|What: Poison Ivy remains under lock and key in Arkham Asylum, but there are still an awful lot of questions which must be answered and curious figures undertaking their own agendas in this place of healing. Who can say what will grow from these scattered seeds?|
Poison Ivy's cell, Arkham Asylum.
Since her capture, Pamela Isley has been surprisingly subdued. She'd admitted to everything she'd done, calmly explained why she'd done it, and then settled into the routine that is life in Arkham. A more serene existence for her than for most. Kept separate from the rest of the population because even her touch can be fatal, and really, given her looks and the majority of the population... it is likely that she'd be forced to use it in self defense.
But the days have been dragging out longer and longer as winter settles in. The staff haven't realized that the hour of sunlight she gets on a daily basis isn't just in exchange for her good behavior, and the light that filters through the winter clouds is, weak. Insufficient. She's growing paler by the day. Even the daisies she's been allowed to grow up the side of her windowless room, aren't enough to make her feel better. Because as her health fades, so too does her ability to sustain them.
"And the seasons turn..." She murmurs, quietly, fingers brushing over delicate petals.
Coming to Arkham was always a disquieting experience for the Commissioner of GCPD, Jim Gordon.
That's an understatement. He -hates- coming here.
Regardless, it was often part of the job. Police reports, security reports from Arkham, and limited medical and psychiatric evaluations were always so frustrating to him. He was a man who liked to tackle challenges with a hands-on approach, not from sitting behind a desk.
Having come to visit Pamela Isley in Arkham Asylum, Gordon has called in help from Gotham General in the form of two specialists, doctors who might be able to help shed some light on Isley's situation.
Getting through security is relatively easy for Gordon. He turns to wait patiently, however, while the other two have their identification and papers closely examined.
Harley has worked for months, -months- to get her foot in the door of this place without it also involving two strapping young gentlemen dragging her by the arms to an available holding cell. Her normal persona is on record. 'Rachel Jennings,' however, is not on the former guest list. This will be her second visit to Arkham under this guise, and her first time with a full on escort that wouldn't permit her a window of privacy for doctor-patient confidentiality. It's also the first time that she gets redirected from speaking to the patient whom she -wishes- to speak to.
They didn't come out here to see the Joker.
Who this other chick is supposed to be barely registers as a passing moment of interest to Harley's mind. Great! Another psycho weirdo to push around the happy wordy tests with. Been there, done that, booo-ring. At least, that's how she's going to think about it until she actually gets to see the patient of the hour. That's going to change everything.
A trip to Arkham may be disquieting for Gotham Police Commissioner Gordon, but it was certainly not the case for another party, one who had almost become... possessed with a profound curiosity, after the news broke over the D&G incident. In a sense, a trip to Arkham was almost like returning to his roots... if with decidedly more bouts with psychotics. A jail in a high-security prison was entirely different to a penitentiary for those deemed disturbed in the mind.
"Remember," Bane's deep voice is saying to his accomplice as their own vehicle approaches the island, "keep it brief. They will not allow a very long visit, and it is possible you will be alone. Do -not- provoke anyone, or I will leave you there." There is no response from the man to whom he is speaking save for the expected assent.
Soon enough, two individuals are making their way towards Arkham security as well, one all dressed the obvious part of scholastic, the other... comparisons to the Secret Service agents attached to the President of the United States would not be amiss. Completely decked out in head to toe in a suit, eyes concealed, the big man dresses up for the apparent purpose of "security escort", as though to imply that his presence should be sufficient as far as his more seemingly wizened ward is concerned.
"Doctor Greg Warren," the shorter man introduces himself to security. "We were scheduled for a tour at three?"
Seasonal Affective Disorder might not even rank as worthy of note amongst the Arkham community, but of Ivy's many neuroses, it is this one which is biting her hardest right now. It is just so hard to feel as though she should care about living. It is a strangely detached feeling. She knows that she should be moving on, branching out, and perhaps if she had the cool earth underneath her feet, she would find the motivation to do just that. But it is easy to just lay here. And then there comes the knock at her door.
"You've got visitors, Isley." Comes the voice of an official, and she sighs softly. Letting her fingers drop from the petals, she closes her eyes, and leans back against the wall, sprawled on her bed and for all the world seeming as though she doesn't care a jot for who may be coming to see her.
"Show them in, then. Unless they're a reporter. I'm not giving an interview."
Dangerous to the touch. This is why Arkham had many security measures, not the least of which were thick, glass walls to prevent prisoners from hurting their visitors. When Gordon and Doctor Jennings are provided entry, the Commissioner looks on with a bit of pity lingering behind his spectacles. He provides a nod to the guards, permitting them to leave the three of them in privacy, before turning back to study the prisoner for a moment.
"Miss Isley," he finally greets. "This is Doctor Jennings, Gotham General." He motions toward 'Harley' with a free hand, one that shifts from beneath his trench coat in an almost languid manner. Gordon is tired and overworked, and it shows.
Okay, so yeah. Harley's in for a bit of a shock upon seeing a woman with green skin on the other side of that glass. It's one of those moments where she isn't sure what to do first or where. Be bored or excited? Look at Pamela or the accomodations of her room? Use the ballpoint pen hooked to her clipboard to stab Jim in the back of the neck? Maybe adorn her patient records with hearts and stick figures busy murdering one another?
Harley, you're drifting, sweetie.
When she's introduced she does manage a warm smile and a cordial bow of her head toward the patient before them, glancing down to the notes in her hand while tapping the end of the pen against her lower lip. There's one detail in particular that she's interested in, skimming through the notes until she can uncover some word regarding it.
Speaking to Gordon about the matter wouldn't change anything, so she jots down a note of her own upon the file. Then, attention returning to Pamela with a friendly smile, she adjusts the glasses upon her face which she doesn't even require to see and asks "How are we feeling today?" Hey, it's common practice.
"You should see her on Mondays! AHAHAhhaHAHHAhahAH!"
The nasally voice and laughter drifts clearly from further along the hall, accompanied by the thumping of something heavy against a wall.
"Interesting," is the choice of words that 'Doctor Warren' uses, if only to explain his startled reaction to the sudden comment about Mondays, not to mention the laugh that accompanies it. His escort doesn't even bat an eyebrow as they walk by the cell from which the joke came.
"Do the inmates normally lash out so much? I was under the impression that a number would have been under sedation, to keep them from more violent episodes." Soon enough, there will be a group of three more approaching the cell Pamela Isley inhabits, one big - and mute, for all the fact he has not said a word since getting out of the car - one a resident and staff member here at Arkham, and one simply dressed to resemble a would-be resident. The big man's attention does not even seem to deviate to the sides, he simply follows at a respectful pace behind the two, quiet, and unarmed it should be said, clearly observing the two men in front of him in addition to the sudden addition of a face that's been on the news once or twice as well, one accompanied by his own doctor, it seems, to visit a patient as well. Quite suddenly, the large man is reaching out to put a hand on 'Doctor Warren's' shoulder, a silent indication of stop, perhaps a hint of warning on his features.
"Ah," Doctor Warren says a touch apprehensively. "Should we perhaps be elsewhere?" he asks of the Arkham staff accompanying them, who had been almost boredly, monotonely explained the "amenities" of Arkham on the way through.
"Why, Jim, I didn't think you cared."
The woman's voice carries even before she opens her eyes. She knows his voice, and through the glass, she finally opens her eyes. The cackling voice from down the hall is ignored as though it never happened; The Joker is a sick freak, and she's really got no interest in him whatsoever. Her pale, wan features do not look good. The flowers which had grown so verdant in her hair are withering, the leaves which make up her outfit, even, have started to turn brown with the passing of the season.
She does, at least, deign to get up. Even this movement is lethargic, though, as she casts her eyes across the gathered visitors. There is a soft sigh, and she shakes her head just a little.
"Must we go through this charade?" She asks the world in general. "We do this dance, and then I am left here until I rot." She's not smiling, as her eyes slide over the large man behind the group, and her eyebrow quirks for just a moment.
"Or until I resume my work. You can't defeat Mother Nature, Officer, and I wish you wouldn't try. You don't look... healthy." Her steps are taking her closer to the glass. Isn't it ironic, hearing her say that, when speaking above a whisper takes such effort?
With the sudden inclusion of maniacal commentary and subsequent laughter, Gordon is admittedly startled. Despite his many trips to Arkham throughout the years, he's still never gotten used to that aspect of it. He closes his eyes for a moment after, then shakes his head and mutters an oath. "Jesus... Christ."
His attention is quickly stolen back by Pamela's greeting. He casts a simple, brief look toward Doctor Jennings, as if curious to her own response to being in this place. "City hall keeps me busy, Pamela," he offers. "You should know this by now." He turns a bit then, positioning himself so that Jennings is clearly included in the conversation. "I do have a few questions for you, and I was hoping we might have time for a bit of conversation. First, though, I'll give you and the Doctor some time to get acquainted."
He very briefly notices that a trio of men are approaching, and a frown forms on his face. With a quiet voice, Gordon steps alongside the woman to whisper a message to her. "Find out why she looks so pale." He's about to move off, before stopping himself, lips pressed into a thin line. "She's normally... ah... -greener-." He pats the Psychiatrist's shoulder politely, before excusing himself and stepping into the hallway beyond.
Looking toward the trio, Gordon folds his arms against his chest. "Folks, we're conducting an interview with this prisoner. Given the nature of an ongoing investigation, not to mention the laws of doctor patient confidentiality, I'm afraid I'll need you folks to move along." He offers a pleasant, albeit forced smile, before casting his head down the hallway.
It's almost as if he's expecting another outburst from their fun-loving and psychotic neighbor.
"Quick, quick, ask 'em if they know the one about the gorilla and the tailor! HehhHEhhheHEH!"
"This is my very concern, in fact," Harley's alter-ego explains to Isley about her being here to 'rot.' Once more she does that oh-so-thoughtful pose with the pen at her lip, looking up to the ceiling before motioning toward the light fixtures with that pen.
And trying not to break out laughing with the comment that echoes down the halls from nearby.
The tiniest grin is quickly whisked away by force and a gentle clearing of her throat, trying so very hard to keep herself on track. "I believe I may already have an answer for you, Commissioner."
"I understand the need for keeping things ..relaxed around here, but clearly this affects different patients in different ways. It says in here that sunlight empowers you, Miss Isley?" she inquires, looking back to the other woman with a blonde brow hooked upward. "I'd like to think there is a fine line between sedated and depressed. A UV light or two should most certainly be considered for your own well-being." There's a faint smile to accompany her words, along with ..a wink? Quick. Subtle. Exchanged from one insane woman to another. Nothing more. Easier to do now that Gordon's occupied with the others, in fact.
"Oh, yes, of course, perfectly understandable...?" Doctor Warren pauses in his speaking for a moment, frowning with a bit of blink to his eyes, nigh owlish in nature as he regards the Commish for a moment. "I didn't realize there was an investigation," he says, to his Arkham escort, who gives Gordon one of those 'just shoot me already' smiles, partly from the clown's continued outburst, partly from the duty he was roped into in the first place.
"Ah, Isley, Isley, the one from the news wasn't it? I see, I see." Sounding almost abstracted, 'Doctor Warren' tilts his head, and part of him as if hopeful for a look at Poison Ivy around Doctor Wheeler's person.
It's the big man who regards the Commissioner for a long moment as though he were the one who had forgotten why he was here, but there's a short nod and then the three are passing by the clown again, who is favored with a look not from the two men all ready for surgery or shrink therapy, but from the shoulderthumper ready to throw down should the need arise. It's a long steady stare directed to the clown's cell from behind tinted lenses, but the three are going to take their conversation at least down the hall, where the false doctor, at least, seems to have some further questions about the area. Harmless things, like how the patients are treated here in this ward, for one, or if they're even let out of their cells or kept permanently in isolation, for another.
As the big guy passes by the clown's cell, there's a soft, sinister chuckle from the darkness casted by the no-lightbulb policy, directly before a pale white face, red lips twisted into a grotesque smile, and a shock of green hair slams against the clear wall, body tucked tightly into a straight-jacket.
Pamela does not return the wink. Nor does she smile. She regards the 'Doctor' with some mild suspicion. "Sunlight keeps me healthy." She says, cooly. She doesn't expand on what 'empowering' her might look like. An ultraviolet light would certainly make her healthier, at least, would make it easier to sustain her children, which would make captivity more bearable. But there is more to this blonde doctor than meets the eye, and Pamela is not ready to put herself in debt to anyone.
"As for you, Commissioner." She's, directly challenging him now, shunting attention away from the woman she is supposed to be interacting with and onto the man she wants to talk to. "I'm stunned you can be so busy with Batman doing half your work for you, but if you need me to fill in the blanks..."
There's a softer sigh, coinciding with the thud of a body against a wall. "Then I will. I've never considered /you/ to be my enemy. You're just, blind to the larger crimes in this world."
With another pleasant, mustachioed smile, the Commissioner bows his head. "Thank you folks for your understanding," he offers, but before turning, the big man catches his eye. A bit of paranoia finds itself in the man's face, as if something about the muscle struck him as odd. Perhaps the shades, in such a darkly lit place? Then again, security types were just like that sometimes. Shaking his head, Gordon dismisses the feeling, which he should have learned by now -not- to do, and turns back toward Ivy's cell.
It's all but a brief reprise, but it gives the two that single moment to make some sort of connection, whatever it may be. It is with a stalwart stance that Gordon walks back to Ivy's cell and listens to her challenge.
The remarks about Batman are simply cast aside. That is a subject that he does -not- want to breach right now, especially after his encounter with the Mayor. He provides her a polite nod and remarks, "I am glad you don't consider me your enemy." He reaches for a chair nearby and moves to take a seat. He would have provided one for Doctor Jennings - it wasn't that he was being rude - but he also didn't want to assume that she would prefer sitting over standing. There is a spare chair nearby, in any case. "Please, then, enlighten me. If you can help me to understand -you-, Pamela, then perhaps I can work out something to help you."
There are more questions he seeks to ask, but... all in good time. Jim Gordon is a patient man.
Except where the Joker is involved. A brief scowl is presented, clearly aimed in the direction of the madman's cell, after which he clears his throat and plasters a pleasant smile on his face again.
Oh no, no no, there's no reason at all to be in Harley's debt! After handling the likes of The Joker, it takes a -very- special kind of crazy to pique her interest anymore. Combine the twisted mind of Pamela Isley with her chlorophyllic nature and she's got herself something worthy of rubbing two braincells together to observe on a deeper level.
(Oh Arkham, I can never quit you. Every time I think we're through you find some way of sweeping me off my feet!)
Of course, when the plant lady wants to talk to Gordon -instead- Harley breathes out a gentle sigh, angled upward in a way that lightly brushes her bangs away from her face. And here she thought they were having a moment together. "Tough job, working on the force in this city," she quietly says to herself, and possibly Ivy. "Everyone's so overbooked, all of the time."
As Gordon returns and takes a seat, 'Rachel' claims the other one for herself, neatly folding one leg over the other as she rests the clipboard in her lap instead of using it to smack Jim across the face like part of her wants to.
Wouldn't that just make the J-Man laugh!
The tensing of Harley's jaw is subtle, biting back the urge to start -giggling.- They could sure liven up this party in short order, given half the chance! She can barely make herself look at Jim without losing her composure, quietly asking "Is everything alright?"
If the clown were hoping for a reaction, the only one that his would-be victim of surprise gives is that casual stare, and perhaps the faintest hint of amusement on his lips, a slight twitching upwards if not in any true semblance of actual humor.
There's plenty of reaction from the other two, however, the Arkham aide cursing from the sudden fright, while poor 'Doctor Warren' jumps a foot in the air with a yelp, all but stammering for continuing the tour 'elsewhere' at the rate this is going. There may have been a glance... backwards, from the lumbering figure, but as far as he is concerned, it's a matter of patience. Soon enough, he'll have what he needs, and these scarce few minutes, 'investigation' or not, have already proven fascinating and enlightening. And amusing as well, in its way.
But, there won't be any speech from the man who only faintly smiles, if it can be called a smile given the absence of every sentiment that truly makes it one. He simply regards the man who calls himself The Joker with a look, nothing more, but will otherwise be on his way.
"Do you know what would happen tomorrow if every human being died, Commissioner?"
It is a quiet question as Pamela regards Jim through the glass, but, she doesn't really expect an answer. After a second to respond, she's pressing on regardless, because she does know. "Over the course of several hundred years, the Earth would return to equilibrium with itself, the gashes and wounds carved in her surface might never fade completely, but she would no longer be dying."
She doesn't stop there, though. Eyes slide from the Commissioner to the Doctor instead. "On the other hand, if every insect died, there would be a catastrophic collapse in the ecosystem. Every living thing on the planet would die in an angonizing fashion. Yet, it is a crime for me to kill a ... creature like Richard De'Gayle, and not a crime to step on the cockroach which makes his loathsome existence possible."
It is... extreme, her darkest thoughts given form, but she is feeling extreme, in this degraded state. She hates it. She hates them. Not the two people in front of her, in particular, but humanity in the abstract. In her bones, she knows the world would be a better place without them. Even if she bears Jim Gordon and the strange blonde woman no particular ill will.
"I just wish someone would shut him up," Gordon whispers to Rachel Jennings, doing his best to keep his voice low enough that the comm system between Pamela's cell and their 'observation area' doesn't register it.
His attention is immediately drawn back to the prisoner when she poses such a disturbing question. That pleasant smile is immediately swept from his face, and as expected, no answer is given. He listens with practiced patience, knowing Isley enough to know that she would indeed provide an answer. There is a brief respite before he offers an answer.
"I'm just a police officer, Pamela, but I did well in school. Mankind was a part of this planet's natural evolution. You're right, of course, about the insects. And while I'm far from any sort of political activist, I think it's pretty clear that we all have made a lot of mistakes in how we've handled the planet that we live on." At this point, he leans forward, seeking to meet the prisoner's eyes as he finally shows his own strength of will. "But we have established laws, Pamela. Like it or not, they exist, and men like me will do whatever we can to prevent you from murdering people."
Gordon leans back into his seat, relaxing his own challenging gaze just so. "De'Gayle will suffer justice for his crimes. But I am not above the law, and so help me, neither are you." He shakes his head. "I want to help you, but I can't do it without your willingness." He briefly cants his head toward the doctor, as if to give her a moment to respond in her own way.
"But he seems like such a cheery fellow," Harley sides back to Jim with a faint smirk. Oh, my... Wait a second. Would you just listen to this! Now she's leaning forward a little further, almost entranced by Isley's words. This is deep stuff, right here. It also makes -sense,- a rare trait with lunacy. Oh sure, it always makes sense to the crazy person. That's what makes them special! 'The world is flat,' 'the moon is made of cheese,' so long as they believe it to the core of their being then nothing else matters. It's when logic is applied, sound reasoning, stuff that makes sense and is believable as a whole, -that- is where the real fun lies.
Harley's a fan of storytime with the one called Poison Ivy. There's even a subtle nodding of her head when thinking about it. And thinking about that Chinese restaurant on Thirtieth that she got shut down by introducing a few dozen cockroaches into their joint's own little ecology.
Man, that was a blast.
Beyond looking entranced, Harley actually starts to look sympathetic. Ivy's story manages to tug at the strings of her very heart. It's sweet, and sad, and -this poor woman shouldn't be rotting in a cell!-
Mental note: Offer a hand while helping the J-Man break out of this craphole.
Oh--hold up, this green chick's -murdered- people..? Harley quickly pages through the medical file once more, as though it would have the full police reports complete with gruesome fun pictures of the guys Pamela's offed. She's starting to like this lady!
Ivy is vaguely surprised to note the sympathy on Harley's features. That, was unexpected. Most humans understandably recoil at the notion that she wants to wipe out a goodly portion of the species for the betterment of everything else. And as Harley is about to learn, Poison Ivy has killed... dozens, almost a hundred, over her career to date. Overwhelmingly men, terrorist atrocities and cold-blooded murder, she's done it all, and there's always that one name there to foil her.
Pamela's expression is quite sad as she regards Gordon, next. "I know you do." She says, "That's what makes it tragic, and why I quite like you, Commissioner." She smiles, a slow, sad smile. "I don't want your help. I do what I do not because I'm insane... but because my priorities are different, that's all. I don't prioritize human life over other life. Least of all my poor, defenceless children."
The look she gives Jim is smouldering, as though he's the only man in the world she's got eyes for, which is, disturbing, considering the words that come out of her lips. "We're at war, Jim. But your laws say I'm crazy, so rather than do the sensible thing and dispose of me somewhere quietly, we have to do this little dance, and when it is over, the door will be closed, and they will try to fix something that is not broken."
She smiles thinly, shrugging her shoulders. "It isn't anything personal. And I would just love to walk out of here tomorrow. But I'm not insane. I just see the big picture, that's all."
"Isn't broken? Pam, darling, you're completely bonkers! Take it from me, I know. HAHahahaHAhHAHAHhahAHAAA!"
Oh, he's cheery alright. It's a sarcastic thought that is not delivered verbally, but in the way Gordon's eyebrows shoot up at 'Rachel's response.
That smoldering look does seem to affect the Commissioner. There is the subtlest of recoils, his body shifting ever so slightly back into his seat. He really chides himself for it, too. Isley was not some drug-crazed thug, who he'd have spared no hesitation in smacking upside the head just to do it. She was intelligent, and full of potential. He should be a better man than to recoil from such a look, but... unfortunately, he's just not there yet.
"Your priorities are admirable, but this war you speak of will continue so long as you approach it in the way that you have."
Gordon casts a glance toward the doctor at his side, wondering if the conversation has helped her evaluation in ways that she couldn't have achieved without his presence. Then, a thought strikes him, and he looks back at Ivy with a most curious expression.
"If you did walk out of here tomorrow, Pamela, what would you do?"
This time, he manages to avoid reacting to the voice down the hallway. Perhaps he's actually getting -used- to it.
"Gordon! Before you go, mind saying aloha to Barbara for me? I bet'll just sweep 'er off her feet! HAHAHahahAHahAHAHAHahAHAA!" This most recent outburst is accompanied by several thumbs as the Clown Prince of Crime repeatedly slams his head off the clear wall in his glee, leaving a red smear before he falls backwards, laughing uncontrollably for minutes.
'Children,' children... Harley flips through the pages further still until she finds the note she's after. Plants. Children. Like the ones that are fighting to survive within the limited natural light of her cell. Pamela cares so much for them, and yet there they are, slowly dying alongside her. It's brutal. It's -cruel.- It's ..probably quite fitting for this murderous, psychotic eco terrorist, but she's a murderous, psychotic eco terrorist that Harley's starting to -like,- darnitall. You don't mess with Harley's buddies.
"For that matter, if this 'war' of yours were to succeed, what would happen with you when it was finished? Life alone amongst the flora? Would you still have a purpose for being?"
The banging of a skull against glass makes Harley cringe slightly, if only because she knows the man that's doing it. If anyone should be hurting the Joker, it should be -her.- She's got a gentler touch. But--just LISTEN to what this place is doing to the poor man..! It's driving him out of his mind!
It's kinda attractive, really. He's going to be -so- much fun once he gets out of here!
Pamela gives a short laugh as Jim says her priorities are admirable; she doesn't believe that he believes that for even a moment. Thankfully, it seems that, with her cell so close to Joker's, she's become quite adept at filtering out his comments on her mental state. Really, the man is a complete lunatic, and she finds him ... disturbing and annoying, far from insightful. Very far indeed from attractive.
"If I walked out, I would probably go on vacation." She says, easily. "Somewhere nice and warm for the winter, at least. Perhaps the Amazon, or Australia. It has been years since I've seen Australian fauna firsthand." And, completely deadpan, even though she is making her own little joke, she adds, "I find their accent endearing."
And then her hooded gaze is being turned on Harley. There's the lightest shrug of her shoulders. "I wouldn't actually kill *every* human being." She says, with a little sigh, "Just enough to get the point across. Bring the population back down to a size which is manageable with sustainable efforts. And then retire somewhere to tend my gardens until it is time for me to become one with them. Doesn't everyone dream of settling down and starting a family, Doctor?"
And so it is. Gordon's not going to get anything concrete out of Poison Ivy, at least not today, and given that he's not one for strong-arming any prisoner, he'll most likely not acquire any details. Nothing surrounding what plans she may have made to escape Arkham again, nothing regarding what she might actually do if she gets out.
There's a brief jerk to his body when the Joker starts banging his head against the glass. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, only to ward off the temptation to go and visit -that- lunatic with a few choice words. He won't be played that easily, at least not today. He does, however, consider asking Arkham to install some kind of gas-devices.
Oh wait, they had considered that. It was deemed a security risk. -Any- kind of device in the Joker's cell could be considered a security risk.
For the moment, Gordon leaves the conversation in the doctor's capable hands. Now it would be his turn to remain silent, and discover what he might by mere observation.
Only kill -most- of the people? Heck. That sounds a lot like what Harley would want to do. Not everyone... Just most of everyone. There's some real winners out there that she'd love to keep around for a while. Gotta have a good sense of humor though, always paramount.
Like Ivy, here. The comment about their accents has the good Doctor smirking on the sly, still keeping her composure together.
Talk of a global cleansing is hardly a unique view. Harley doesn't explain as much while in front of Pamela, that might seem like she's trying to encourage the other woman and validate her beliefs. Much as she would -like- to do just that. "Perhaps not everyone," she responds with a gentle smile. "I find that my pets are enough of a family without adding children to the mix, but there is something beautiful about creating life, isn't there? A seed hatching from the ground, growing strong by the sun. So much they do for us, yet so easily are they overlooked. Do you feel this way, Miss Isley? Like the world at large is so quick to ignore you and your actions, that you need to keep 'pushing' things a little further in order for the others to take notice and hear your story?"
Another glance back to the notes in her lap. Family history, abuse, neglect..? Bullied at school, even? So often it's all a cry for attention, for help. Harley will be rather disappointed if Pamela proves to be so shallow. She wants to hear the answer in Greenie's own words. Sell this idea to the Doctor, make her believe! Don't be another flavorless crazy, we've gone much too far to have things fall apart now!
Pamela's smirk becomes a far less pleasant one. She's quite used to the Doctor's here trying to get into her head, and the plant analogy seems trite to her. When she does it, obviously, it is perfectly fitting and sensible. From anyone else's lips, they tend to fall flat and dull to her. "I feel that I get enough attention, when I want it." She says, and now, her eyes are sliding back across to Jim, "Wouldn't you agree, Commissioner?"
Her lips, then, are pressing against the glass. Kissing firmly, deeply, into the transparent material, and leaving a smear of noxious green behind. Ivy's personal history is one of sheer academic brilliance; no trace of parental abuse or bullying. Of course, she was betrayed by her boyfriend and that is where all of this began; with a painful experiment that almost killed her. But it is hard to say that the act of betrayal itself has effected her more than the fact she hears the plants screaming and begging for mercy every time she sees someone get out a weeding fork.
A somewhat ironic smirk draws across Gordon's face. "You certainly have a way with words," he answers. In short, yes, she does get the attention she wants.
That same smirk is suddenly halted by the way she leans toward the window and kisses it. A tangible shiver crawls down his spine. She may claim to have no desire to hurt him, but the thought of having her lips touching him... well, he knows full well what would happen. He's read the grueling coroner's reports.
Standing, the Commissioner looks toward the psychiatrist. "I'm finished here, Doctor. Take all the time you need. Oh, and if you have any suggestions on what can be done to provide her with more... ah... sunlight? Let me know, and it will be done."
Whew. Okay. Dodged -that- bullet. This chick's the real deal. What might that mean? A possible new BFF for Harley! Right after the J-Man, of course.
Before she can offer anything else where words are concerned, Ivy's making out with the glass. That green..stuff..that gets left behind is of particular interest to Harley, actually frowning slightly as she leans closer to attempt to study it through the glass. Very, very fascinating.
Also a clever and, she'll think it, -hilarious- trick to play on someone. Does that brand of lipstick get sold at Wal-Mart..?
With Jim's sudden change of heart in wanting to leave, Harley nods once and gets back to her feet. She'd love to spend more time with this lady in a strictly one on one basis, but she can only hope to get so much time alone with anyone so long as it's happening within Arkham. Once the Commissioner steps out Harley makes eye contact with the woman behind the glass. One hand quickly comes up to the side of her head, pinkie held out toward her mouth and thumb toward her ear as she mouthes the words 'Call me!'
Insert cheeky grin here.
Pamela's eyes twinkle with amusement as Jim gets up to excuse himself. Exerting her power over men is always enjoyable, even if they do happen to be men that she actually has some vague notion of respect for. Hey. Jim seems to understand that, if nothing else, it isn't as though she takes pleasure in the pain she causes. Although... with creatures like De'Gayle, it'd be hard to deny that she would have taken some delight in watching his skin slough off.
C'est la vie.
When she's left with Harley, one eyebrow raises archly at the hand signal. The mouthed words. Her lips press together tightly, and she narrows her eyes just the slightest amount. She... has no idea what to make of that 'Doctor'. There's more going on here than she can really understand, and she's not certain she likes being kept in the dark in a metaphorical sense, as well as a literal one.
But there is the briefest, shortest nod of her head. Acknowledgement.
And then she returns to her bed.
As Gordon leaves the cell, he refrains from visiting the Joker's cell. He does, however call out that way, without turning around to project his voice in the right direction. "I hope you have a Merry Christmas, Joker!"
A little smirk crawls across the Commissioner's face.
Joker's Edit: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lb8fWUUXeKM