It's not easy being green (arrival - open to anyone)
(ooc note: may contain adult situations)
Spandex was so uncomfortable. It was tight and it didn't breathe properly, but Pamela Isley (also listed under the alias Poison Ivy on her record) was no longer permitted to wear fibers made of organic materials. After her last escape from Arkham had been traced back to her ability to stimulate the regrowth of the inert organic fibers her uniform had contained, Isley was no longer permitted to have access to materials which were plant based. Which now also meant, no books, no magazines, no comfortable clothing to wear, no soft blankets, and certainly, under no circumstances, was she allowed to go outside for her daily exercise. Though unusual, they were all necessary precautions set in place in order to prevent another bamboo forest from rising up overnight in the east wing of Gotham's infamous mental insinuation.
But it was also cruel. Pamela was like a plant left in the dark, forgotten and wilting. Only a few orderlies were trained to take care of her, and even then, they had to wear specialized petroleum based uniforms and kept their contact limited. Recently they had begun her on a specialized diet of what could only be described as highly processed food cubes. She had been assured that her meals had all the nutritional value a normal human needed, but it felt like a backhanded insult to her condition, as she was not a normal human. The diet of course was masked as research into finding her a cure, by detoxifying all plant matter from her body - but in truth, it seemed they were just afraid to allow Isley around vegetables, no matter how mashed or over-cooked the asylum cafeteria happened to prepare them.
It was noon and time for her ... feeding. The steel door in her otherwise concrete enclosure opened, the familiar orderlies entered, one with her lunch tray and the other with a syringe filled with vinegar as both a warning and assurance that she would be complacent. To someone else it might be a poor-mans way of getting their injection fix, but for Isley, it was a toxin, a plant killer - a painful and uncomfortable way to subdue her.
The masked orderly placed her metal lunch try on the floor, then took a step back, next to his co-worker, neither of them turning their backs on the beautiful, unassumingly dangerous woman. Isley however waited until they pulled the door closed and locked her in again, leaving her to her lunch before she made a move towards the try. Picking up a peach-colored food cube, she hesitantly pushed it into her mouth. Working her tongue over the stale tasting food pellet, she coughed and gagged as the ash left a dry feeling in her mouth and throat.
Kicking the tray against the concrete wall, Isley had no intention of submitting herself or her body to such a nauseous irritation, "I am not your personal science experiment!" she yelled within her sound proof cage and fell back against the wall in famished exhaustion, slowly sliding down the cold surface until she was sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around her herself. This place was killing her. No plants or plant matter, no sunlight and no rain - just the darkness of her man-made world. She imagined that this was how it felt to be a flower, pressed between the pages of a book - starved of everything it needs to survive. She would die in this place, as just another intern's research project. And so she cried. She mourned her loss, as she would never be able to save her favorite flowers or cherished trees from the further exploits of mankind - and they couldn't save her, either. Not in this place.
Yet when Pamela next opened her teary eyes, her unfocused vision sharpened quickly on a familiar sight - a tree. What had once been a concrete wall was now a walnut tree. Perhaps it was one of The Mad Hatter's dreamscapes, but for Isley, it was a fond illusion. Wrapping her arms around the familiar tree bark, Isley embraced the tree like an old friend. Tilting her head up, Isley starred at the strong branches and the fluttering leaves as afternoon sunlight filtered down, brightening her face. Immediately nourished by the sunlight and the familiar, slow and steady pulse of life she could sense radiating from the very heart of the walnut tree, Isley realized this was no dream.
But that posed an interesting question. If not a dream or an illusion, then how did she get here? Who would have the ability or insight to save her from her artificial cage? But not only that, deliver her to where she had wished to be most, surrounded by her beloved trees. Pressing her cheek against the base of the handsome walnut tree, Isley closed her eyes with a slight frown as she thought - whoever it was, they should consider it act of compassion to her cause, and nothing more, because she certainly wasn't going to allow herself to be used. She was free.
Coming to terms with her sudden liberation, Isley quickly tore off her synthetic hospital uniform with glee and laid herself out on the grass completely naked, enjoying the sunlight as it warmed her soul, giving life where concrete walls had taken it away. During this time the almost translucent membrane of her skin began to regain its color. Absorbing the proteins and blanketed by the comforting embrace of wild grasses brushing over her body, Pamela Isley was going green once more.
Spandex was so uncomfortable. It was tight and it didn't breathe properly, but Pamela Isley (also listed under the alias Poison Ivy on her record) was no longer permitted to wear fibers made of organic materials. After her last escape from Arkham had been traced back to her ability to stimulate the regrowth of the inert organic fibers her uniform had contained, Isley was no longer permitted to have access to materials which were plant based. Which now also meant, no books, no magazines, no comfortable clothing to wear, no soft blankets, and certainly, under no circumstances, was she allowed to go outside for her daily exercise. Though unusual, they were all necessary precautions set in place in order to prevent another bamboo forest from rising up overnight in the east wing of Gotham's infamous mental insinuation.
But it was also cruel. Pamela was like a plant left in the dark, forgotten and wilting. Only a few orderlies were trained to take care of her, and even then, they had to wear specialized petroleum based uniforms and kept their contact limited. Recently they had begun her on a specialized diet of what could only be described as highly processed food cubes. She had been assured that her meals had all the nutritional value a normal human needed, but it felt like a backhanded insult to her condition, as she was not a normal human. The diet of course was masked as research into finding her a cure, by detoxifying all plant matter from her body - but in truth, it seemed they were just afraid to allow Isley around vegetables, no matter how mashed or over-cooked the asylum cafeteria happened to prepare them.
It was noon and time for her ... feeding. The steel door in her otherwise concrete enclosure opened, the familiar orderlies entered, one with her lunch tray and the other with a syringe filled with vinegar as both a warning and assurance that she would be complacent. To someone else it might be a poor-mans way of getting their injection fix, but for Isley, it was a toxin, a plant killer - a painful and uncomfortable way to subdue her.
The masked orderly placed her metal lunch try on the floor, then took a step back, next to his co-worker, neither of them turning their backs on the beautiful, unassumingly dangerous woman. Isley however waited until they pulled the door closed and locked her in again, leaving her to her lunch before she made a move towards the try. Picking up a peach-colored food cube, she hesitantly pushed it into her mouth. Working her tongue over the stale tasting food pellet, she coughed and gagged as the ash left a dry feeling in her mouth and throat.
Kicking the tray against the concrete wall, Isley had no intention of submitting herself or her body to such a nauseous irritation, "I am not your personal science experiment!" she yelled within her sound proof cage and fell back against the wall in famished exhaustion, slowly sliding down the cold surface until she was sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around her herself. This place was killing her. No plants or plant matter, no sunlight and no rain - just the darkness of her man-made world. She imagined that this was how it felt to be a flower, pressed between the pages of a book - starved of everything it needs to survive. She would die in this place, as just another intern's research project. And so she cried. She mourned her loss, as she would never be able to save her favorite flowers or cherished trees from the further exploits of mankind - and they couldn't save her, either. Not in this place.
Yet when Pamela next opened her teary eyes, her unfocused vision sharpened quickly on a familiar sight - a tree. What had once been a concrete wall was now a walnut tree. Perhaps it was one of The Mad Hatter's dreamscapes, but for Isley, it was a fond illusion. Wrapping her arms around the familiar tree bark, Isley embraced the tree like an old friend. Tilting her head up, Isley starred at the strong branches and the fluttering leaves as afternoon sunlight filtered down, brightening her face. Immediately nourished by the sunlight and the familiar, slow and steady pulse of life she could sense radiating from the very heart of the walnut tree, Isley realized this was no dream.
But that posed an interesting question. If not a dream or an illusion, then how did she get here? Who would have the ability or insight to save her from her artificial cage? But not only that, deliver her to where she had wished to be most, surrounded by her beloved trees. Pressing her cheek against the base of the handsome walnut tree, Isley closed her eyes with a slight frown as she thought - whoever it was, they should consider it act of compassion to her cause, and nothing more, because she certainly wasn't going to allow herself to be used. She was free.
Coming to terms with her sudden liberation, Isley quickly tore off her synthetic hospital uniform with glee and laid herself out on the grass completely naked, enjoying the sunlight as it warmed her soul, giving life where concrete walls had taken it away. During this time the almost translucent membrane of her skin began to regain its color. Absorbing the proteins and blanketed by the comforting embrace of wild grasses brushing over her body, Pamela Isley was going green once more.