PerfectPoison
Dust
- Joined
- Nov 1, 2010
((This is an RP involving Poison Ivy from the Batman universe. You'll be expected to play a few characters, though no more than one at a time if you feel uncomfortable. ))
Poison Ivy was a goddess. Flaming locks of auburn hair fell from the top of her head to her shoulder blades, hypnotic forest green eyes gazed seductively out into the world around her, and inviting lips painted to match her eyes smiled coyly as they led men and women alike to their death. Her beautiful head was supported by a svelte neck that rested atop her slender and round shoulders. Lower still rested her bountiful balcony, incurved waist, and rounded hips. Her midsection had been reshaped into this enticing figure eight during her transformation from the plain and meek Pamela Isley more years ago than she cared to admit.
The change was for the better, and not just physically. Pamela Isley was weak, timid, easily manipulated and ultimately doomed to death for these failing traits. As Poison Ivy she knew power that she once thought impossible. Where Pamela trembled and obeyed the will of man Ivy commanded respect and bent men to her will. No longer the puppet, Ivy was the master. The change was for the better, though sadly the staff at Arkham didn’t agree.
They, along with that wretched bat, thought she was crazy. They heedlessly locked her away with the true criminals and lunatics. They were ignorant, but she could not forgive them. She had attempted to help them see the truth many times, but the human race refused. Who wants to listen to the ramblings of mad Pamela Isley? No, that’s not who she was anymore. She was Poison Ivy, and as Ivy she would change the world. Starting tonight. With the help of a few select people.
Clad now in the orange jumpsuit that Arkham called its uniform Ivy followed in line with the other new and returning victims of the horrid establishment. There were guards on either side of her, but up ahead she spied her prize. Her favorite guard brought a smile to her lips. Such a willing candidate for her love dust was hard to find, so she had done all she could to keep this one close. Even without her love dust she knew she would catch the guard’s eye, she always did. As she passed she gave the guard in question a wink and pursed her lips together to blow a kiss. The guard on her right, one of her least favorites, shoved her when he noticed this and barked “Behave Isley.” Ivy shot the man a glare for using her slave name, but did as he instructed until she was released of his custody.
After processing the two guards led Ivy to her cell. The room with bare brick walls contained one bed suspended against the wall and a window with bars on it. She didn’t bother looking out the window, the dark gray view of Gotham always depressed her. This city was not green. Not yet. Ivy sauntered across the familiar room and set herself down on the bed. She was already in the process of filling the room with her pheromones, to give it a homey touch. Her cell soon filled with a light pink mist designed to dull the senses and focus attention on she who released it. She released it into the air through her pores, though for a faster dose she could exhale the sweet smell at a moment's notice.
Her dinner would arrive soon, she knew as moonlight filled her cell. Surely her favorite guard would insist he get the pleasure of serving her meal. This place, and the people in it, were the same as they ever were. With a little provocation the previously mentioned guard would be her willing servant, as always. If her plans executed without a flaw she would escape by sunrise.
Poison Ivy was a goddess. Flaming locks of auburn hair fell from the top of her head to her shoulder blades, hypnotic forest green eyes gazed seductively out into the world around her, and inviting lips painted to match her eyes smiled coyly as they led men and women alike to their death. Her beautiful head was supported by a svelte neck that rested atop her slender and round shoulders. Lower still rested her bountiful balcony, incurved waist, and rounded hips. Her midsection had been reshaped into this enticing figure eight during her transformation from the plain and meek Pamela Isley more years ago than she cared to admit.
The change was for the better, and not just physically. Pamela Isley was weak, timid, easily manipulated and ultimately doomed to death for these failing traits. As Poison Ivy she knew power that she once thought impossible. Where Pamela trembled and obeyed the will of man Ivy commanded respect and bent men to her will. No longer the puppet, Ivy was the master. The change was for the better, though sadly the staff at Arkham didn’t agree.
They, along with that wretched bat, thought she was crazy. They heedlessly locked her away with the true criminals and lunatics. They were ignorant, but she could not forgive them. She had attempted to help them see the truth many times, but the human race refused. Who wants to listen to the ramblings of mad Pamela Isley? No, that’s not who she was anymore. She was Poison Ivy, and as Ivy she would change the world. Starting tonight. With the help of a few select people.
Clad now in the orange jumpsuit that Arkham called its uniform Ivy followed in line with the other new and returning victims of the horrid establishment. There were guards on either side of her, but up ahead she spied her prize. Her favorite guard brought a smile to her lips. Such a willing candidate for her love dust was hard to find, so she had done all she could to keep this one close. Even without her love dust she knew she would catch the guard’s eye, she always did. As she passed she gave the guard in question a wink and pursed her lips together to blow a kiss. The guard on her right, one of her least favorites, shoved her when he noticed this and barked “Behave Isley.” Ivy shot the man a glare for using her slave name, but did as he instructed until she was released of his custody.
After processing the two guards led Ivy to her cell. The room with bare brick walls contained one bed suspended against the wall and a window with bars on it. She didn’t bother looking out the window, the dark gray view of Gotham always depressed her. This city was not green. Not yet. Ivy sauntered across the familiar room and set herself down on the bed. She was already in the process of filling the room with her pheromones, to give it a homey touch. Her cell soon filled with a light pink mist designed to dull the senses and focus attention on she who released it. She released it into the air through her pores, though for a faster dose she could exhale the sweet smell at a moment's notice.
Her dinner would arrive soon, she knew as moonlight filled her cell. Surely her favorite guard would insist he get the pleasure of serving her meal. This place, and the people in it, were the same as they ever were. With a little provocation the previously mentioned guard would be her willing servant, as always. If her plans executed without a flaw she would escape by sunrise.