Pamela Lillian Isley, better known as Poison Ivy, leaned against the glass wall of her cell in Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane.
Course she didn't think she was insane, criminally or otherwise. What was insane about targeting and plotting death for the rich corporate men who raped and pillaged Mother Earth for their own ill gotten ends?
She was sane. It was the rest of the world that had gone insane.
Poison Ivy didn't care much for men of any type really, corporate or otherwise. They were all only interested in one thing. Whether it was against women or against nature, they were only interested in getting their 'jollies' and then leaving the poor abused victims behind, to die or recover. They didn't really care which.
Speaking of which. Ivy looked over sadly at the empty cell across from the narrow hallway from hers. The cell that usually contained the bubbly and happy go lucky Harley Quinn.
Harley had escaped over a month ago with that maniac clown she blindly followed, The Joker.
"Why can't Harley see that the Joker is no good for her? I've seen the bruises she tries so desperately to hide." Ivy thought to herself with a sigh.
Poison Ivy had an extreme aversion to men and she didn't think much of women who sighed and played all girly girl to attract said men's attention. So why and how did she come to care so much for Harley Quinn?
She supposed it came from Harley's bubbly personality, her always great sense of humor and playfulness.
"And the fact she looks damn good in that skin tight outfit she always wears sure doesn't hurt." Ivy thought with a faint smile.
Not surprisingly with her hatred of men, Poison Ivy was a lesbian. Or it should be said she had leanings that way. She really hadn't had too many relationships with women or men. Mostly she preferred the company of plants over humans or animals. That is with the exception of Harley.
Ivy sighed again and angrily shook her head. It wouldn't do to let her mind wander again and start painting fantasies of her and Harley naked together in a jungle paradise. Harley Quinn just didn't 'swing' that way. Harley was hopelessly devoted to that sadistic clown Joker and wouldn't even consider a relationship with anyone else.
Ivy knew this from experience. The few times she had partnered up with Harley (for acts of crime and nothing more, much to Ivy's frustration) Ivy had flirted with Harley and the woman acted like she hadn't even noticed the attempts.
Ivy resisted the urge to bang her head against the bulletproof, shatterproof glass walls of her cell. Why couldn't she get Harley out of her head? Even with it being over a month, all Ivy could think of was whether Harley was okay or if that clown had finally killed her and she was lying in a ditch dead somewhere wrapped like a gift with a colorful ribbon bow wrapped around her body just waiting for the police to find her.
Ivy shook her head roughly. The mental image of a dead Harley with one of the Joker's gruesome smiles forever etched on her face plagued Ivy's nightmares and she didn't think she could stand it if she started thinking about it again.
Ivy wasn't even sure if the police found a deceased Harley if the guards and psychiatrists at Arkham would tell her. They tended to avoid mention of outside events if they thought it might 'upset' their patients. While Ivy was sure none knew of her obsession with Harley they at least knew she was friends with Harley and might decide to keep details like that from her.
