Pamela is made of (hemlockandhoney) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-07-26 21:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | batman, poison ivy |
Who: Ivy & the Bat
What: The Bat comes by to pay a grouchy visit.
Where: Ivy's greenhouse.
When: Not long after the mass escape from Arkham, AKA way back when. Leesha & I got mad distracted with memorytimes.
Warnings: None really. Some threats, some of Ivy being Ivy.
The Bat was only one man. This was an unfortunate reality, yet it was reality all the same, and he lacked any sort of superhuman abilities which would have given him an advantage in hunting down a large majority of the inmates who had previously occupied the halls of Arkham before being set free. On such a large scale, he could not hope to capture them all himself, and in this he was forced to grudgingly work with the Gotham PD in order to assure speed and efficiency. Even so, hours passed before they had made a dent on the number of escapees, which meant that the Bat was in a particularly foul mood by the time he deemed it possible to change course for Ivy’s greenhouse to confront her for her crime.
While he did go alone, he did not expect this to be easy. Ivy was dangerous, and he knew he was at a disadvantage, not having dealt with her beforehand. All he knew had been gathered from comic books and secondhand testimony, which meant that the Bat was very much prepared for a wide variety of possibilities before stepping foot in the vicinity. He did not, however, have any expectations of not making it out alive or any of the morbid thoughts one might entertain when entering a situation beyond their control. No, while he expected a challenge, he expected it to be one in which he would not fail. Failure, for a man like him, was not an option. He was relentless, the Bat, and he refused to be kept down. In the face of those like Ra’s Al Ghul, of the Joker, Ivy would not be the one to force him to his knees. She would not triumph where others had failed.
The greenhouse was no trouble at all to find. Navigating the ponds situated around the exterior was a bit trickier, but not enough to stop the Bat, and rather than crash through the ceiling in an entrance that would make his presence known, his infiltration was much more subtle. Despite his efforts to conceal his arrival, he operated under the assumption that she would be expecting him to come. Better to expect the worse than assume the best and suffer the consequences of such a costly mistake.
Oh, but this arrival was a surprise. She would have anticipated the Hood, some Birds, maybe even the Cat for a little unexpected twist, any of that long before the Bat. He wasn't the Hood's Bat and he wasn't the Cat's, Harley didn't have a Bat at all, and that left Ivy's points for reference somewhat vague... he might as well have just been a man in a mask, because he surely wasn't hers either. The way that Ivy knew him, before things went all topsy turvy, was complicated. She'd saved the Bat almost as many times as she'd tried to kill him, and he'd come to her aid a few times, despite having her thrust into Arkham's unholy walls over and over. Even so, that wouldn't leave Ivy with expectations. She, like any freshly spliced sapling, could start anew. She could adapt, she could become something else. That's what the warehouse and the jewelry store and Arkham were all about. She didn't know what version of herself she was anymore, it was about time she found out what felt right.
The Greenhouse was its own kind of security, and Ivy didn't need thermal imaging or television screens to tell her what went on in her domain. She wasn't that new to the scene of the crime anymore, she'd learned a few tricks along the way. How to disguise her skin color, how to diminish her own toxicity, how to amplify it, how to listen. It was the rustle of leaves that awoke her, because Ivy had assuredly been asleep. She was a creature of day while the rest thrived at night, she was sunlight and they were darkness.. how could they even compare themselves to her and hers? Stirring for a stretch, she peered from one of the upper awnings while the pond's lily pads were disturbed and that's when she noted one of the Greenhouse's hinged windows being pushed in. Soundlessly and so practical, the only reason she could see it at all was because the building was constructed of enough glass to allow the moonlight in, and the palm fronds inside instructed her where to look. The suit was priceless, and Ivy had to shake her head with a stifled laugh when she pulled on some clothes for the grand event.
He wouldn't get very far inside, at the epicenter were bubbling fountains while a multitude of trees and flowers flourished along cobblestone pathways. With all that greenery on her side, it wasn't wise for an even an army to breach this sanctuary, much less a man that wasn't yet even the true Bat. Her vines were quick as a sling trap, spiraling a trip at his ankles and stringing him into the air at four feet high. They were thick as cord and strong as cables, and sure he could hack himself free, but why ruin the image? Especially when she was strolling down the stairs in his eyeline, barefoot and comfortable as a debutante. Ivy had at least gone for clothes - in a manner of speaking - she'd chosen a tee shirt and it hit her a mid-thigh as she approached from a safe distance. Something so blue that she'd picked up in Metropolis, the red and yellow signa of Superman across her chest as she bloomed bright into his periphery. Branches and sleeping flowers reached out for her limelit skin in her passing, like they yearned for her in the same way that they yearned for the sun itself. And who could blame them? Just look at her. There was a gentle tsk tsk tsk of her tongue against the roof of her hemlock mouth, but she kept her distance even while eying him for authenticity. "Face to face at last.."
Adapting to his surroundings was one of the first things the Bat had learned when he’d begun his quest to save Gotham, as a young man in a suit which was more prototype experiment than final product. This was very much Ivy’s territory, he knew, and it was a reality he was aware of with each step. Even before he hit the ground he had initiated a scan of the premises, not particularly inclined towards surprises. The plant life kept here may have appeared harmless upon first glance, yet Ivy differed from his previous foes in the fact that she was not entirely human. Even Ra’s Al Ghul and the Joker, as destructive as they had been, lacked any sort of inhuman power. Yet there would be no Hood, no birds; just him. That was how it had been in his world, where the suit he wore was practical despite its weight, where there were no Robins, no sons, no complicated felines who wanted more than he could give. Calling for reinforcements required trust, and the Bat was fresh out of that just then.
Behind the cowl his eyes were too-bright in the gloom, a film of carefully crafted tech in order to enhance his sight, as well as monitor the conditions of the foliage which crowded every corner and met him from each angle. Perhaps it was akin to navigating a maze of explosives orchestrated by the Joker, but even Ivy had her weaknesses, and her choice of weapon were as vulnerable as they were deadly.
To give him his due, the Bat made no sound as the vines wound around his ankles and strung him up in an ironic sort of parody of the creature he’d christened himself after. Yes, he could free himself, yet he watched Ivy’s approach in grim silence despite the discomfort of being hung upside-down. Her choice in clothing failed to elicit any sort of response, if that had been her intention to begin with, and he was more interested in her collection of plants rather than what she was--or, consequently, wasn’t--wearing. “Your actions brought me here,” he told her. Had she continued to keep to herself, he would have had no reason to infringe upon her home. While he did not tolerate any sort of illegal activity, there was a distinct difference between theft and unleashing dangerous criminals on Gotham; the former was not enough to warrant a visit, whereas the latter clearly was. “You made a poor choice, Ivy.” Disappointment lurked somewhere beneath the surface, like a familiar friend. Even as he spoke, he activated the small remote-control batarang Damian had given him, and sharp-edged titanium silver cut through the air and into the vines, once, twice, three times, whip-quick and relentless until his weight did the rest and landed him back on his feet. “Why Arkham?” Because yes, reasons mattered to him, despite what others might believe. They didn’t change what had been done, but then, nothing could.
She leaned against a tree to play witness and there was no speaking to the plants or stopping him when he cut through the vines. It was to be expected, and while a small sacrifice, it made her close her eyes briefly with a soft sound in her throat that bordered on a sigh. Some things never changed, and even if the pain she felt toward humanity faded, the witnessing of smaller injustices still registered. This wasn't even about the vine, maybe just something from the other side, she realized while opening watchful eyes to him when he spoke. "My actions?" Something about that made her laugh a little, but it was a joke shared between no one else as the Greenhouse was so empty tonight, what with the Cat's dramatic exit. Stage left, good riddance. The disappointment in his next words might have stalled her, but she knew that this Bat didn't remember her. "Who do you think you're talking to?" Really.
Her eyes were a green that nearly glowed, the essence of nature itself swirling like a double helix of life(or death). Ivy eased off of the tree with a curious swag to her step when he landed on his own feet, she knocked the dirt from her bare heels in approach. Just a woman, nothing to be afraid of. "If you throw that thing at me, I'm going to be irritated," she warned in all fairness with a tilt of her head toward the batarang while soon changing the subject admirably. Female through and through, "I gave the Hood a test, although I'm not quite sure how he scored. I bet you know.." There is a discerning drop of her chin as she watched the cowled one through her lashes. Its dark enough that he stood out to her because he was the only warm blooded thing in the greenery aside from Harley's hyenas, which were way out back. "Can't say I watch television, but I'm not sure a bunch of dead drug dealers in Gotham would end up on the news. I'm guessing you'd know though.." His expression gave her nothing, but she still wasn't sure if he was in over his head or aware of what went on in Gotham every night. "I'm guessing he let them go.." No, had them arrested. Maybe even roughed them up a little, but didn't kill them. Isn't it sad, where people draw the line? She hadn't expected anything from the Hood, bullets raining like hellfire or not, but it was interesting - as a scientist - to see where a man like that discriminated the importance of human(or in her case, not so human) life.
Coming back to the conversation matter of Arkham, she gave him doe eyes. "Why does it matter? Almost every escapee has been accounted for.. " Except, of course, for the ones she had currently working on her side projects. Almost as if on a tangent, she turned a sour mouth of concern toward the many windows of the wall behind him. "Maybe I should invest in some pheromone-controlled security or something, I mean.. I would have with the escapees, but.." Attention full and focused once more on the caped crusader, she smiled. ".. they were a little crazy." Somehow, the expression lacked humor, it was just a bit sad. As if realizing this, Ivy straightened with a new sigh, a refreshing and throaty version. "Besides, you're here to cart me off anyway.." The gas chamber glow of her eyes held him, "Aren't you?" Was that a dare?
In comparison, the Bat could not imagine a situation in which he felt less like laughing. “You facilitated the escape of countless inmates. These were not minor offenders, Ivy, they were dangerous individuals, and their freedom puts the entire city at risk. You intentionally made the decision to do so, regardless of whether or not you acted alone.” He knew better than to think it had been a random act, a passing fancy, and he didn't like not knowing her motivations. Perhaps it had been a distraction of sorts, a means to a greater end he simply wasn't aware of yet. There were too many unknowns, and that did not sit well with him. As for who he was talking to, he simply regarded her in silence, apparently of the opinion that such a rhetorical question deserved no response.
He certainly would have deserved whatever fate befell him had throwing a batarang at Ivy been his most immediate plan of action. Whatever charm Ivy had seemed incapable of penetrating his armor, both literally and figuratively, but mentioning Jason Todd was as close to a distraction for the Bat as anything, and it required a little more effort to maintain his mask of calm. This was not the first he’d heard of the drug dealers, as a great deal of his knowledge came from secondhand sources, but despite the subject matter there was something like pride in the tilt of his head. “I know about your test,” he told her, “just as I know that he let them live. That is not the same as letting them go.” His expression darkened. “There will be no more tests. He is not your toy, Ivy. Leave him alone.” It was not a request; the Bat rarely asked for anything. He demanded, and he ordered, which was probably why he was where he was right now, very much alone, but one’s nature was difficult to shake. Attempting to guide Jason away from his path of murder was no easy task, and when Ivy chose to leave a line of criminals out for him, very much like bait, it only complicated his efforts.
For one such as herself, with such apparent callous disregard for human life, the Bat hardly expected understanding as to why it mattered. “Almost, but not all. Where are the rest?” Not that he expected him to tell her, of course, but he was willing to pose the question once. Just once. Getting in to Ivy’s greenhouse had been the easy part; he knew that. He could say his piece and leave, of course, or he could drag her off to Arkham, despite the fact that they had recently suffered a security breach. Normal prison would never hold her. There were options, yet he gave no sign of which he had decided upon. “Am I?”
Ivy watched him with cool intelligence, the fallen scientist forever. Contrary to popular mythos, she wasn't much for casual flirting with perfect strangers(when there was little to gain), and that's who he really was. There were a shift of her steps to the left, backtracking just a bit so that she could take a seat on the stone ledge of that centermost fountain. The water bubbled like mystical plague water behind her, and a dim fog of heat rose from its surface even as she hiked the hem of her nightshirt in order to cross her lime tinted legs. "I acted alone," did he really think she needed help to overtake an asylum? She'd been in and out of that nightmare of a place long enough to know the details, the schedule. While inside, she'd noted with pleasure they had yet to build the tank where she was once kept, where sunlight didn't leak through and her pheromones did not seep out. The thought alone made her eyes darken and she dug neat fingers into the cool stonework beneath her. As for there being countless inmates, she corrected him this once, "Four hundred and seventeen." She'd kept track of who stayed and who went, and of course, she kept very good track of one handful that had yet to be caught.
She gave him a very discerning and distinctly unamused snap of her attention when the Hood continued to be a topic of conversation. "He's not a toy. I'm not Harley, I have no intention of keeping rabid pets." Which the Hood would surely be. Uncrossing her legs, Ivy leaned forward to map the shadows of his profile. "He shot me, and he's yet to atone for it in a way that I feel fits the crime." Taking a bullet of his own would be nice, but it seemed awfully messy. Ivy had never been one for guns, not when there were more complicated compounds to play with.
"There are a dozen inmates doing me a favor of sorts in exchange for their release. Some might say they are a danger to society, but.. society is a danger to me." To Ivy, it seemed very simple. The world operated on a sliding scale of survival of the fittest, it always would. She had no intention of lying in a shallow grave while vigilantes shot at her and the city poisoned her water or set fire to her treelines. "If you're not here to take me in, then you came by to what? Scold me? Investigate?" There was a pause, a sharpening of briars in the nuclear fields of her eyes. "That's right.. you don't know me, do you? You've come to see what all the fuss is about.." The trees and plants around them rustled their leaves, like birds ruffling their angry feathers, the hackles rising on the necks of guard dogs. "Shall I show you?"
“Then the responsibility falls on you, and you alone.” The Bat was hardly an advocate of escaping blame by placing it upon another, but it could be shared, divided equally or otherwise depending on the perpetrators and their involvement, but in this case Ivy had no partner, no one to goad her along or suggest the idea in the first place. He would have left her alone, if she had never chosen to act; her greenhouse was in itself not a threat, and if she wished to dwell on the outskirts of Gotham with her plants then he was perfectly willing to let her do so. Now, she had forced his hand, and while Arkham was far from where he wanted it to be, improvements were being made. With time, if the right people were placed strategically within the ladder of power, the asylum could become what it should be, a place to hold dangerous criminals rather than use them for personal gain. It was the only place that could contain someone like Ivy, and he thought it would be wise to start looking into various ways to do just that; she and Freeze were, perhaps, the two most difficult to hold, as they had non-human attributes that mere cells did very little to circumvent. ‘Four hundred and seventeen,” he repeated, and it was cold, steely anger that crept into his voice at how casually she stated the number.
It was no secret that the Bat disapproved of Jason’s methods. All of Gotham seemed to be aware of the one rule he wouldn’t break, the line he refused to cross, and Jason Todd came into sharp conflict with everything he stood for. He also disapproved of revenge, however, seeing a distinction between that and justice, and it was not Ivy’s place to decide how he deserved to pay for shooting her. “He will answer for his crimes,” he said coldly, “but not to you. I’ll only tell you this once, Ivy. Leave him alone.” Maybe it was some deep-seated instinct, or a protectiveness that came from the other Bruce, the one he was constantly compared to, but despite what Jason had done he would not allow any harm to come to him, whether he was capable of taking care of himself or not. That was besides the point.
Perhaps that was what he had come for, the Bat, to discover why Ivy had orchestrated the outbreak and where the remainder of the inmates were. It wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear, but it was no less than he expected, and he was far from finished. “What are they doing?” Oh, he would find out on his own, but he wanted to see how she would respond first. Someone else might have dismissed the rustling around him as nothing, seeing no threat in trees and plants, but he knew better, the Bat, despite having no personal experience with Ivy beyond this. “I didn’t come here for this,” he said of the rustling, unimpressed and even slightly annoyed. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”
The movement in the trees came to an abrupt end, and there was very little humor left in her soursweet eyes. Don't do something she'd regret? Ivy didn't even believe she was emotionally capable of such a thing. "Do you ever think about what you'd actually do if Gotham didn't need you anymore? If we all just nodded our heads, kept our promises with uncrossed fingers, and walked the line of decency that you draw down the cement.." Elegant fingers curled against the rough feel of stone moistened by greenhouse humidity before she pushed herself back to standing. "But you don't stand for decency, do you Batman?" There was a twitch of a brow as she prowled closer, skinny vines slithered along the grooves of the bricks that composed their walkway. Too small to be anything dangerous, they crept toward her only because life yearned for life. "Decency, no.. that would be this guy," and she plucked at the vibrant blue cotton of her Superman shirt. Jason's gunshot graze on her arm was healed, but shiny as a penny under the moonlight.
"Let me tell you something, this isn't your city. You don't break into my house unless you're coming to wage a war. I'm not your little kitty cat that you turn a blind eye to as she robs everyone blind. Every action has a reaction, small as it may seem at the time. Crane knows that, or he will when he gets back to the Asylum." She was close now, close enough that she didn't have to squint through the tree cast shadows to see him. Memories came and went, and there was the faintest tick to one corner of her blushing mouth, knowing that whatever she remembered, it was not this man. Even that was okay, Ivy was far from sentimental. "I've got my hands full as it is with the Riddler, the Joker, and the Hood chiseling my name onto his bullets.. so if you've come here to tell me I've been a bad girl, save it. You don't want to be on my bad side, Batman."
Oh, Batman often thought about a future in which Gotham no longer needed him, and while such a prospect would have been bright for the city, he was not quite as hopeful for himself. Still, that didn’t matter. He had made the decision long ago to put the citizens of Gotham ahead of himself, and he had no intention of changing his mind. Decency was too simple a term to describe what he stood for; he was not a dictator, demanding that all those beneath him follow a strict code. He had his morals, his rules he refused to break, and he merely sought to uphold the rightful laws Gotham had allowed to become old and dusty with disuse. The city needed saving from itself, and no one else (in his world, at least) had once stepped forward to do so much as try. “Superman lives in a city far better off than Gotham,” he said grimly. “You should know what I stand for. Your Batman and I have that much in common.” It was a connecting thread between himself and the other version of himself, despite the changes; when laid bare, their goals for Gotham were very much the same.
His gaze sharpened as she spoke, and despite her approach, the Bat held his ground, the distance (or lack thereof) between them not yet enough to prompt him to move. “It is my city to protect,” he growled, “not yours to destroy. I turn a blind eye to no one, and Crane’s return to Arkham will see him back in a cell. As will Riddler and the Joker. I will handle Hood.” Now his anger was a cold, palpable thing, and even behind the cowl his expression was dangerous. “It is your choice, whether or not you’ll join them. Don’t threaten me, Ivy. I have no interest in waging war unnecessarily. Do not give me reason to come here, and I won’t. It is a simple concept.” As for the inmates, well, if she refused to disclose any information, he would simply have to track down every last one himself, and were she to be fortunate, there might not be cause for a return visit.
Ivy watched him for a long moment, and although she was close, she was unmoving. Not that it mattered, even stationary things could be a threat. The deathly still of the greenhouse might have been even more distracting than the occasional prick and twirl of branches had been before. Now, there was only the bubbling of the fountain. The spellbound cauldron turning over and over itself in an unending yet nonrepetitive symphony. Closer, she took another step. That is one thing she could count on even if she wasn't entirely sure of his origins. He wouldn't hurt her unless she hurt him first. His suit wasn't exactly shiny and new with disuse either, he wasn't the type to back down or retreat. She gained another partial step. As the distance between them shrank, so did her advantageous prowl. Bare toes digging into the dirty grout of brickwork, exploring the line that led to him like some contemplative tightwire walk in the circus.
"Yes, I know what he stood for," she said softly of her Batman. Reaching out with a slow hand, she pressed the pad of an index finger into the chest of his suit. Experimental, wondering at the differences a few years could make. ".. I like to think that we eventually reached a compromise. In a manner of speaking." Gas chamber eyes rolled up to meet him, a curious twitch to the corner of her mouth. What a funny concept, that she would need to threaten anyone. Especially him. She could simply -- the thought dissolved as soon as it was spun, and Ivy blinked away with the unpleasant distraction that muddy confusion brought. This was not her Gotham, it made falling into old habits too easy. From what she remembered, she hadn't killed in years. There was still a battle with humanity, but it was not one of countless bodies.. of course, this Gotham did not hold all of the progress that her own had. It was difficult to draw the line sometimes, to remember where she stood. All she could do was account for the here and now. Here, her greenhouse. Now, Batman's invasion. Her attention wove back onto him. "You want to know where they are?" The inmates, of course.
The Bat had a very distinct sense that he shouldn’t allow her so close, yet to back away would be retreat, and considering the fact that he and Ivy were all but strangers to one another he had no desire to create a first impression based upon weakness. Yet he was not a brute either, and she was right in thinking that he wouldn’t attack unless she made a move first. At this very moment in time, she was not an immediate threat, and utilizing violence would be uncalled for when he hadn’t quite given up on words as his weapon of choice. The silence was discerning, heavy tension laid across his shoulders, but despite how increasingly difficult it was becoming to remain still there was nothing to react to. When one did what he did, personal space was a concept he couldn’t expect very much from.
Compromise was something this Batman was still coming to terms with, especially when it involved those he viewed as criminals, and while Ivy and her Bat may have reached one, he doubted it had come without a great deal of conflict beforehand. “Did he feel the same?” What constituted as a compromise in her eyes might not have equated to one in his, after all, and something akin to a frown crossed his features as she looked up at him. He was prepared for an attack, as he always was on unfamiliar ground, but he didn’t quite think her capable of murder, based on what he’d seen of her so far. “You know I do,” he said coldly. “Are you going to tell me?” He did not expect her to, and beneath the layer of armor, imperceptible to the naked eye, he tensed, muscles like a coiled, familiar spring.
Ivy pressed no closer than that simple foot of distance between them, she did not curl around him like her namesake or sick wild thorns up from the loving vines that crested patiently along her bare instep, curling like fingers of curiosity up around one of her fine boned ankles. She was close enough to touch him, what else mattered for this first occasion? Ivy flexed a spread of fingers against the armor of his suit, tracing a groove in the material before she walked a pair of stalking, pale fingers up his chest. The absinthe glow of her eyes, hypnotic and nearly neon, dropped to watch the progress of her hand. As if that was more fascinating than his cowled features or what he had to say. Still, she was listening. Judging by the crook of a thoughtful smile brought on by a deep inhale, which stirred the sleeping trees around them. Like they too were drawing breath from the humidity. Their leaves swelled, vibrant while buds bloomed into exotic colors all around them.
This close, her scent was undeniable. She was a forest floor and crushed pomegranates, dew and rain-fresh moss. This was not the overwhelming musk of department stores, but life itself. Even if she was born from chemicals, she smelled like life, every wild aspect of it. Fresh, real, intoxicating. She finally looked up at him when he asked about her compromise with the wiser Bat. "He understood me, he knew I was trying to do the right thing.. but that doesn't mean he always approved of my methods, no." There was a darkness spreading through the lime rind of her irises, and even her hand went still against him. His tone was cold, almost disapproving. No, very disapproving. That's okay, she could slip into serious in the blink of an eye. "How badly do you want to know where they are?"
There were very few things the Bat feared, and Ivy was not one of them. Regardless, he was acutely aware of his surroundings, the whisper of trees, leafy foliage and all else, which responded to her in a way he was still attempting to fully understand. He may have been unwilling to admit it, but he had never before met anyone with abilities surpassing those of a human being, and that alone made him more cautious, more alert. If he could feel her touch beneath the armor, he gave no sign of it, nor did he reclaim the distance between them. He could have, quite easily, but instead he watched her, unblinking, cool impassivity add her fingers splayed against his kevlar covered chest and trailed an upward path, pale against inky black. One might have thought, even this close, that the scent of nature merely came from all around, as logic suggests, but he knew better, and intoxicating as it was he appeared unaffected by it. There was no awe here, for a woman who carried with her the essence of lush, ripe greens.
Perhaps Ivy had returned to her old ways here, for he saw nothing 'right' in the release of dangerous inmates and he doubted her intentions had been so noble. That, or her Bat was a fool. This one did not enjoy games, which was rather unfortunate, considering his adversaries often did. "What do you want, Ivy?" He hardly expected the information to come for free, if it came at all.
Ivy didn't want to be feared, that was never the point. This suited man had his hidden missions beneath his mask. He stood for something aside from himself, whomever he was beneath the cowl. She understood that, at times she related to it. If Ivy needed to be the villain in Gotham's eyes, that was fine by her. She'd long ago given away the dreams of a young woman, the hunt for prestige, the need for love. She could play the villain wholeheartedly because Ivy knew wholeheartedly that she stood for something beyond herself. Her mission, her cross to to bear, it was bigger than herself. It was bigger than Batman. It was bigger than Gotham. "Do you know what it is like to have your loved ones die? Your people, your blood.. and not just die, but tortured? To feel its injustice, to feel their pain constantly?" She smiled gently, already knowing. "No, you don't." A sad kind of fondness dropped her head to one side, brushing the shell of her ear against the blue cotton of her shoulder as she watched him. The pads of her fingertips brushed higher, cresting the neck of his suit to find that bit of bare skin at his throat. She could feel his pulse there, she measured it idly. Her touch alone could be poison, but she doubted that he knew that, and she wasn't playing so rough tonight. Any long term duration in her company destroyed human cells after repeated exposure, and it had been a long time since she'd wondered what it meant to be human. To touch and talk, to not be a walking nuclear reactor gone haywire. Regrettably, and almost as an afterthought, Ivy slid her fingers back down. Away from his neck and once more to the safety of his kevlar.
"I want a lot of things, none of which you can give me." She straightened in regard of him, that tee shirt tight in all the right places, a bunching cling to the rolling hills of her hips. "You don't trust me," and this too brought a smile, although it was far from amused. "So I'll just ask for a show of faith." And then, with an arch of dirt dusted feet, she pressed closer. Riding up against him with a slim arm curling like the love of a fern around one of his shoulders. Her knee knocked his before sliding to the outer armor of his thigh. Her mouth was upturned and a breath away, honey sweet as she watched him with open eyes gone swamp fog green.
“Why ask a question if you intend on answering for me?” The question was almost casual, accompanied by a tilt of his head similar to hers. Perhaps the Bat lacked a literal understanding of what she spoke of, but in a way the citizens of Gotham were his people, and their pain, the injustices they suffered, was a constant reality. He ached with them, in a place deeper than mere physical tactility could extend. And, yes, he had watched loved ones die, the prospect of death one he had learned from a very young age. Yet her told her none of that, certain she would fail to understand, as most did, though there was something in his eyes that spoke of her assumption being incorrect as he looked at her. The feel of her fingers against bare skin made him tense, instinctive, as it was a sensation so rarely felt, especially when he was so well shrouded in kevlar. For a moment he wondered if her touch could harm him, butt she withdrew her fingers before he could pull back, and he made a mental note to monitor himself once he was back at the cave.
Of course he didn't trust her. He assumed Ivy would expect no less. Her mention of an act of faith made him skeptical, and he began to ask what, precisely, she wanted from him, but the words fell short when she pressed against him. An arm around his shoulders, her knee against his thigh, and the Bat's jaw tightened. Her touch may not have been poison, but her kiss was infamous, and a life spent trusting no one meant that his decision was inevitable. He stepped back, hands on her shoulders as he pushed her away, firm without becoming rough, and cursed himself for not expecting as much from her. “I will find them myself,” he promised her. Gotham was his city, and he knew every inch of it, even if some of that knowledge required research. Coming here, he realized, had been a waste of his time. “And if I have to return here for any reason, if you cause any more harm to this city or those who live within it, this will end very differently.”
Ivy hardly expected him to give in so easily. It would have been a grave mistake if he had. While she enjoyed testing the courage of men - like the scarred, mismatched eyed man on the other side - she found trust the ultimate aphrodisiac. Jack might have been suicidal, but he'd trusted her to keep her word on that night in the casino.. and that went a long way with a villainess out of Gotham. It was a curious thing, a new game to explore. And even if the Bat had let her kiss him, it wouldn't have been because he trusted her. He had too many points to prove, he wasn't a man of risks worth taking and when he pushed her, it wasn't a surprise. Ivy padded back on her bare heels, stepping onto the fountains ledge and wandering back toward the staircase in a slow backpeddle, her haunted gremlin eyes still watching the brooding Bat. He thought he'd find them himself? "No, you won't," she answered with a brushstroke bruise of a smile that said she knew he wouldn't. Nobody would find them until she was ready for the project to be complete. Turning, she made her way up the stairs, dismissing him. "I don't cause harm to the city, Batman. It causes harm to me. Now see yourself out, you're depressing the flowers."