ventriloquist was hoping for. He decided to put her through a small test, to see what she would do in this scenario.
“S—S---So Miss Isley,” The Ventriloquist asked narrowing his eyes behind a pair of large framed glasses. “If Batgirl arrived Mister Scarface and I would be willing to confront her. That would leave you to face Robin, which in our opinion would be a better matchup.”
If caught the Ventriloquist was not sure if he would implicate Isley in aiding a criminal or even suggest that she was the one littering Gotham with strange toxins and plants as per Ratso’s surveillance report. Scarface would not implicate her, based off principal, the Ventriloquist was a different story, for many reasons. And usually, when in the hands of the authorities, Mister Scarface went away.
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Post by Pamela Isley - Poison Ivy on Jan 29, 2011 19:32:37 GMT -5
Mount Isley is always ready to erupt, but it would take far more than simply mentioning Batman to trigger it - perhaps because she's never run into him before and only sees him as a vague and unlikely complication. Which isn't to say that she wouldn't be upset if she were told that Batman was on his way, but she's yet to develop the knee-jerk reaction that pretty much anyone who's had to deal with him has.
"Batgirl and Robin..." Pamela says to herself thoughtfully. If Batman was out of town, that was definitely good news. Though she suspects, perhaps naively, that she's prepared to deal with him (he's a man, after all), the less experienced and more impulsive youths would most likely prove easier.
But the Ventriloquist's follow-up statements cause a frown, and she gives a disappointed-sounding exhale and starts to slowly walk toward the nearest cluster of plants in the greenhouse proper. "You doubt my ability to defend my own home by myself?" she asks with just the slightest of angry edges to her voice, "If Batgirl and Robin come here, as long as I get a chance to talk to them before they see you it would be easy for me to convince them to leave. And if that doesn't work, it would be simple enough for me to subdue them both by myself."
Pamela pauses just for a moment to force herself to take a deep breath. If Scarface and the Ventriloquist are under the impression that they'd need to step in, then she's being underestimated yet again. She's had about enough of that! Stopping by some of the strange grass, her voice is calmer when she continues, "If they come in here, I suggest that you hide in the back corner of the lab. My plants know not to attack me but they wouldn't be able to tell the difference between you and anyone else, and that's the only place in this entire building the vines can't reach. They're not lethal, but you wouldn't enjoy it." Her eyes drift up to the plants along the walls with a look of intense pride, but it's only a moment before turns around to face her guests and adds, "Though the best is in here, the rest of my estate is similarly secure as long as I'm present to activate the traps. But like I said, it would be easier for me to simply talk Batgirl and Robin out of investigating instead of going through all that trouble. So the best thing you can do is lie low and keep out of the way. And trust me."
But between her own strong distrust and how easily they seem to doubt, she suspects that words aren't ever going to be enough. "If you need a small token to prove my words, try shooting me," she suddenly challenges, her eyes shifting from Scarface to the Ventriloquist as she gives it, sounding just as casual about it as someone standing behind a double layer of bullet-proof glass would.
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Last Edit: Mar 4, 2011 16:28:26 GMT -5 by sincereagape
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Post by sincereagape on Jan 30, 2011 16:51:42 GMT -5
The Ventriloquist picked Scarface from off the table and held the mannequin loosely so It was in a standing position. It’s legs and arms were dangling in mid-air. Standing in once place, the villain pivoted so he could keep his eyes focused on Poison Ivy as she paced over to the plants. Throughout her dialogue, the Ventriloquist would keep his eyes focused on her, even when she took a momentary glance towards the large vines growing on the walls of the greenhouse. Scarface’s eyes and mouth were wide open, making the dummy look artificial in mannerisms. Scarface was in a state of disbelief and anger.
“Who do ye think’ ye are toots?” Scarface spoke with a minor shake from the Ventriloquist. Arms and legs slightly rustled like the bells on a wind chime. “Dummy’ woul’ ye like to indulge the ladies request?”
On the other side of the coin; The Ventriloquist aka Arnold Wesker was furious. He did not like Poison Ivy to begin with, and now she was speaking to him just like everyone else had spoken to him throughout his life. The puppet-master persona melded with the crime boss. At this moment, instead of the two separate personalities, the Scarface and Arnold Wesker had melded into one. For once they have agreed, they had both come to the conclusion that this woman must be educated in true violence. She must be shown what it really takes to survive as a Gotham City Rogue.
“With pleasure Mister Scarface. I’ll do more than that,” the Ventriloquist answered with a sadistic grin. “And instead of a gun, I have a special surprise for her,”
Reaching into his gym bag, the Ventriloquist pulled out a rusted--steel monkey wrench. It is a weapon that the Ventriloquist enjoyed using and had been inspired by the Parker Brothers board game, ’Clue’. The monkey wrench was a lethal item favored by Colonel Mustard whenever he murdered Mr. Body.
Even though Arnold Wesker has an enmity for this woman, he did not want to kill her, and if he shot her with a gun there was a possibility that could happen. The monkey wrench provided an opportunity for Poison Ivy to survive this encounter yet experience humiliation. But most important, the Ventriloquist found an attack with the wrench to be much more satisfying.
This fight had been in the making since their first encounter, and would serve as good ventilation between their conflicts in personality. Their alliance was tenuous at best. And in order for it to remain intact, one of them would need to display that they were the stronger collaborator. This battle would settle that debate.
“You need to be taught a lesson in humility Poison Ivy. You need to be shown who’s really in charge here. You need a baptism into the criminal world of Gotham.”
With the mannequin in one hand and the monkey wrench in the other, the Ventriloquist began to slowly stalk forwards towards Poison Ivy. In the back of his mind Scarface was watching, waiting, listening, and smiling.
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