Fright Night (Pamela)

[Scarecrow]

It had been months now, months and he knew the suspicion hadn't shifted. Despite the figure that now found her way to his seat as he affixed the winsor pin stripe tie he wore. It had been such a long time since he'd worn such a thing, even in his most prestigious and accomplished, esteemed though he was for a time in the academic world, recipient of so many high level honors and degrees, he'd never worn a tailor made suit in his life. And now, with the recent return of his freedom, his license and even given a prestigious position at Arkham Asylum it was as if he were a new man. The sepulcher black suit, the tie tucked in to the sweater so neatly, his form impeccable hid something as if he wore the mask he had donned so long ago, the Scarecrow.

But no, all he wore now out of the ordinary were the glasses, which he affixed on the bridge of his nose, long broken many a time by the muscled hand of the caped crusader. "I don't believe that to be a fair assessment of my legal situation miss Vale. If you'd read my book you'd know that any and all ties to the Scarecrow, all documentation therein and any other various and sundry inflammatory; quote unquote; evidence is nothing more than the concoction of a sick mind. I am a leading mind in my field, an academician with high honors in multiple sciences and now a best selling author. I find it quite frankly...absurd that one might take the word of a man who is the equivalent of Gotham's own Spring Heeled Jack over my own. And somewhat insulting. Tying a man to a telephone pole doesn't pass for guilty in a court of law in this country. Nor should it. As for the allegations of witness and juror tampering, the medical examiner found no trace of the toxins I alledgedly use to affect my "victims" And I feel this line of questioning has run it's course. You were invited here under the auspices of an interview about my book." Jonathan realized that he'd allowed a bit of the Scarecrow to overtake his better jusgement as he spoke to her, calmly enough and measured, but enough of his other self to be frightening.

His attempts at a smile were half hearted and certainly came out that way. Finally it came when he thought of how he'd fooled everyone, between his scheming with Jane Doe impersonating the judge at sentencing, his new and improved near undetectable fear toxin on the jury and witnesses, how unfortunate that so many witnesses were too frightened to testify, and that the jury was brow beaten to a not guilty verdict. There it was. Again. A warm gaze and smile.

Finally the thunderous wrapping came upon his chamber door, and he flung the door to see the tower of a dark man that was officer Cash, he spoke then attempting to be magnanimous but the exasperation evident in his tone. "Officer Cash.. This is most irregular I'm on my lunch break. I gave very specific instructions about not being disturbed." the glassy look, the fright yet the clear air of arousal meant there was but one person that had been difficult and that they needed his assistance with.

He mouthed the words in a growling hiss Ivy. He knew what she was like, what she could do and would given the chance. "You'll have to excuse me Miss Vale, no rest for the wicked, or so I'm told." and with that he stalked down those dank halls, a light flickered over Poison Ivy's cell, he walked to the glass window and pressed the button, allowing him to be heard, affixing his tie ever so, and his glasses as it were.

"Doctor Isley. How are you? I had heard you're refusing to talk to Dr Windham and Dr Sinner. I thought we could bandy words." again an attempt at being congenial, he hated Ivy's enclosure, as the slight reflection fell on him he looked to the soft gaze he had behind those glasses, he could picture his grandmother telling him how he had the devil's eyes, a sinner's eyes, she'd threaten to poke them out with her knitting needles if he looked to her casually. He looked to his brown zippered notebook with varying notes on this particular case, never feeling that the face reflected as his own.

[POISON IVY]

There was so much that had happened since Jonathan left her that Halloween card, but he never came for a visit. Granted she did not go out of her way to invite him back. She had considered it a few times, but figured he just did not want to see her especially when she had stated that she never wanted to see him again. Despite being the goddess of the Green, it annoyed her so much that he could not pick up a damn phone and talk to her even if it was to just say hello or even see how well their children were thriving.

She had named one Audrey II the other Seymour after the Little Shop of Horror. It seemed fitting and brought a small smile to her face until the month went by when she never received a call or visit. It was after the third month when she watched the news of Jonathan writing a book, turned in on trial just to be deemed not guilty and given a position at Arkham Asylum. The whole thing stunk like a pile of rotting garbage.

Then she was captured and shipped off to Arkham Asylum for a vacation. Of course, some might think it odd, but often times she got captured only because she wanted to check on her gardens on the island. She would never be there for very long always having some sort of contingency plan in Harley, or her own ingenuity. Poison Ivy would never admit she went to Arkham Asylum this time to check on the new and improved Jonathan Crane. Her ego would not let her admit that she was curious. There was also that hurt, and resentment that was being cultivated since the first month she had not heard from him.

It was about the third day of her arrival as she settled down in old routines. The doctors were a bore and she had not had any opportunity to even catch a glimpse of the new addition to Arkham Aslyum. That pissed her off and her patience had already been stretched enough to consider murdering someone. Funny. Insane eco-terrorist that does not have a care for humanity considering murder. [Wow, tough crowd.] Perhaps due to her upset had her a bit more insane than usual.

It was however fun to use the various doctors as outlets of that pent up emotion that was threatening to boil over. Some days it was the ignore game; other days were ruined with temper tantrums. None of it ever took her anywhere. There was one simple mishap, and the Officer uhm, Officer Cash had to get a little bit hasty, and there he was.

He looked good in the immaculate outfit. Not something she ever recalled seeing him in or ever considered wearing something so alluring. The sweater, the tie, she knew it was all a ploy. Even the glasses were all for this disguise, but why, to throw away everything that he had worked for to become…this. A slow smile appeared as her stance changed advancing towards the glass window that meant to keep her in. His voice greeted her and the smile deepened in amusement as it seemed the doctors were swapping notes.

“Jonathan Crane, as I live and breathe.” She remarked softly as she wrapped her arms about her midsection. “What do you think we have to talk about?” She asked. Seeing him in such a state of order had her trying to re-calibrate what she knew to what she saw. A disguise. The anger was slightly diffused and she could not do much with him being on the other side of the glass. “Does that pool of doctors have some sort of bet going to see if they can get me to ‘open up’?”

[Scarecrow]

Jonathan Crane's stare was somewhat more than pensive when he gazed to his notes, pulling back a sheet with ever voluminous writings on whatever patient and topic he so was attending currently- in this case Pamela Isley- there was a a horrific scribble, doodles after his immaculate notes, but pages away, drawings of jack-o-lantern monsters, snakes, spiders, headless horsemen, dragons, demons, and most prominently, scarecrows. Pages and pages of it, a scrap book of depravity, notebook of horror, a grimoire of the grand guignol, all that was horrific in his mind in one horrific tome..his own personal Necronomicon.

Of course he had been sure to camouflage it in well to do, tidy and immaculate, intricate notes for any of his varying cases. Ironically his short tenure had proven him a more than capable mind in the academia and area of study he'd long since left, bringing a few of the lesser minds within to some measure of catharsis, none of which would last, and this he knew, and it was all he could do to not smirk when he thought of what he'd unleashed on those hapless, pedestrian Gothamites. Ever did his disguise fool them, and when he laughed a little under his breath his tone was more that of the Scarecrow than Jonathan Crane, a transformation he sought, as Jekyll and Hyde, to forgo. "You've been grossly misinformed about the intelligence and ability of my supposed colleagues. PHDs are hardly a lively lot Doctor Isley. Not playful enough to bet on the outcome of our little chat."

When he gazed to her there was a peering, as if the Scarecrow looked at him from the abyssal pools of darkness that were Jonathan Crane's eyes, and he pushed his frames up his nose once more as they wriggled a bit. He continued congenially, if somewhat clinically unabated "I'd like to talk about whatever you'd like. What would make that possible Doctor?" with that he reached beyond the pin he wore on his lapel. It's orange, smiling face, though small and unassuming stuck out something of a sore thumb on the dark suit he donned, and when he reached his breast pocket he produced a lollipop and some candy corn, the latter of which he chewed a bit. It was something of a habit, despite having pristine whites he'd incurred quite the sweet tooth in his time as the Scarecrow.

As he looked to Ivy though his mind thought of the genesis of his plans, he considered the fan mail that had been tossed about in his office, how many love letters and pictures he'd gotten from "adoring fans" that angered and confused and confounded him beyond words. He was the Scarecrow! Master of fear! He was not meant to be loved or lusted after! He was to be feared! When he'd heard he now had a larger fan following than Manson, having received the letters in his time incarcerated in these walls he knew what he could do, what he had to do. A "tell all" book. Sure as the sunrise it had topped the best seller's lists and very soon the world would learn to fear him. In the midnight hours he'd skulked off to the incinerator with those letters, keeping a few about to make himself seem like the dutiful and resplendent author addressing his fan base.

The woman who's face he was thinking of from the countless pictures he'd been sent was less attractive than those of Poison Ivy, but of whom shared some of the passing similarities. That Jonathan felt himself feeling such an emotion he quickly broke their gaze in the guise of looking to his notebook, had it been nonchalant, he might've made the movement more believable. As it was the knee jerk reaction as if she'd blown him a kiss he'd given would have to do.

[POISON IVY]

Poison Ivy started to undo the hideous orange jump suit as if she was suddenly uncomfortably hot. A white tank top was revealed and tight managing to accentuate her generous curves and decolletage. It was all an act to sweeten the pot with honey hiding her true emotions that bubbled and boiled just below the surface.

Just then her palms pressed against the glass as she then pressed her verdant body fully against it so he would look less at his notes and more at her antics as if daring him to look up. She began to undulate against the glass and did not stop until she caught his abyssal gaze once more. She wondered what he hid upon those pages of paper, catching glimpses of scribbling that had a perfectly sculpted brow raised placing a gentle smile upon her green lips.

The smile only deepened as he answered her, her eyes gleamed as she saw the rogue in disguise as an upstanding citizen but far from it. “Perhaps I have.” She purred going along with what may have been an ego trip, but knowing full well how pretentious and pompous many people tend to be that had PHD following their full names.

“You were never afraid of me before were you?” She started to bait him. “This change has you taking precautions even from me?” She asked softly before she pressed her temple against the cool glass looking almost sad and hurt. The smile was suppressed as she caught his reaction his attempt at nonchalance as he looked back to his notebook wondering if he would be able to find his confidence while fortifying his nerves.

She wanted him to chew on her words as she wrapped her arms about her mid-section and deeper into her cell. Ivy gave him just enough to wonder what she would do next, but what she did next was to ignore even him after such a blatant display to stir him up. She lackadaisically turned about as if bored of the game and him. She then stretched out and lay upon the cot they called a bed and turned her back to him. “Go away, Crane. I only want to speak to Crow.” The words dismissed him as her hand waved him in a similar dismissal purposely putting her back towards a predator. She knew that behaving superior towards the newly changed man would either make him bite, leave, or something even more delicious.

[Scarecrow]

The erstwhile gaze of the Scarecrow...no...of Jonathan Crane had fallen to the yellow lined pad of his notebook and the varying "notes" within, almost sheepishly deviating from the Green Goddess within as if he were afraid of her. It was an insane, inane, poppycock notion to think that he was afraid of anyone, anything; this; the man, the god of fear, it's master and shaper, and even if he no longer claimed that titulary he certainly proclaimed himself the most ardent and knowledgeable mind on the subject of fear.

She knew how to press his buttons and at first it looked as if he felt saddened by the words she assailed at him, warmed and depressed by her as she pressed against the glass and seemed ever so hurt by the fact that he would not have a more personalized meeting with her. His brow quirked and furrowed, his gaze flickering with a certain very base hunger as she so undulated before him. He would never admit to it and he hid it quite well, such was the way of things when one was raised by an abusive, repressive centenarian who's idea of discipline was sicking pet blood thirsty crows on him. Hiding one's emotions had been a necessity, a way of life for him, he was a master of looking cold and unconcerned, inconsiderate. Yet there was a part of him who suspected, knew that she probably saw through his shields, the walls he erected as if they were made of corning glass.

He slammed the glass with an emaciated fist and pressed it against said glass, high over tall body and dark tressed head, he let out a "Afraid of you?! I'm not afraid of you! I'm not afraid of anyone!" first he sounded indignant, indignant turned to disgust, disgust to outright livid anger. And after his momentary eruption he affixed his glasses, pushing them up his nose and then his gaze became as obsequious and vanilla as his mesmerizing voice when he affixed his tie and blazer.

"I apologize. I'm afraid..-poor choice of words- While I might not be afraid of you, the doctors who set the protocols for your care are. It's highly inappropriate for me to be tainted by contact." his voice was measured and clinical, not entirely cold but certainly not caring, or rather, he wouldn't admit he cared what she thought of him, nor could he explain why he would.

There was something even moreso seething within as she spoke and he seemed to be fiddling with something as he craned his form and attempted to converse with her, only to be resoundingly rejected, a feeling he was all too familiar with and not fond of by any means. When she did though he let out a breath and walked to the door with a vivid purpose, the guard stalking to flank him "You can't doctor. It's against the rules."

Another breath of exasperation as he pressed his fingers to his frames. "Mister Cash. You're a what? 12 year man? I don't believe for a second that you believe I'm rehabilitated, so this is a best case scenario for you. Our little congress could certainly end in the death of a rogue." he let out a low sardonic thanks as the man side stepped, his grimace turning to a smirk at the thought, as Jonathan Crane stepped into the cell.

His voice was perhaps ever slightly so snarky or playful when he spoke with her, pulling a metallic chair to her "Have a seat with me. If you insist on being difficult I won't give you your present." there was a good measure of mischief ever so apparent in his voice, as if he had some foul or devilish intent when he spoke of the present his words might be chilling, exciting, cold and calculating, and ever so disingenuous all in one simple statement. He removed his glasses and began to clean them with a white handkerchief with all manner of decorum, his leg crossed pensively.

[POISON IVY]

Any faint of amusement was squelched to play the man that stood behind the glass. Everything she ended up doing was personal, but when it came to the Green and the destruction that the greedy humans did was vastly different to how she wanted to take care of the former Scarecrow. He was not fooling her for a second as she studied him as well as she would have first as an object of desire and then as a bug. The way he shifted his gaze back to his notes as if he wanted to hide behind what he drew on the pad as if it would save him from her. Did he want to be saved and to actually be reformed? No, the idea was toyed with for a half a second before it was discarded recalling a moment that they had spent months trying to perfect Audrey just so he could try to double cross her with Seymour.

Ivy did not need to be on the other side of the glass to know how much she managed to affect him even as he tried to ignore her antics. A reaction of sadness, and warmth as well as his brow quirking and furrowing as he tried to be as unreadable as he could possibly be. Maybe it was all signs she read in her mind hoping that she did leave such an impression on him as he managed to do within her or she would not have even bothered being angry, upset and hoping to hurt him as he did by neglecting her.

The coldness could have frosted her innards, but she was good at ignoring things especially when she ultimately got what she wanted. In this case, the ‘good’ doctor slammed the glass with a fist as she peaked his anger, his voice raised in anger, disgust, indignation and it tasted absolutely delicious causing a shiver down her spine having moved away from the glass not allowing the vibration startle her or hurt her at the displacement. Fish probably hated it when people tapped the glass, rogues are no better. At his display, she laughed knowing that it would rise those rankles further for him to forget being wary of her.

Her lips almost curled in her own rage as he tossed out the word ‘tainted’ feeling that there was a double meaning that was supposed to personally jab her as she was playing on his own ego. She licked her lips in response, but she smirked and winked, “I never heard your complaints when we were close, when you kissed me and you were tasting my nectar.”

Her response to treat him as if he was as lowly and insignificant as all of the other ‘doctors’ she rejected earlier was all a part of getting what she wanted. Whether she heard the conversation outside between Crane and the guard, she paid no attention acting as if she already dismissed them as if she were a queen and they lower than her mere subjects. A nice touch, and easy enough to hide everything stretched out on the cot.

Mmmmm, yes Jonathan, come inside, a little closer. Let me show you how exactly I am feeling...

The sensual smile curled her lips as she lazed about when she heard him give up his little scheme. She ignored the sound of the cell door opening and someone stepping inside. It was only when she heard him asking her to have a seat and hearing a metallic chair being pulled up did she turn about as slick as a predatory feline. Against another chill shuddered through her at his mischievous voice, his demeanor changed and the promise of a present. How could she resist, but this was on her terms for now and she wanted him to know exactly the state he left her in.

She ignored the chair that he brought over for her and instead she boldly uncrossed his legs and sat on his lap. “Jonathan, it has been way too long.” Poison Ivy purred softly, but there was a sting to her voice making it almost sound like a growl. “You never visited, nor did you write.” She became further angry as her legs locked his, and her arms encircled his neck. “You did not even bother to ask after our children. How do you think I actually...feel?” The last came out harsh and a growl as she licked his cheek letting him know that she could have killed him as soon as he entered the room.

[Scarecrow]

Doctor Jonathan Crane had, as all medical professionals, engaged in an extensive residency and spent more than his fair share of time amongst psychotics, sadists, the mentally and physically ill and the reprobates and general undesirables of society. As such he knew a predatory glance when one was shot in his direction; he knew a fair smirk masking fouler intent. In short, he seemed to realize the lion’s den he was walking into and yet consciously made the effort to put himself in the way of physical harm. It was not his modus operandi. Not usual for him in any way, he was one of the more calculating and cautious of rogues, so what was his game? None could be seen as he seemed naught but a rag doll as she went about him, “Doctor this is most inappropriate.” He said as she mounted his lap. Her lips were so close to him, so silken and pillowy, red as the twilight of the sun in the evening sky. Her hair had some odor that he couldn’t quite place, all the most pleasing fragrances of nature seemed to be intertwined within the rope of her hair, flowing down with such a brilliant sanguine it could never be matched, even by the most grievous of lacerations. There was a part of him so tantalized, so needful of just a touch, a breath of her scent.

Synonymously, If the man had been capable of fear as he was of lust and manic, abject psychosis he certainly would have felt it as being in the embrace of Poison Ivy could mean only the most horrific of deaths imaginable should she so wish it, and with most men, that was exactly what she wished. His head titled ever slightly to the side as he felt her tongue and first grimaced and his eyes seemed to flutter ever so, he attempted to busy himself by affixing the glasses upon the bridge of his nose but her statement seemed enough to intrigue him enough to furrow a darkened brow. “I sent you a lovely little treat after a somewhat….ill-advised..trick I was under the distinct impression that should I..erm…visit. You would be less than hospitable. Dare I say your temper can be as firey as your locks, Doctor. But you’re looking wonderful. ” His voice was not entirely cold nor clinical, the latter of which seemed the slightest of pleasantries in an attempt to quell a woman scorned. It carried none of the most telling emotion of a human in danger, one that this man did not feel. But that which he worshiped and understood intrinsically and elaborately.

Fear.

“I imagine you feel hurt, betrayed, inadequate, but I’m also well aware you aren’t afraid of me, and that given your sizable..endowments you could end my life in the most heinous of ways.” Even when talking of his own death there seemed to be no trace of true emotion from him that might be akin to terror, no sweat, no hyperventilation, not even a flutter in his heart beat.

In actuality, it seemed as if he were stating cold, hard facts, as if he were discussing the weather or current events. A light smile, twisted as he was capable of, but clearly tied down and elusive as the man himself came forth when he returned the favor, he whispered in her ear the most teasing, and what he imagined might be tantalizing- or perhaps, might be to one such as Ivy, frightening to anyone who might consider themselves a shade of normal- “Now all you have to do is ask yourself why would I..knowing this…play right into your hands..Perhaps I have something ever so wonderful for you.” it was almost as if he were whispering to her as a child did to the most coveted and vaunted, naughty little secret. If she knew him, behind the warm and inviting eyes and the cold stare, the clinical look that was immaculate and sterile, something brewed within the man. Something wicked this way comes.

[POISON IVY]

“Inappropriate? You entering my windowed room is inappropriate, Jonathan.” Pamela quipped back still seeing more of the man than the beast that she knew him to be. There was a mixture of rage and sexual tension that made her want to rip him apart for having not called or written. It warred in her mind knowing that one kiss would make a corpse out of him knowing that he could not be inoculated against all of her poisons, toxins, and whatever vileness that lurked and roiled inside of her changed body. So she was exuding a bit more pheromones than usual, but she was upset feeling quite the jilted lover after ‘all’ they had been through.

She played with fire knowing that she would feel some remorse if the bastard died, but his reaction to her tasting him made her hesitate. As he tried to re-align himself, affixing his glasses back upon his nose after she displaced them to tilt. Did she lose him completely? Still on her lap, she looked at him, listened to him slowing down her manic and homicidal mind.

His reason put a frown on her face remembering the letter and he gave her custody of their children generated from each of their expertise. She thought to herself that she would not have hurt him if he came to visit and a few times she would ensure that she looked ravishing in the hopes that he would visit. He never did and as the months went by with no word or any interest, she grew angrier at the neglect lovely little treat pushed aside as she felt abandoned. Not that she was developing a co-dependency of the tall Scarecrow. No, she felt that if he took this long to neglect her it would be easy enough to end his life and career at least to make her feel better and then perhaps a tiny ounce of remorse when she could see beyond the murderous haze.

Then he complimented her and she hesitated again wondering what game he was playing. He was shrinking her. She settled upon that as she listened to his words and nuzzled his cheek and neck. “As long as you know that and will make amends,” she purred softly as she whispered in his ear and then promptly bit his earlobe but not hard enough to draw blood.

It was when he drew even closer to embrace her and to whisper in her ear that had her hesitate and tense for a third time during the conversation’s start. “Wonderful?” She said more to herself than to him as she pulled away from him to meet his eyes. “A surprise? A present?” She asked happily, her eyes lighting up with glee as curiosity enveloped her overshadowing the earlier wrath that had been accumulating during the months of neglect.