The Greening
Roleplaying Log: The Greening
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Harley enlists Poison Ivy for merry making. >:)

Other Characters Referenced: The Joker, Owen Mercer, Winter Soldier, Killer Croc, Amanda Waller
IC Date: December 16, 2019
IC Location: Ivy's Greenhouse
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 17 Dec 2019 17:33
Rating & Warnings: G
Scene Soundtrack: The Season's Upon Us by the Dropkick Murphys
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

Time is weird here, under the hill, down the road, in the place that's not too far from anywhere in particular yet which has a sylvan reclaimed splendor. Here in the decaying metal, here where a fat silent battery ripped off from a suburban home powers lights and pumps and little else.

It's warm down here, and the scent is earthy, but not unsavory. Like a well loved garden shed.

It's dark…

Until suddenly it isn't.

"Must be morning," Ivy says warmly, unlacing her arms from around Harley's waist. "At least by the clock down here. Don't take it personally; they're on a nineteen hour day cycle."

The bed is on a metal frame, but the bed *itself* is densely woven clover. It doesn't leave stains and is impossibly soft. (There is also a nylon-fill comforter because, you know, some things you just can't really readily do with mutated and teased leaves. There are limits, even for Ivy, so far.)

"Do you want breakfast?" Ivy says with a yawn. "Ughhhh. It's probably been just one day, right…?" As she levers herself upwards, smoothing her hair out with her fingers as improvised combs, she looks at a screen of some kind. "Yup," she says.

"If you're in for the breakfast," she comments, "it's bacon and eggs."

"I never should have left and taken that woman's stupid money," Ivy continues, staring back at the screen. It doesn't have social media or anything on it - that would be a reasonable, or at least traditional, reason to wake up angry. "Ugh. I'm trying not to - I mean, I don't want to wear out 'I'm sorry' like it's the E key on a typewriter or something - you know I'm sorry, right? I just…"

She trails off. Somewhere in the greenhouse, a mister starts to mist. It makes a distant sad hiss.


The blonde unfurls herself from the place where she'd curled up on the mattress's edge, a remnant of apology for taking up space that her waking brain rebelled against. Her sitting up, her stretching, her filling the empty space left behind by Ivy's movement.

Harley Quinn had tracked down Ivy at some point in the middle of the night, high on a manic obsession and freedom. Oh, she looked well enough. Bruises and punctures never lasted long on her after her BFF's serum, but the toxic remnants of dangerous thought left to percolate for too long… That's where Quinn's latest incarceration and mistreatment at Belle Reve shows through.

"I'm ravenous," the clown replies as she works the brown taste off of her tongue. Then she pauses. "Ya were talkin' to me, right, Red? I mean, if ya were talkin' ta Audrey over there, I can get outta yer hair and go catch somethin'. I didn't really plan on stayin' over, yanno? I get it."


"Yes, I was talking to you," Ivy says. She leans over - her arm going back round Harley's waist for a momentary squeeze, her head pressing against the blonde's, holding her for a heartbeat or two. "I was on a long term project. It was frustrating, but it's peanuts - forgive the term - compared to what you had to deal with."

Ivy slides out of the bed and into a pair of dirty work pants. "I'll just be a minute," she says, opening an old and mostly-intact door to outside.

There is some rustling in the trees.

A bear yelps.

There is some crashing and smashing.

Ivy comes back in through that door, holding a plastic bag in both hands. It has rips in it. Bear-scale rips. "I need to get one of those bear caches," Ivy says as she walks over to a work table, part of which comes into sharp relief as not 'garbage' or 'drug paraphanelia' but 'a hot plate and little skillet' now that Ivy is using it as one.

"So," Ivy continues. "You're out. I didn't want to spoil the mood, but… how did you do it?" It's going to be HIM, Ivy thinks, gritting her teeth for a moment. (She has her back turned to Harley here, deliberately, and hey, she's cooking! Listen, bacon is starting to sizzle a little already.)

"If it was the blue woman," Ivy comments, "Now I owe her *two.*"


"The blue woman? Naw. I never met anyone like that." Harley bites her lower lips as Ivy works. "After Mercer and that old fuddy duddy from that huge old trial a while ago wrecked what we had goin' at The Punchline…"

There's hurt there, hidden down and away. The curse of the misunderstood misanthrope and her affections. Owen Mercer would never be able to navigate the treacherous twists and turns of them without her as a guide. Maybe it was impossible even if they had ever managed to have a normal conversation about her abnormality and the abnormal situation. In the end, it doesn't matter. He's gone. Winter Soldier is no longer a parole officer parading as a savior. Amanda Waller has no more hold over her, even if there is still a little bomb tucked away—presently impotent—hiding away in the terrifying territory that is Harley Quinn's skull.

Because a knight came.

"It… It was Mistah J, and he found me all the way in Louisiana…"

It's a tired trek, around and around familiar ground until the old paths become sacred scars across the landscape of Harl's thoughts. Her voice is thick, broken and lovesick, as she throws herself back against the comfortable sprawl of Ivy's bed and stares at the ceiling, oblivious to her surroundings in the way that makes prison cells tolerable and greenhouses palatial apartments. "I knew he'd come fer me, eventually, somehow. He jes' had ta find me and get a plan, yanno? It took a minute. But he came. Fer me."


Ivy's back stays turned. The bacon fries.

Her face is contorted in shame, rage, jealousy, and anger, in oscillating details.

But it doesn't show on her faintly green back. She picks up a spatula and flips the bacon. Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip.

Ivy takes a deep breath and her voice is just 'a little muted,' not particularly upset. "He beat me to it," Ivy says, but mildly. "Did Croc help, or was that just good luck?" Killer Croc is a lot more comfortable to think about.


"He got let loose in all of it. He was there with me." Sitting back up, Harley smiles brightly, obliviously, in Ivy's direction. "I know you woulda come, Ivy, if ya coulda!" Pushing herself to her feet, Harley crosses the space between the bed and where the mistress of the green works. Arms wrap around hips. Her cheek rests against Ivy's back and her eyes close there contentedly. "Besides. I'm out now, and that's what matters! And I'm gonna be throwin' a party to tell Gotham jes' how I feel about them fergettin' about me. And I needja to come paint the town green with me fer a night."

She squeezes encouragingly. "Say you'll come. If ya do, I promise we can do it however you want, as long as you promise we keep to the theme." Because a well-chosen theme is paramount.


Ivy looks over her shoulder. It hides her mouth, but her veiled smouldering eyes have their own (mixed) message.

She also winks.

As she's approached, embraced, and held, Ivy breathes out. She leans her shoulders back a little.

"You know I will," Ivy purrs. "When are you doing it?" She turns her head a little more, and says in a lower, slyer voice, "And do you have anything in mind for a target?"

For a moment Ivy thinks of a single redwood tree in — no, she thinks; redwoods are too finicky to control. Worst ever. "A bank, an exhibit… you can tell me. I've been feeling a little materialistic lately."


"I dunno," Harley says, hesitant to reopen her eyes. Sure, it means that she misses Ivy's flirtation, but she really does look so content. And why shouldn't she? This treatment is a galaxy apart from what went down at Belle Reve. She's cared for and remembered kindly here. It feels safe and normal.

It smells like bacon, and it feels like home.

"Somethin' super public, though. Maybe the ice skatin' rink? A little bit of yuletide terror? I want it to be super winter, full-on Chanukah / Christmas special, yanno? I have got the best elf costume that I'm gonna wear!"

Then, Harley's voice drops, dark with the barely contained fury that often lurks beneath her interactions. "Good riddance to me? I'll give 'em a good night." A pause. "Or a few good nights. I'm feeling particularly feisty about bein' fergotten. I bet there wasn't even a search party fer Lena Zelle, and I was bein' mostly good! Well. I'll teach 'em."

She sets a chaste kiss against Ivy's shoulder and then goes wandering off with her arms spread wide and her feet dancing her around in a circle as she goes. "They don't wanna remember me when I'm bein' good. So it's time ta get back on the Naughty List!"

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