Pamela Isley | Poison Ivy (strawfeminist) wrote in incompletedata, @ 2017-05-24 23:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | dc: comics: pamela isley, dc: dceu: harley quinn |
Who: Pamela Isley
What: Ivy loves plants. Plants might want her to buy them dinner first.
When: 25 May, morning
Where: Eastern forest, north of Site 7.
Warnings: I wrote a PG-13 log with a flower.
Pamela Isley's life had changed a thousand times since she had first stepped foot in the rainforests of Central America as a high achieving high school girl on a trip for extracurricular and service credit on her college applications. She was a seed laying dormant until she fire-proven and acid-etched blossoming into a toxic and malevolent blossom. She had blossomed and fruited and gone to seed time and again, and like a plant, thrived, adapted, and evolved.
But it wasn't her pheromones or her toxic charms that were letting her survive on on a beach full of women --though half had abandoned the base camp in search of men--but her wits and her knowledge. People forgot that behind an alluring bloom was one of the maddest of scientists. Pamela was a plant girl to the core, and had thus taken up the task of feeding the beach camp off of the forest. More for concern for the flora than anything.
And today's stroll had been no different, harvesting figs, cacao, and lychees as readily as she gathered curare and strychnos for the front pockets of her bag (a girl should always be prepared), and feeling the slight pricks of dermotoxic hairs and barbs of jungle vines. She wasn't at her strongest, where she was almost one with the forest, but she had been part nature for nearly as long as whatever life she had before. She remembered.
And she wasn't immune to the forests' charms.
She had never seen one so big before, at chest height, a bright and charming fanged pitcher plant. "Hello baby" Pamela leaned forward to plant a kiss on the swollen pitcher of the large and exquisite Nepenthes bicalcarata. It shivered to her touch. Many people didn't recognize the responsiveness of plants, but like the seismonastic closure of a mimosa or the thigomotropic curling of the D. capensis snaking across the forest floor to wrap around her ankle. Ivy noticed the gently prickling tingle and glanced downward. Mother nature was full of these little dominance games. "Aren't you something special?"
It was the gentlest she'd been with anyone since her arrival, even despite the challenge. But the carnivorous plant obviously wasn't as much in the mood. Faster than a normal plant should, it snapped. Biting down on her fingers that had been softly marveling at its waxy texture.
Her eyes were bright with outrage and the sort of sadomasochistic glee that saw her shipped repeatedly to Arkham as opposed to Blackgate every time. "And naughty!" Her nostrils flared, but she didn't pull back her hand. The decorative fangs were peircing the top of hand, but they stood at a stalemate, the pitcher unable to do much until she fell into its waiting trap and her unwilling to rip the delicate structure.
And that was when Ivy recognized that pheromones that usually made plants bow to her supremacy were somehow neutralized in this intoxicating jungle. Part of her wondered if she let the creeping Drosera envelope her, pulling her into the waiting pitcher of the Nepenthes. She could be dissolved like an ant and born again in seed.
But she wasn't an ant, she was Poison-fucking-Ivy. And Nature bowed to her, powers or not. "That's enough." She ripped her hand back, tearing the pitcher and causing the sweetly acidic liquid to spill on her exposed stomach. A step back was enough to cause the Drosera to yield their grasp, though she imagined it was the sharp spike of jasmonic acid signaling the pitcher plant's injury more than her own resistance. Plants were agressive, but flowers were tragically delicate, unlike her.
And while she was indignant to have been harmed by a plant, she felt worse, perhaps, for lashing out. After all, it was a majestic and intelligent predatory plant. She was just a greater one. But it was a shame to let a plant like that die.
Ivy softened and tapped its wilting cap with her finger and ignored her burning side in favor of emptying her water bottle and retrieving her scissors. "We'll get you fixed up, sweetheart."