2013-02-16 Sowing Snares

Sitting in a booth, Edward Nigma looks over a map of Gotham as he sips a drink that looks more like a blend of juices, rather then alcoholic beverages. Echo and Query seem to be off chatting with some of the other henchpersons, sharing laughs and mourning lost lackeys whose employers weren't as good as theirs or who didn't care for them. Riddler frowns and mutters to himself, "What to do, what to do? The quandary of existence." taking a large gulp of his drink and tapping around the map as if playing eeny-meeny-miney-moe.



It'd been longer than a year since Pamela Isley had found herself stepping foot into The Iceberg Lounge--not soley because her recent incarceration at Arkham Asylum, nor her general distrust of people, nor laying low during some of her more high profile exploits of times gone past. Her main reason was she hadn't had much of a reason. Today, this would change almost entirely: she had all the reason. For, many insides to the criminal underworld knew this place, despite its opulent, clean exterior, was indeed a seedy meeting point and information trade port for criminals of Gotham. Isley was no stranger to this politic... in fact, it was her motive.



Most notably, she was dolled up in a fancy, sleeveless, thin, lacey black dress with ruffles along the bottom, just hovering over her ankles. Her forced but disarming smile with cherry red lipstick painted over it. Ivy's skin was... flesh colored. She was using part of her energy to repress her chlorophyllic green-toned self, to blend in. Her hair, pulled back into an elegant but simple bun--a feeble attempt to look a bit different. Pamela was making a gamble coming here, considering her much televised Arkham breakout, but so far she had made it past the bouncer in the front. She couldn't tell if she'd been identified by him or not--and, if she had, that was precisely why she COULD enter. Ultimately, at this point, it mattered not. Her conviction alone was her entry.

After shuffling through the entry way, Pamela had slowly and slinkily walked much of the main areas of the lounge, tacitly trying to be inconspicuous in her search. She was looking for someone, or something, however. Finally, she spotted across one of the smaller rooms a group of men gathered around a map. Curious as she was, she took one more step and correctly identified The Riddler with some of his gang members. She casually and calmed stepped closer, starting up conversation: "If that's a treasure map, I'll assume the prize is not Batman's head," she said bluntly, despite her saucy delivery.



When you're successful, especially in a town where Batman or one of his 'family' tend to interfere or outright stop most of the major crimes, everyone wants to latch on to your coat tails. Riddler understands this, and tolerates the goons, but he is finicky. First, while he has employed male goons in the past, he has found female ones tend to be more effective, they cause most male heroes and cops to hold back some, they tend to be more intelligent, they are usually more motivated since many feel the need to work at least twice as hard if not many times more then their male counterparts to be treated as equals, they really do look much better, they're better at distracting foes in general, and most heroes underestimate their skill. Second, he really couldn't care less how many fools observe him, since most of what really matters isn't what he's doing with the map, but more what is going on in his head.

If there is anything that could distract goons and Riddler from the map, the approaching lovely partly incognito eco-goddess would do it. The goons all practically drooling, and some trying to get a bit fresh. Riddler smiles politely, then in a quick motion smacks the hand of one of the goons he actually might consider recruiting, with a flash of motion with his cane from beneath the table, before the goon can actually touch. Shaking his finger, he gestures for the goons to disperse, and smiles, "Toxicodendron Radicans, am I to presume you wish to conceal yourself as a sweet blackberry, tempting, but more dangerous because you lack the thorns that warn, but have the urushiol oil that will foil and make the skin boil?" he gestures, "If one as fair and lovely as you is here, I doubt it is my winning persona that has lead you to me. As for the map, merely surveying for the next spot for a game."



Pamela had mixed feelings about this encounter as soon as Edward Nigma began to speak to her. While she was relieved to find someone worthy of her time, especially during mid-afternoon, and she did like The Riddler's detailed and mirthful style, his complicated mannerisms and henchmen made her just a tad weary. Shrugging this uneasy feeling off, she restrained her impulse to go full tilt into revealing her motive for this sudden interaction, opting for a more transitional approach. More or less completely ignoring The Riddler's henchmen, Pamela whimsily slipped into bar stool next to the group, seating herself with them with relative grace, she smiled coyly at Edward, "Now, then, you and I have been quite the news makers in the last week, haven't we?"



Sipping his drink, Riddler takes a moment to consider, "I'd bet your botanical breakout brilliantly beat my barely broadcast bit of badness." as the goons gander and gawk, Riddler frowns, "Gentlemen, please desist the debauchery. The lethal laced lady, likely lacks leniency for lewd lascivious leering. Go feed Cobblepots pets, and allow me and the good Doctor to discuss matters your minds couldn't comprehend." He catches the one who he swatted earlier with the crook of his cane, and whispers to him, getting a nod as that one breaks off from the rest and heads toward the question mark clad ladies of Query and Echo, seeming to whisper to them, and have a little bowler hat transferred from one of their heads to his own.

Clearing his throat, then taking another sip of drink, "Should I venture to deduced your motives ma'am, just wanting to pick my brain for a plan to perplex the Batman, or do I owe this auspicious occasion to something more personal?" hey, he isn't ugly, so he can have his little fantasies, as he focuses his gaze on those lips for the most part, allowing his eyes to not drift, and only peripheral vision to watch for any surprises.



Casually tapping her fingers in a rhythmic but gentle motion upon a table next to the group, Pamela Isley grinned with a quick but notable evilness upon hearing the word 'Batman', but decided to ignore his question... at least for now. She thought it wise to suss Mister Riddler's lounge appearance with a verbal prod: "I know that you like to be the one doing the asking," she started, "but might I give it a try?"

She paused a quick beat before continuing, "Are you a directed man? Or do you wander these muck-laden swamps of Gotham's feeble-minded, polluted populace with an aimless cadence? I'll admit your flair is admirable...to seize your enemies attention: you, too, an unexpected thorn." Shifting her crossed-legs from left to right, she concluded, "Question marks are much like hooks, aren't they? But what is it you truly hope to snag?"

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<p class="MsoNormal">There is a bit of sadness to his shrug, as Riddler sighs, "I was directed. Focused, no fool was I. If you speak of Luke 12:16-21." he sighs, "I have riches of my own, but not of the Earth." shaking his head, "But what I seek, or sought, was a mental equal, someone to spar with intellectually. Wealth has no meaning without purpose, and as we all have our own affectations, mine is sadly the affectation of curiosity and the need to both exercise it as well as enhance the mental acumen of others, especially those that have it but squander it." the leg shift does cause a quick glance... he's an intellectual, not a blind eunuch, but it is only momentary, as he looks back up to those lips. Sometimes the best way to ask a question, is to not, but to let the other person speak and answer unasked questions for you, and so, finishing his drink, Riddler listens...

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<p class="MsoNormal">Pamela surprisingly found herself suddenly enamored with The Riddler's eloquence in delivery. Here at the lounge, she ultimately expected gruff dealings with generally untrustable degenerates, paradoxically dapperly clothed. But, while it only lasted a moment, she found a particularly graceful bit of calm in Edward's predictability. For, of course he was completely insane, but at least she could be sure that he was. And she could be sure that he would do it with a certain crafted, meticulous effort. In fact, Pamela had done a brief study of some of his crimes before Arkham Asylum's unforgiving walls had held her.

<p class="MsoNormal">"My agendas are numerous, and I've only found but one man who knows enough about me to put a quick end to recently planted sprouts." Isley's metaphoric words no doubt revealing her deep, intimate relationship with plants: from being an expert in Botany, to her many acts of self-declared unconventional "heroics" (in her eyes, at least).\

<p class="MsoNormal">"You have indeed named him, identifying my would-be herbicide. I would like to propose a...working arrangement. We both have rather potent skills--to which a combined trap may be a puzzle piece you'd not previously factored."

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<p class="MsoNormal">A half smirk comes to his lips, "You propose a sort of literal Dionaea muscipula, a Venus Fly Trap or carnivorous plant, which would trap that which flies, in this case, a Bat?" Riddler does enjoy certain things, and the frequent pun, the lowest form of wit, which in itself is the highest form of humor and the most intellectual, is one of them. He gestures to a waitress and points at his glass, as if asking for another, then pauses, "Would you care for something? Enriched water? Perhaps something sweeter? Something to celebrate this seedy agreement, riddled with possibilities?" why mince words, when an agreement seems so ideal.

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<p class="MsoNormal">"A ginger ale will do," Ivy says monotonely. While the waitress goes to get their drinks, she shakes off her lingering doubts about if going to Iceberg, or dealing with others could be a poor snag in her plans. Her recently alignments with others, such as Harley Quinn, or Deadpool, or Sin--any one of them could inadvertently be her undoing. And all of them seemed sloppy. But one thing that Ivy has never had over the last few years has been allies. Here's to new things, she thought.

<p class="MsoNormal">Nodding to Edward, she asserted, "I would very much like to harvest our Bat, and I suspect neither of us truly wish for him expunged," she wondered with a surprising degree of insight, "To both of us he is but a dangerous play thing. But I need him out of my way, at least for a few weeks. There is much soil to tend..." she stated with a odd certainty. "And I'm just the tender hand to leave no stone unturned."

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<p class="MsoNormal">Pondering, Riddler nods, "Well, I was intending to be a bit more methodical in my plans, picking my prizes more selectively. But, I think I could easily arrange a series little, teasers, an untamed anserini pursuit, a grand gallinago quarry..." steepling his hands, "Crimson Germanic fish shall abound." he glances up, "Yes, I do believe I can make dalliances that will daily dally the Dark Knight and his annoying allies." he looks around, "Perhaps even lead them to others who like to play with them, but really don't want them eliminated... Kyle perhaps. She likes to toy with her prey, and seems to have an affectionate attraction to 'him'."

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<p class="MsoNormal">While Pamela doesn't know who this 'Kyle' is that Edward speaks of, she does enjoy watching the gears in his head turn, as his phrases tumble out. "I will assist, naturally, if your schemes are sound. Just tell me how." The two of them clink glasses intuitively, and a wry smirk crosses their faces.

<p class="MsoNormal">"A toast," she begins, "...to pooling resources, so we may both have the wiggle room to grow into bigger and brighter bastions of blight," she muses. She wondered if becoming a rook in The Riddler's chess game would be fruitful, but only time would tell.