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Post by POISON IVY on Oct 8, 2012 13:56:26 GMT -5
The flame-haired woman growled as her experiment failed. In her rage, she pushed it off of the table to smash onto the floor in a few toxins that she had been trying to alter as well as the test tubes that the toxin was resting in. She exhaled loudly and began to pace as she tried to run the numbers in her head to find a calm through the frustration. The leggy botanist began to pace back and forth as she leaned against the table ignoring the glass and testing samples that she had thrown onto the floor during her fit.
Slender fingers pressed against her forehead causing her to sigh again. Pamela wanted to avoid asking for assistance. People tend to be so very haughty and temperamental especially those driven by complexes. Of course, it would be foolish of her to ignore such a brilliant mind and attempting at a collaboration might save her a few more test tubes and several days of wasting time and energy.
She had a feeling that the man in mind might end up gloating and making her jump through hoops to get what she wanted and that thought pissed her off even more. Pamela began to weigh the pros against the cons and she practically shook with amusement if the guardian plant would work to drive the humans out of her gardens in fear. To plant them in various parts of the Amazon to force people to skirt these 'haunted' rain forests, as well as every place in the world that her children were being oppressed by humanity.
Her thoughts managed to bring a smile to her lips as she cleaned up the mess and slipped into her bedroom to change. Poison Ivy did not want to appear too desperate or even grovel to that pathetic excuse for a man, but she needed him...for now. She would get what she wants, and once he had accomplished all of her desires, she would perhaps fulfill something he needed. What would she be willing to bargain for or better yet, what would he honestly be interested in as payment?
It would be difficult not to turn him into her mindless lust-filled puppet, but doing so would compromise his mind and expertise which is why she was actually considering this insane idea of collaboration in the first place. Poison Ivy knew that he was rather difficult to work with, but his fear toxins would have no effect on her. She imagined that would put her at a higher footing, but would make it a bit more complicated in getting what she wanted.
Pamela changed out of her skirt and lab coat into something a bit more comfortable. She really hoped that he would not waste his time trying to test his fear toxins on her, but he man did manage to creep her out to a certain degree without the need of his fear agent. Maybe that was enough to stroke that over-sized ego of his to some how manipulate him mentally without the use of her usual tricks.
She wondered what Jonathan Crane would possibly be attracted to besides a trembling, whimpering woman that he was trying to dominate to get his rocks off. A puff of air escaped moving a lush red curl out of her face as she put together a rather delectable ensemble. There was a chance that he might even be inoculated to some of her manipulative abilities, but he could not be completely immune to all of it. First, she had settled upon a simple green shift making her look a bit like a wood nymph. Then she changed into a pair of jeans and a blouse. Afterwards, she had wondered if more was better or less, the man's logic was rather backwards, at least to her, and she then realised how much she did not know of the man that called himself the Scarecrow.
Annoying, that was one word to describe her current predicament as she settled upon her last outfit no longer caring if it would make an impression. She had settled upon a dark mossy green corseted top that accentuated her hourglass figure hugging all of the curves but maintaining a certain 'respectability'. This particular top had the zipper in the front with a darker green embroidery and binding. The skirt that was picked that went down to her knees, but the sides were slit from thigh to knee to allow her free movement even if she needed to run while flashing off a healthy dose of soft skin. To complement her ensemble, she had decided upon a pair of silk stockings held up by garters and black stilettos, wondering if he was actually a submissive while often playing the role of the sadist towards those that managed to anger him. Her hair was haphazardly twisted upwards and secured by an ornate clip to give that tousled bed head look.
Poison Ivy wondered why she was trying so hard, but if it paid off and she got what she wanted, this could be filed away as never happened. Posing in front of the full-length mirror, she sighed and rolled her eyes. Just her luck she got no reaction at all and that would irritate her probably. Business. This is business. She thought to herself and with her particular strut Pamela made her way to Crane's last known hideout.
A rather frightening and dilapidated warehouse made the corner of her lip lift in skepticism wondering why men had to live in the most disgusting places. With a confidence that only Poison Ivy could carry, the flame-haired woman sauntered up to the warehouse and disappeared inside. Mind the rat feces and whatever else that might have used to live here. She told herself feeling a bit grossed out and less frightened. Tetnus shot? Another errant thought as she continued to walk, alert and keen green eyes taking in her surroundings.
"Crane? Can you come out to play?" She shouted out with a smirk.
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Post by Scarecrow on Oct 9, 2012 3:00:59 GMT -5
The caterwauls, shrieks of horror and terror, a maelstrom of shadows dancing on the walls, rats scattering about to be stomped out by the clearly disturbed and violent sociopaths that The Scarecrow had in his vaunted "employ." The darkness within the building was a sepulcher, an abattoir, a haunted house in it's own way, looking like something spewed from the mind of Hitchcock and broken into reality proper, almost amazing considering the location within gotham and the use it now had, as if it had spewed straight from the likes of a nightmare into reality for Jonathan Crane's most duplicitous and derange acts.
There were the occasional screams, shouts, groans and screams, pouring through the facility, but mostly there were muzzled groans and grunts, prayers to an impotent, uncaring god who seemingly watched as men were made to be used as mice in the sick experimentation of an even more sick mind. The one currently strapped down into the examination table, not unlike those utilized in chemical executions in states that allowed such a method of capital punishment was one Robert Dukes. Reporter Dukes had the unmitigated gaul to assert in his recent article that one Jonathan Crane was by far the least fair of the Gotham "Batman Rogues" possessing only some culled knowledge of human psyche, and a drug that was derivative of Hugo Strange's earlier concoction.
Plagiarism is a serious charge leveled in academia, as Mister Dukes was now well aware, restrained, gagged and sweating like a stuck pig, crying and salivating. The man who approached as like a sinewy phantasm, lithe and slender as a dagger who's mind was sharper and more deadly still. His fingers nimble, his gaze cold as he extracted from the vial a syringe worth of his most infamous catalyst. The red eyes of the Scarecrow were dead set as he pulled back the plunger, tapping the syringe diligently with nails darkened black, painted and theatrical as his costume of coarse earth tones, winter wheat and golden brown, the leather straps of his long billowing overcoat done harshly up save the bottom which hung listing in the damp air.
His voice was leveled and quite serious as he spoke with the patience of a clinical man, a man of science and reason who turned both toward deadly purpose. "Mr Dukes I'm going to have to ask that you refrain from pawing at your restraints. This isn't a mental health clinic,I have ways of dealing with reticent patients that are quite...decisive." even the manner in which the man moved was like that of a Scarecrow, as if he were a puppet, stringed, ghostly, deliberate perhaps. As he took from the man's side after injecting his neck and then taking up a minella file that seemed to be an interesting read as the tell tale signs of a healthy dose of fear gas took their effects, increased heart rate, respiration, it would peak at hyperventilation while his heart lead to cardiac arrest, sweating, he'd be fat, greasy Pennsylvania Dutchmen soon; as his fair hair, previously combed over clung to moistened receding brow. Equally fair eyes widened in terror, multiple chins swaggered and gelatinous jowels quaked.
"Tell me Mister Dukes, am I still 'chief among the pencil necked poppycock cowards who hides behind a mask awaiting the fist of Batman' now? Am I capable of frightening a three year old? as you claimed otherwise in this tripe!" his voice picked up considerable venom as he read off quotes from the man's article on the rogues gallery, he had lambasted each and every rogue, from Dent to Joker, but none did he claim more benign and pathetic than Jonathan Crane.
And so the Scare crow stopped himself from throwing a wrinkled paper at the restrained and utterly terrified man. Instead letting out a "Are you scared yet?!" in the perception of Dukes the Scarecrow's visage turned to a wolf spitting bile and a maw of foam and steak knife sharpened cuspids. His eyes red as blood and glowing like some unholy creature of the night, a demon of the night, furred and furrowed and a hell hound from head to toe. All monster, no man.
And when his tone returned, when his sanity from the anger he felt waxed after waning so, he cleared his throat with a gloved hand to his mouth and spoke unequivocally congenial "How foolish of me. Your restraints. My apologies." fingerless gloved hands undid the gag yoke he had put on the man and as it extracted from his orifice so too did a mass of fluid, saliva, spittle, mucus, dry heaving and a fluid build up was not uncommon, still it would have to be noted, the doctor kept ever meticulous notes.
"What do you see?" he entreated the man, his voice a hushed hiss, more akin to what a serpent might elicit than a man. Dark curiosity surely piqued.
"W-wolf. Hell hound! biting me! GET IT OFF GET IT OFF!"
Jonathan had done his fair share of reading on the mandatory psychological workup that Frank Dukes had been ordered to take after his employment at the Gotham Gazelle. It revealed a strong fear of dogs, wolves and even the fear of contracting rabies after as a child he'd raked the eyes of his pet mastiff and the dog had at him.
The contorted, unholy smirk of the Scarecrow could well be visible under the threadbare burlap mask he donned, threads stretching from his mouth hole as they were sporadically. "Ah cynophobia! one of the most primal of fears. Can you feel the dog's teeth digging into you at this very moment? bloodying you? Rippling flesh from bone with jaws perfected to kill? A foamy maw condensed around you, caked in your own blood! Raise your arm to shield yourself only to feel the white hot pain as it removes tendon and muscle with a vice like bite, tearing, ripping, teeth digging, paws scratching, it won't let go.. It wants you dead! DEAD with every fiber of it's being! no matter how hard you fight it's bite is as tenacious as the devil himself! He won't let go until your life blood feeds it! it's bit your neck! choking your air way! constricting your throat, every breath more precious than the last. You can't breathe! you can feel the brain cells popping in your skull, feel your breath becoming more shallow!" the guttural choking and thrashing from the man seemed to continue with each and every word, he struggled against the unseen aggressor, against his restraints and to the man's credit he was burly enough to near break one of them.
The death throes had begun as he convulsed in spastic spasms that were as uncomfortable to look at as they must've been to enact, contorting in a way the human body seemed not to be meant to for certain. The end result must've been a convulsion having shattered his back, when they stopped his eyes glazed over and calcified. Belching up one last spew of accumulated saliva.
"Gotham's true Joke indeed. The suggestive ability of this formula seems well intact, outside stimulus is highly effective in logarithmically increasing fear sensations. Douse him in gasoline, then drop him infront of the Gazelle and light my personal Jack-O-Lantern compliments of The Scarecrow." His men scurried like the rats as frightened of the man absent his fear toxin as this man was with a vein full of it. Knowing how terrible he could well be.
As he extracted himself from his "Clinic" and walked to his "waiting room." he noticed the woman before him, her voice cherubic against a cacophony of rats, his men's rustling and the groans and grunts of silenced "patients". He looked to her dourly, and yet he was able to summon enough bed side manner, camaraderie between rogues as to say "Doctor Isley." his voice rang of suspicion and having known her professionally and read her work before she'd made the transformation to Poison Ivy. While he was hapless, sloppy dressed Jonathan Crane, the doctor other doctors made fun of for his tied down style and his desire to spend more money on his books than his fashion, with his unassuming bifocals. She was mousy Pamela Isley, disheveled hair, glasses just as thick as his own, frumpy and one of a dozen female doctors in the symposiums on toxicology they'd attended. In that time he'd assume if he'd approached her she wouldn't have noticed him. Tall, thin as a rail and socially awkward, when they accidentally bumped into one another they made light, pleasant conversation but he'd scuttled off before any real ice could be broken.
Even looking at her now he knew what women thought of him. Sure, he may have gotten letter after letter from deranged fan girls after he'd become Scarecrow, a juror at his most recent trial had even made him brownies with scarecrow marshmallows, they were delicious. Many claimed he looked like some actor or another. But the reality was that they were all like her. All like Sherry Squires, this one was even pretty like her too. Spoke to him like she did, looked at him like she did. He remembered it like it was yesterday, her putting her little hand in his, his slender fingers coiling around hers like a spider's legs entrapping a fly. The warmth of them, the heat of her breath on his neck as she lead him to the darkness of the basement. Standing on her tip toes to kiss tall Jonathan Crane. The warmth and moisture of her lips. The sweetness of her voice as it enticed him, entreated him for a kiss.
He remembered the pain of a sudden blow then, a pumpkin hitting his head, and then the hardness of the gravel basement floor meeting his opposing side. She laughed, she was in on it as he felt a tooth come loose when her boyfriend- a jock troglodyte if ever there was one- kicked him, again and again until he'd managed to get away. Racing like a bat out of hell.
And as he returned, the glare of his gaze reaching his eyes he corrected himself. "Poison Ivy. You're looking...pretty as a rosebud. I'm afraid I'm a busy man." he remained cautiously distant from her, despite even with a mask on it was clear he liked what he saw. Studying her perhaps as ardently as the file he had previously. When his men huffed by with the most recent victim he waved them away.
"As you can well see. And Scarecrows aren't made to play among the crops." his voice was not as cold as it might normally be, maybe even slightly inviting, but he held not the slightest illusion about what he knew would come next and that she desired something of him. What- he couldn't guess- but in many ways her wiles were more dangerous than any of the weapons the other rogues used, if only because they were not those he was expressly used to dealing with.
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Post by POISON IVY on Oct 10, 2012 18:00:31 GMT -5
There was quite a bustle in the warehouse and a few henchmen took notice of their new visitor. One felt that Poison Ivy was a bit out of place and intent on giving her trouble. She hated to be touched without giving permission first and when one of those said henchmen became upset enough to try to hustle her outside with threats on picking her up over his shoulder but went only as far as grabbing her wrist. Her eyes blackened as she snarled. "No one touches me." The man's eyes went glassy and blank as he crumpled to the ground writhing in pain and white bubbly foam escaping from the corner of his mouth until he eventually stopped moving. "See?" She said sweetly to the corpse as she took a few steps away from the corpse knowing that a 'normal' clean up might poison a few others.
It seemed that the good 'doctor' was in but otherwise detained as she casually walked around critically eyeing his set up. Crane might think that she 'owed' him a fresh body to carry out the man's orders which was easily obtained and quite honestly it was not her fault. There was no remorse or concern for the fallen body not having given a second thought since the body hit the ground. Since then all of Scarecrow's henchmen seemed to give her a wide berth and she continued to casually walk around with her arms crossed about her chest in boredom.
All that had changed was a soft smirk when she heard the screams of Crane's current visitor. She wondered what had weaseled into his mind for this particular visit, but figured it was perhaps someone that had undermined him, or made fun of him in some way. He tend to be so sensitive about such things she recalled. If Poison Ivy was feeling impatient no one would be the wiser. She actually managed to hide it well keeping her mind on the purpose of her visit. That mind being rather like a steel trap when something was caught inside.
She finally caught sight of Crane as the movements became a bit more strict with the men trying to keep competent and busy. A smile spread across her lips as her green eyes followed the activity while the henchmen reported of a loss and then indicating that he had another visitor. Her arms were placed down by her sides as she changed her posture as an invitation, but used to a more aloof presence. "I do hope I was not interrupting. Jonathan." Pamela added hearing his suspicions as she turned up the charm with a warmer smile and measured stride to meet him half way.
Jonathan Crane's new appearance was quite a bit better than what she had recalled before her transformation, but her own image had improved by leaps and bounds. She recalled a very awkwardly tall man, shy without an ounce of knowledge on how to speak to a woman. Of course, she was similar in that regard as well as quite naive. Even a man such as he would not be interested in wasting his time talking to her. Another reason to hide behind her studies, books and plants when even a man like Crane rejected her. Their interactions were affable but brief as he scooted off intent on talking to others that were not her. Back then she recalled him having quite a brilliant mind and it was something she had regretted not being able to have had the opportunity to pick is brain further regarding his field of expertise.
The interaction was so brief and innocuous that she was even surprised having recalled the memory, but the disappointment had washed over her as well as the insult of just being passed over. She did not like that he still had the mask on that was not that impressive to her, but it only really came alive when his victim was trapped with the effects of his fear toxin. Pamela paid no mind to his comment of being a busy man and all towards his compliment. "This old thing?" She purred softly teasingly as she drew closer intruding on his personal space and even went as far as removing his hideous mask to see his face...his eyes. "Actually, the truth is I picked it out just for you." She whispered softly into his ear, as her lips brushed against his earlobe.
Her abilities did not need touch to have her manipulating the flora in one's body, but it was not her purpose to turn him into one of her lust puppets allowing him to realise that she was not here to harm him. Her touch was toxic as well, but also something she could control to a point. Some would be lucky enough to get an antidote if she was intent on playing such a game. Probably a game she would play with Batman, but this was not the time nor the place for that. Crane had something she wanted and she allowed him that protection from her own abilities to get it. It did not mean that she could easily ignore the fact at how easy it would be to tease Scarecrow until he begged for more. She did enjoy it immensely when a man begged so prettily for her. Pamela had leaned in closely to give the de-masked man's neck a nuzzle and kiss, but her eye caught some further action redirecting her attentions towards the recent visitor crippled in fear.
Recognising who the recent visitor of Scarecrow was, Poison Ivy chuckled, a warm, and wholesome sound. "I figured he would get a bit of backlash for that shoddy piece of work he did for the Gazelle." Her laughter and amusement broke the tension of spider about to devour the fly that was caught in her net.
"The scarecrows are utilized to protect the crops." She added flirtatiously with continued amusement as he was not completely put off by her. "And would it be too much to take you away from your busy schedule for a few hours?" She asked sweetly.
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Post by Scarecrow on Oct 12, 2012 23:40:15 GMT -5
To say that Doctor Jonathan Crane, The Scarecrow was caught off guard by the sudden affectionate assault by the Queen of Green could only be a half truth. There was a part that well knew the “talents” of Miss Isley, of the Poison Ivy, that among their band of miscreants labeled oft “The Batman Rogues gallery” or the “Gotham Rogues” she was the most seductive of any. –of course a certain leather clad feline femme fatale could so too be a contender for the title, because Jonathan’s next kiss could be his last he would never utter such a sentiment to the Goddess of Green.- There was the other half of him though, that piece that was ever astonished that a woman would ever show even the slightest hint of attraction or interest in him, the truth being that even though he’d had one or two after his high school crush in Sherry Squires they’d all ended nearly as disastrously.
When she removed his mask it was as if she’d removed his face, his soul and everything that shielded him from being that bookish, slender insecure introvert. He’d made a lot of headway- though perhaps not in a positive manner- toward becoming much more forceful and assertive with the birth of the Scarecrow, and while that didn’t entirely flush down the proverbial toilet, he couldn’t help but now feel as if he were completely naked on display of the woman before him. His hair, auburn, like a sanguine censure, feathery, straight as an arrow and thin as straw was ever disheveled, as one might expect from a masked removed. His eyes would ever tell lies, for they were soft, a brown that was as gentle as a falling leaf and warm as a cooling ember. A golden brown, like winter wheat and soft, smooth viscous amber, they looked not like those of a savage killer, not a blood drawn deranged psychotic or The Master of Fear or God of Terror.
“Ivy...what..” Was the only parcel he could hope to murmur, it was as if he were disarmed and both surprised she was so brazen with his personal space bubble. It was not unlike her but it wasn’t especially like anyone to so flippantly remove his most sacred of accouterments. And as he ran fingers through hair, raking the darkness that it was to some measure of tame, he wondered what she was playing at, the two had a shared history as rogues that was as rocky as any, and he found himself coming firmly to the realization that this was one of two scenarios, the other being the kisses and nuzzling she rained on him were meant to kill him, though he assumed if it were the case he’d be dead after a few moments, even with his considerable- not to mention ingenious- inoculation that gave him good resistance against many of her poisons.
It wasn’t like a nightmare, not at all, he could feel himself flushing with all measure of fluid, it was like a dream. And the Scarecrow did not do dreams. Oh no. He attempted perhaps halfheartedly to push her away with the base of his gloves, to avoid skin to skin contact knowing how poisonous this ivy was, and though he trusted his mind more than anything, he knew hers was a deadly biology that possibly had other, more pervasive toxins within that he hadn’t accounted for or she’d recently developed.
“I find myself doubting a scenario exists where you require my protection Doctor.” His voice was an attempt at earlier cold and calculating, disingenuous and sharp, pointed, but fell flat from that mark and he considered what she spoke of for a few clear moments, grasping her to keep some distance between them though he hadn’t realized just where on her anatomy.
Nor did he have the chance when she had turned her attention to his handiwork, and when another of his henchmen spoke, his voice a fear filled quaver that perked Jonathan’s ears and made his affections for the woman all the greater, knowing she could be so fearsome. Such a fount and flora of fear. “Sir, do you want us to..” the henchmen stopped short as his tongue was not only seized by the abject terror he felt for his life and desire for self-preservation but because he was unsure of what to offer to do in the presence of such a figure.
“Fall under a hormonal lull and shoot each other between the eyes at her whim?! No that's quite alright. You've embarrassed me enough already. Leave.” His voice was both flustered and forceful at the abject stupidity of his grunts, this was what he got for not outsourcing he thought. As they scurried like rats from the pied piper, shuffling like marionettes swaying to a terrifying symphony from their master it was clear just how much fear he’d instilled in them in their internship as his lackeys.
But as she spoke “He should have been aware. Any who assault the Scarecrow with jeers be prepared to face your fears. He was not prepared. Not for me." His voice was cold save a clear point of pride welling in his handiwork as the cadaver laid strewn about still twitching and vomit and spittle caked as the men struggled to hoist the corpulent corpse out as rigor had yet to set.
The most unerring of statements seemed to be how soft his eyes actually were when he spoke of this, even when he’d contorted his face in a seminal example of ghoulish terror to his henchmen he seemed to have some touchstone, some beacon or shard of Jonathan Crane within a tapestry, a labyrinth of Scarecrow.
And when they were alone he’d touched the spot she’d kissed him, still arm from the soft touch of her lips, softer than he’d been touched by a woman since ever he could remember, he hadn’t even realized how profoundly it had affected him until he spoke in a murmur “I’ve given myself an inoculation based on the floral pheromones you produce. I’m quite confident they could.. It’s unseasonably warm in here.” his voice picked up as he spoke again with notable pride and confidence in his abilities, perhaps more of a man than Jonathan Crane would normally be, only to be shot down by the complete lack of realization that her more…earthly charms were at work here as well. And potent enough for the Goddess of Green to ensnare the Master of Fear. His remark seemed almost to come as a challenge to the lady, as if he knew he’d beaten her at her own game.
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Post by POISON IVY on Oct 13, 2012 1:19:35 GMT -5
It was surprising what Pamela Isley was capable of when she had set her mind to something. She could even allow a man's touch and not kill him outright if whatever the man held was important enough to quell that desire to destroy. A shiver of delight ran through her body as he warmed to her, the disbelief that danced across his features were delicious enough to see what he would do if she took him into an embrace and kissed him fully upon the lips. Of course, there was a chance he would not survive that and leave his genius mind unaltered. No, no that would not do. It would not do at all, but the thought did make her lick her blood red lips in anticipation.
The incredulity and attempt at a protest invoked another shiver of delight as well as a great degree of amusement. Enjoying herself too much would cause her new toy to break and again she had to restrain herself from taking it too far. The temptation gleamed in her eyes as he ran his fingers through his hair. She knew of a particular spot that would probably invoke a shudder of his own if not disarm him completely, but Ivy had reminded herself that he was needed. He was not just a toy for her amusement, but a tool to be used to protect her children. "Crow..." She said teasingly after his protest as she pressed herself against him and tilted her head at a coquettish angle and a sensual smile meant to disarm without the use of chemicals. "It was so impersonal and rather rude that I cannot see your face." As she answered in a tone that made it impossible to argue regarding the removal of his mask.
His attempt to push her away in a halfhearted gesture only encouraged her more like a game of tug-of-war. His chemical scent, his body's language, and the push only had her draw closer, enough for one of her long legs to slip between the Scarecrow's legs as if they were about to start a tango. Playing so closely with someone as toxic as Poison Ivy would have any ordinary person dead in the most tremendous pain as their own body's flora multiplied in on itself in a obscene amount of growth before it gave up in pain, as bile failed to evacuate from the soon to be corpse. The poisons of the body trapped and increasing inundating a person's immune system as their body tensed and struggled that all they could do was grunt, try to vomit but not even a scream would escape, or could the pain being too great to exert even that simple response. It really was a terrible picture, but just one of the many scenerios that Ivy could subject a person to.
"Oh, but Professor, you are quite mistaken. Mmm, mistaken, but I am willing to explain ever..." His hand had found their way to her hips to try another attempt of putting some space between the two of them which allowed a giggle to escape from her before she was momentarily distracted by Scarecrow's latest piece of work and finally stepped away for a closer look. She noticed that one of his henchmen attempted at some semblance of bravery and as her eyes gleamed with wickedness once their eyes met she playfully brought her teeth together to make a clacking sound as if she was biting into their flesh like a pair of wind up flesh rending fake teeth. "I would imagine having him write an amendment before his untimely demise would have been more amusing and public. A fool that deserved what he got I am sure." Already bored of the subject wanting to talk about her and why she was here.
Then she gave the sweetest smile at Jonathan as he dismissed his men to do his bidding with the journalist. The rest scattering as well as a collective sigh of relief escaped altogether in a chorus as if she would kill anymore of her colleague's brainless minions.
She sauntered back towards Jonathan as his men filtered out in a desperate quickness. Her deep green eyes noticed where his hand touched and the smile warmed. Amusement twinkled in her eyes as he mentioned being inoculated against her floral pheromones as he mentioned how warm it was in the warehouse. "Not especially." She murmured in reply at the heightened temperature and her fingers grazed the tender skin at the nape of his neck. "I have not manipulated any of those pheromones or any of your body's chemistry, Professor." She whispered softly into his ear again with a warm tickling breath and as if there had been no pause, Ivy nuzzled his neck before brushing her lips against his pulse point. "I need your help, Jonathan. Say that you are interested in protecting me and my children." Then licked his earlobe before she could stop herself.
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Post by Scarecrow on Oct 13, 2012 18:19:53 GMT -5
The kiss of her lips on his neck, it was as if a trail of fire down his nape. She smelled of the sweetest, most fragrant and most succulent of flora. Dandelions, lilacs, roses, mints, clovers, none of it held a candle to what this woman seemed to have a natural aura of. Her eyes were green as her "children's" chlorophyll chocked forms, as verdant as the rolling vistas of the emerald isle and gleaming so that a green eyed monster might well be envious of her visage. And the firey rope of her hair, tresses as if they were fire made form, woven into the fabric of her hair, a fire that scorched his eyes and soul. And yet when he saw it he knew he might well want to take it himself, for the silken allure of it seemed as if it might be like clutching a cumulus.
It was all a fever dream that he knew he'd burst from at any moment. The logical part of Jonathan Crane's brain, that which he prided himself on so vehemently, so readily and so prominently was but a small percentage of a greater mass, though it had taken millions of years to develop from knuckle dragging ancestry, it was lilliputian comparatively to the most base and carnal of needs that mother nature- now given sensual, beauteous form infront of him- had implanted within.
"Ivy...what..what are you?" it seemed to be that all he could hope to mutter with her in such close proximity. He was melting for her, melting because of her, it was like he was no longer the master of fear, no longer a god of terror whom even the Batman likely had nightmares about, but just some lovesick puppy. The attention she lavished onto him, heaping him with it, it was almost suffocating. How could this be happening to him? He was fear personified, Doctor Jonathan Crane- THE SCARECROW- how could anyone so manipulate him? He was nobody's puppet, no rat to be lead by a jade jezebel pied piper's tune. The Scarecrow made that possible. It made him more than Jonathan Crane ever was. It made him powerful despite a lanky frame, off kilter and offset due to his height. Feared and loathed and hated but not slighted because of it.
And when she whispered to him it was like honey in his ear, warming him in ways he hadn't felt in the longest of times, he pawed at his collar ever so slightly only to attempt to mask such an endeavor by making it look as if he were affixing said collar. "I... just thought you should know." again his tone was piecemeal. His brow had furrowed, this was entirely normal seduction, he found himself feeling like the crows so duped by the Scarecrows out in the field, he was a buffoon, a fool for love for all his vaunted, vast intelligence he so prized above all else he had, which in reality was little else.
When she bit down then a surge shot through him, her teeth on the soft flesh of his ear and within the warm moisture that was her mouth. He felt all kinds of changes going on throughout his slender form, taut body seemed to come alive as if he were a moth set to flame, sensations he hadn't felt in the longest of times, and perhaps some he hadn't even felt before. And when she beckoned him what to say, feeding him words as if he were a parrot to be caged, mimicking the hand that feeds him. "Oh Ivy..please..I..I fail to see how I could help protect you and your "children". Fear is all what I deal in. Fear and darkness, things all deadly to your..children." it really was an imploring tone, the last vestiges of his willpower to resist the beautiful silken haired siren before him, he wasn't fool enough like the other of his ilk- although he didn't consider the batman rogues his ilk- in that he knew in a logical way that the woman was not here for a love match, in fact she was seducing him for something she desired of him. Knowing her as he did, she was going to lay her cards out when he was summarily wrapped around her finger.
And despite himself that moment was fast approaching. The last ditch effort in his voice at being combative, confrontational or even just a petty contrarian were last within his tone, despite the fact that it couldn't have possibly been more clear that he was falling under the witch's spell as if it were all to easy.
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Post by POISON IVY on Oct 14, 2012 0:23:44 GMT -5
A smile meant to scorch melted onto her lips as if it were second nature especially as the one that was called Scarecrow grew more susceptible to her 'charms'. On any given day, Ivy would either grow bored of the challenge, or bored of the lack of a challenge all dependent on her mood for that particular hour. When there was no goal to latch onto, her moods changed as rapidly as Texas' confusing weather.
Having a lot more patience than usual, Ivy only smiled, it changed slightly into a smirk, as the left side of her mouth rise a fraction in her amusement. As if words could stop her, but it was still a half-hearted attempt, as she drank in his scent so close not allowing him to get away from her to breathe the dank air of the warehouse.
"Yesss...exactly." She answered him in a slow softened tone as he tried to 'reason' with her. He had managed to sum up exactly what she wanted despite what her presence was doing to his body and his mind. "I need you, Crow." She said softly once again not allowing for a moment to allow him to refuse. Ivy did need him for his expertise on the fear toxin and to some how infuse it into a particular plant that already looks rather frightening to magnify the effects to protect her children. Pamela had not lied about anything using truth and his own words to work for her.
Her arms wrapped about Jonathan's neck as she drew herself flush against his own body and met his gaze, a seductive look used by all female grifters as her lips gently hovered over his own. "Please, Crow? I promise it would be worth your while. Perhaps compensation can be considered as well." Please and thank you, more and need. Words to play on one's ego especially a masculine one. He was a villain through and through, but it did not help to give an illusion that might appeal to his ego especially after he viciously ripped apart that journalist. A gentle stroke, a tender caress to allow another to think that they were the only one, the most important figure in her life.
Those blood red lips placed the most chaste of kisses on Jonathan's lips, devoid of toxin, or mind altering hormones, to ensure that she did not fry his brain or kill him with her teasing. Then she pulled back wondering if he was curious enough for more. She wanted him completely invested before she stepped out of his comfort zone to allow him to work. The excitement of having what she wanted in her grasp teased and tantalized her, but let the Scarecrow think he was the one to create such an effect over her.
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Post by Scarecrow on Oct 14, 2012 23:13:21 GMT -5
Words like want, need, you, never those found in the vocabulary with regards to Jonathan Crane. Least of all by voice so sweet and melodic, so cherubic as that held by a one Miss Pamela Isley. Poison Ivy. And when Ivy's arms slinked around him, when gentle touch took him feeling like velvet or silk upon skin desperate and yearning for affections and attentions his mind and body seemed not his own. He could feel his heart racing and he knew he was beginning to sweat ever so slightly, she had cornered him not unlike a serpent to a rat.
His rabid palpitations and internal ruminations left a few moments of dead air between the two and as he attempted to look at the situation objectively he knew he might never be able to, not caught in the grasp of this venus fly trap, the web of the black widow woman. These ideas, these concepts, the iron clad logic of it all was a board swept clean, a slate so cleaned when she spoke those words. And he uttered them ever slightly under the hush whisper of lowered breath "Need me...you..need me?" in all honesty it sounded quite like an earnest question, as if he himself didn't believe it, and when he saw her practically convulse and realized it must be true, to be wanted by a green goddess so fair yet with such foul intent. It excited and perhaps even frightened him ever a little.
This was entirely forgotten only when she placed the most cursory, tight lipped, tight gummed church kiss on his lips, it was a kiss only in the most glancing of ways, not something licentious and certainly hardly passionate, and in truth the intelligence of Scarecrow, his incredible mind questions the sincerity of all around him that had happened since she'd walked into his humble abode. This was not his game, love, lust, seduction, nightmare, terror, vitriolic abject fear, death, phobia and darkness were what he played, what he clad himself in as if a tailor made suit. In the end of the day, even a man like Scarecrow- twisted as he was- could discuss the importance of being needed, wanted, desired; how that felt and uplifted the human psyche to greater heights and ever reaching for greater goals beyond ones self.
And despite himself, he could feel that want, that need, that desire being assuaged, no; fed now. And as she pulled away, convulsing so and undulating as she had, her impression seemingly of excitement and revelry, the Scarecrow, knowing none better and not really understanding her motives due to his lack of inquiry- and her evasive (at best) responses- had thought it might've been due to him. Though in reality, there was ever that tiny voice within his skull. It was like the Raven of his favorite Poe story, the manner in which it spoke those simple words haunted him as a child, ghostly, ghastly, ominous.
Nevermore
The rail thin arms of the Scarecrow, as if possessed by some unseen force, groped by some unseen hand, carried by a cold, cutting wind snaked around the hourglass form of the woman. And when he pulled her in it was with a strength, forcefulness and assertiveness that none might have assumed he could possibly possess without the empowerment of the mask now cast aside by jade green hands. The kiss he placed on her lips was unlike that which she gave his before, he hadn't even allowed a real breath between the two, fearing loss of the closeness, the proximity, the opportunity. His lips pressed to hers and it seemed as if every inkling, every urge, the whole of his desire was poured into this one single, solitary gesture. A lifetime of affection and urges in one single move.
And it seemed for him an eternity of warm, moist pleasure, everything he could've ever wanted and needed in that time, everything he could ever want. And when he broke it, his hands wandering as they had, resting on the most dangerous and accentuated part of her deep curved hips, he knew that he may well die any moment, and he was unsure of what had happened, and what the consequences were. It might well have seemed his inoculation had offset her toxins enough, her desire to NOT utilize them on him or a combination of both.
And as he stood there he closed his eyes tightly, expecting the great curtain fall, the hand of doom, the reaper to cut him down as wheat is so in the dead of winter that a Scarecrow would linger in the fields, overseeing his charge. And when he opened them to the realization that he wasn't seemingly dying and she had no plans in killing him for his impudence he spoke. "What would you ask of the Scarecrow?"
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Post by POISON IVY on Oct 16, 2012 0:04:58 GMT -5
As the Scarecrow seemed to relish the reactions in his subjects, to have them screaming in fear, trying to run away or even losing control of their bowels, Poison Ivy, relished the scent of heightened pheromones, the change in heat, sweaty palms, the heart beating faster as her victims’ breathing heightened as if gasping for their last breath. It was absolutely exhilarating and always managed to put her in a good mood.
Her smile deepened, warmed as she gently bit down on her lower lip to appear coy but actually inside she almost laughed. “Very much. Ever so much…” She whispered again as she nuzzled his neck with her nose hiding the smile and swallowing back the amusement that threatened to bubble out of her. If Pamela had a conscious she might have felt bad for playing Jonathan so well especially when no other manipulations were being so used. Not for one second did she actually believe he cared for her.
Once she knew that she was in control of her amusement, Poison Ivy had felt to add her finishing touch as a soft chaste kiss. Except it seemed to have unleashed a floodgate that without her knowledge as the Scarecrow wrapped his arms about her waist trapping her flush against his body and before she realized what was about to happen, he kissed her, deepening it scaring her. Her mind screamed out to kill him to end the confusion that he was creating with her as her little attempt at seduction backfired no actually strike that worked very well on Jonathan.
As one part of her almost killed the man by releasing the locks that suppress her poisonous touch that an earlier henchman had the misfortune to experience. The other half roared that it was necessary for what they wanted to protect her children. Amazingly enough, she was not completely repulsed nor did she push him away as he kissed her, it took a moment for her to respond to ensure that she did not kill him and just consider finding a new expert. There was no one other than this man who used the moniker of ‘the Scarecrow’ instilling fear into those that had wronged him to try to exert his power over them. After she was sure that she had full control of herself, Pamela closed her eyes, and kissed him, tasting him, drinking in the need and want to try to appease years of being alone in that one all-consuming kiss.
Thinking back on it, Pamela was not entirely sure how, Jonathan survived it, but it might have been his inoculations, or her desire to keep him alive long enough to get what she wanted, or some unknown force that she did not want to being to dive into. The woman even managed to not tense up or give a look of disgust as his hands began to wander and eventually found their place upon her hips. “Your expertise, Crow, I need your fear toxin to survive in a child of mine, so she can be a guardian to my children to scare those that wish to harm them wherever they are planted.” She finally said as he asked wondering if any further detail was needed. Pamela had steeled herself against being held too closely. It was her game. She had started it, and it was necessary to see it to the end.
Pamela allowed him to draw his own conclusions, but she did not want to add that she had tried for many months just to have it constantly fail in one experiment or another. So let him think that she had just woken up one morning with the idea in her head and that it was a good idea at that. Whatever it took to get what she wanted even if she had to endure his constant affection as she smiled warmly and looked deeply into his eyes.
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Post by Scarecrow on Oct 17, 2012 0:39:26 GMT -5
When the Scarecrow relented it was as if he'd had his own ingenious idea. He stroked his chin for but a moment and perhaps to her eternal delight his hand returned to his hair as he raked it a bit, sweeping wispy feathery hair from his eyes as he started to ponder deeply, something of his "method" to help him think clearly, ruminating as she spoke. "Scare? that is my name my dear but perhaps you've been mistaking my intent...you see..." the smirk he seemed, the gaze he took upon him, imbuing his form, he was far more Scarecrow than man, than Jonathan Crane as an unerring darkness took his voice and manner.
"Computer. Activate all monitors. I don't just scare people Ivy. I scare them to death!" with that a good hundred or so monitors flickered to life and surveillance feeds of all manner of victim, "patients" being exposed to his fear drug in various cells about the premises. In nearly every single one the victims exposed to the toxin were maiming themselves, screaming of their fears, be they spiders, snakes, closed in spaces, heights, it didn't particularly matter, often times they simply scratched at themselves until they'd lost enough blood to exsanguinate. Other times they would collide with the wall in an attempt to run from their fears in a hallucinogenic stupor state, the skulls of more than a few caving in and blood and bone splattered around the cell in a sickening manner. Some even became so terribly frightened they clawed out their own eyes rather than see what their body told them was all around them, or vomited up vital internal organs out of fright or simply slipping into cardiac arrest. More than a few painfully convulsed so violently their backs broke along with rib cages and other bones, turning their bones into spears inside their very bodies and skewering their insides. As he looked to the computer screens again his eyes, his gaze seemed so gentle, perhaps, even with a clinical feel to them. And yet, he suddenly broke out into a giddy, giggling laughter, as if a child caught doing something his parents hadn't wanted him to. And then from there it only escalated until it was near maniacal.
The Scarecrow continued, even without the mask gentle, meek Jonathan Crane was gone and something entirely dark and frightening had taken his place, continuing "If I were to do this for you Doctor, to create for you my Pièce de résistance, a terrible thing so fearsome it's visage alone would turn men into caterwauling, cowering children. In it's grasp they would die of fright while thanking their impotent God for deliverance from such a terror.., A word of warning...the bastard child of our sciences I create will take you places. It may well be places you don't want to go... I can give you fear." and when he drew his hand to her chin, cupping it so there was a layer of meaning, as he whispered the final words to her, a poignant and pervasive aspect of his tone that may well have made it feel ever more enticing and yet disconcerting to be heard.
It might well seem as he flooded the area with the noises and images of horror and death that he was testing her resolve and her stomach, if he were to give her access to his greatest of creations, his magnum opus, he didn't want her shirking from what it was used for. His fear gas was not a toy, not a gimmick like the likes of laughing gas, or anti gravity boots. What he made was fear incarnate, fear in a bottle that he stopped, plugged, measured and injected.
"But the question is...what can you give me? again his voice changed, this time far more congenial, neutral, benign as if they were discussing that which was far more practical and his temperament far more shrewd. [/font]
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