Gotham City. A vast metropolis of limitless perversion of the soul, bottled under a nice containment of jolly lighting and chemistry. Abigail pulled into the lot of the Gotham Galore, a self-christened hotel deluxe of the Entertainment District. The towering giant of gold and blue lighting built into the outer walls glimmered fascinatingly in her eyes. She parked the car on a far edge of the lot, the front facing the road, and turned the engine off.
"Gotham City… where it all began," she sighed, gently stroking her friend's cheek. The chain bound, tape gagged young man in the shotgun seat looked her way, trembling uncontrollably as Abigail sighed. "She came here to begin the crusade, Justin. She came here to begin the Movement. And it ended badly for her. But it won't stay that way for long. Ivy always grows back." She placed her hand upon the tape and ripped it off hard. Justin cried out in pain, his teeth gnashing hard. Abigail's chest heaved tightly at his pain.
"Comfortable now?" she whispered. "Comfortable now that I've removed the tape?"
"Y-yes…" Justin whispered in terror, tears falling down his face. "Can I g-go now? Please let me go… my parents are going to look for me… P-please don't kill me…"
"Oh for the love of Eden… you are so dull," Abigail snapped, and she held up the green-hilted switchblade which always hid at her side these days. "I haven't even began to carve you up yet. Why can't someone just beg for me for once?"
"I-I-I… I don't want to… Please, lady, don't kill me…"
"Lady? I'm about the same age as you. What are you? Eighteen? Nineteen?"
"S-seventeen… I'm seventeen…"
"Seventeen?" She whistled. "You're still a minor. It would be quite illegal for me to have relations with you, wouldn't it?"
"Please…let me go… I won't tell anyone. I promise I won't."
"Won't tell anyone what?" Abigail insisted, stroking his cheek lovingly. She waved the knife to and fro before him, and his eyes followed it in absolute terror.
"A-about… about it… this. Kidnapping. I won't tell anyone…"
"But don't you think it would be silly of me to let you go?" she asked him, as if it should have been obvious. "Don't you think it would be silly? I kidnapped you for a reason. It wasn't spontaneous. I would look like a real idiot if I just…gave you back… at least the way I found you…"
"God, no," Justin cried, his head jerking hard as it bent low. Abigail held him close to her, rubbing his back gently.
"Shhh… it's okay. I promise it's okay. I'm not going to torture you. I'm not going to leave you in agony."
"Please let me go… please let me go…"
Abigail closed her eyes, sighing. She must do what Mother Nature would have her do. She must fulfill her role to the goddess. If she did not, then the goddess would kill her, and she would lose her Ascension. She was infuriated with Justin that he did not understand this! That's why she had taken him from his broken down car on the outskirts of Gotham. That's why she had taken him and made him see her purpose. He had to learn her purpose on this planet, so that his spirit would escape his body and whisper the message into the ears of the mammals. When she had freed him of his fleshy cage, he would understand, and then, he could tell others the news of Abigail Johnson.
She held his head up and locked eyes with him. "Justin… will you tell the people of me?"
"Y-yes!" Justin breathed, his eyes wide. The front of his pants felt warm as she brushed her hand over them. He had wet himself. The bitter smell of piss met her nostrils. She loved it. She loved his terror.
"Will you tell the people of my mission to restore Eden and its original purpose?"
"Yes I will! Yes I will!" Justin cried urgently. He needed to appeal to her. He had to.
"Will you act as my messenger? Will you speak my name to others in love?"
"Yes… I love you…"
She kissed his lips lightly, the gloss on her lips shimmering happily under the neon light. When she pulled back, Justin doubled over in pain, his teeth gritting hard. He began to make retching noises, struggling against the chains that bound him. Vomit dribbled out of his mouth and spilled onto his shirt, the smell of it awful, the sight ghastly. Abigail sighed. The Terravite poison was still in an early stage. It was still not enough to kill. It could make someone badly sick, of course, but she wanted to kill with the stuff. This… this was not adequate.
Sighing impatiently, she titled his head back and laid the blade against his throat. When she slit it, vomit spilled out of the wound, pulsing badly. He gagged loudly, blood and vomit becoming one entity as Abigail lowered the blade, sheathing it back. She watched him patiently as he passed away, examining the process with scientific interest. The muscles jerked as his body slowed to a still. His pupils had dilated. His skin had become a ghastly pale brown in color. She liked this brown. It made them look less human, and more like monsters that she had slain to save the world.
For the next few minutes following Justin's death, she carved off the boy's nose and cut out his eyes, placing each individual part in its own glass container and labelling each one according to the contents. She removed his testicles and penis last, placing them in their own jars and finished by carving her new name into his chest. POISON IVY bled rapidly and stained his torso. If only she could have done this to him whilst he lived. But he had annoyed her with his tears and begging. She had preferred to do her work in peace and quiet for this one. Abigail made a mental note to herself, to staple the lips of all future victims shut. She had a decently sized stapler in one of her bags. It would be put to use soon. She was still low on money and needed a more sizable income to get started on her oncoming project: the liberation of the goddess.
Even as she sat here in the dark of her car, she stared eastward, knowing that Arkham Asylum was in that direction. Arkham Asylum, where the goddess awaited in chains… I'm going to free you. I swear goddess, I am going to free you.
She would start with this hotel. It was a decent ten stories tall, and so many windows were darkened at this time of the late night. She would kill the lobby-attendant. This was quite an expensive hotel, and as such, would have a full register, she was sure of it. The money she received off of this raid would surely finance her next phase.
Abigail exited the car and crossed the lot, the switchblade gripped tightly in her hand, concealed away in her pocket. The wind blew a chilly breeze about her face, and she hugged her lime-green overcoat more closely to her. She had placed an ushanka, its fur painted light green, upon her head and had hidden her eyes behind overlarge sunshades. Her red hair was tied back and hidden beneath the hat. The excitement within her was crazed. She almost wanted to scream out her joy, this was so exciting. She could already see the goddess breaking down the gates of Arkham into freedom, killing mammal after mammal on her way to upbringing Paradise once more. And she, Abigail Johnson, would be responsible for the genocide of humanity. She, who freed the goddess. She, who brought about the restoration of Eden. The goddess could not do it alone. Abigail was needed.
The lone lobby was isolated save for the old man behind the desk. The floor was a fine design of flowers on light-blue carpeting. She admired the flowery designs, imaging them overtaking the building and creating a floral throne upon which she could sit and be worshipped. She wanted someone, anyone, to worship her as a deity. Would the goddess allow it? Would she allow men to castrate themselves before her, or women to pledge undying loyalty?
"Can I help you?" the old geezer with the red beanie on his head asked, smiling a toothy smile at her. Abigail grinned, bowing once to him, before coming to a halt at the desk and stopping.
"How much for a room?" she asked. "Just one night."
"What kind of room are you looking for, dear?"
"Oh, just any old room will do. Something cheap and near the bottom floor." She rapped her fingers impatiently against the sides of the insider of her pocket, wanting to draw the knife out now and slay the old man.
"We charge seventy-five plus tax for one night in the lower Bellmaiden Suites, we call them. You know Bellmaiden's a flower, right?" He prodded a beautiful aquamarine colored, bell-shaped blossom in a pot beside him.
"Oh, they're darling," Abigail sighed, fingering the flower with such tender love. She brought her nose to it and sniffed enthusiastically, exhaling with intense joy. "It smells so good. Like vanilla but stronger. I think any suite named after this flower is perfect. Perfect in any way." She grinned up at the old man, whose nametag read "Carl." "Carl," she whispered. "May I have a room, please?" She parted her lips, her eyes glazing in a seductive manner. Carl grinned, sweating a little and nodding enthusiastically.
"Why, yes, of course, let me ring you up." He hurriedly punched in some numbers on the computer while Abigail sighed very audibly, stretching out her arms and intentionally moaning loudly and sensually. She could see that the man was getting turned on. It thrilled her to play with his emotions like this before her next kill. She wondered what it would be like to seduce this man and lead him into one of these rooms, to poison him with a deadly kiss… if only she could get the formula perfected. It had to be synchronized to her own personal biology, otherwise it would endanger her life. She was sure that once the goddess was free, she would gift Abigail with her powers. She would make Abigail like her, give her that poison that completely re-created her and gave her life meaning.
"Alright, that's going to be…er…" He blushed, smiling awkwardly. "How about fifty even? You look tired… and young… Maybe I could help you pay for some of it, eh? Be our little secret."
"Oh, you make a girl blush," Abigail giggled, placing her warm hand on his wrinkled one. The old man exhaled rattily. "Why not?" She reached into her other pocket and pulled out Charles's wallet. The old man took the fifty out of her hand with an eager grin. She placed her hand back on his as he punched in the numbers to open the register. Abigail gripped the knife tightly. As soon as the man opened it…
Fa-ching! The bell tolled on the register loudly and happily.
Two minutes, Abigail was on the other side of the desk, grabbing handfuls of cash and filling her pockets with the stuff, standing on top of Carl's stomach as the dead man bled all over the carpet, the gash in his neck horribly deep, his punctured out eyes lying on the floor beside his head. When Abigail had emptied the register, she bent down and left her name carved into Carl's chest as well, removing the same parts from him that she had taken from Justin. She had made sure to bring spare bottles with her.
As she passed near the door, she looked up at the security camera, which was aimed right at the desk. Blowing it a kiss, she jumped up and slammed her fist against it, breaking the thing off of its stand. It toppled down onto the floor, where she kicked it fiercely across the way, losing herself once more in a mad laughing fit, her giggles unmatched and untamable. She giggled madly all the way back across the lot, and was still giggling when she got into the car and opened the passenger side, pushing Justin's body out onto the pavement.
And her laughter progressed as she sped away from the hotel, her pockets loaded with cash, enough to help her fulfill the dream. She drove and drove for several minutes, wanting to distance herself as far away from the entertainment district as possible. She would have to burn the clothes. The car would have to be abandoned soon. She was sure that the hat and sunglasses were enough to conceal what she really looked like, so the security cameras would not be able to decently betray her. She would find a home to settle down in, one that in a more remote location of the city. She wanted to be near Arkham, and East Gotham was a series of old, low-income housing and prostitution. It was a place of drug-works and carnal overlooks by the GCPD. To her, it was a sanctuary, a deadly utopia in which police intervention was limited to an almost invisible presence. Hell, everyone knew that half the GCPD came here to do their dirty little business meetings under Roman Sionis's cartel movement.
Roman Sionis… the key. She knew the name. Everyone knew the name, and everyone knew the game. He was the lord of the False Face Society, and he practically owned most of East Gotham. He owned the steel mill and the cosmetics branches across the district, funding his companies with the profit of his drug trafficking operations, which extended beyond the borders of America. He had contacts from all around the world, beautifully positioned inside local and national governments to acquire resource potential full-scale. But perhaps the most famous of Sionis's acquirements just happened to be Arkham Asylum.
Although to the public eye, Arkham was run by Warden Quincy Sharp, a mentally unstable dog who enjoyed punishment, the financer of Arkham and the name on the deed just happened to be Roman Sionis. He kept the prison running with his money, kept the doctors well-supplied for their experimentations, and had even built a steel production factory beneath Arkham. To the public, this was contributing to an in-prison occupation opportunity for the inmates, who produced the steel and were paid decent money to do so. Sionis had gone one step further too with this extension of Sionis Steel, placing men and women inside of Arkham to keep an eye on and regulate the guards who would, at the start of things, steal the paychecks assigned to the working inmates. The working patients were under his protection, and Sionis had access to Arkham at all times of the day and night.
Sionis was the key to entering Arkham. He was the key to securing the goddess, and Abigail would use him. She had already called in to make an appointment with the man himself. Sionis had connection agents who worked out of the East Gotham Foundations of Hope, a large food bank run by Sionis that was primarily used as a recruiting station for the homeless and desperate. The agent at Foundations would meet with Abigail, analyze her and ensure that she was clean, and then, if the man saw fit to allow her into Sionis's private office, he would ensure that she met the big man himself. All Abigail needed was about twenty minutes of Sionis's time, and she was ready for it.
As she sat outside of Foundations, staring up at the tall clothing factory turned food bank and shelter, she fingered the bottle of perfume in hand. Of course, it looked like a bottle of perfume. This was adequate. It would have to look like it. She was not sure if it was ready, but the extractions had nonetheless been successful. Liquidized plant pheromones, extracted from a Siberian Vinek flowering trap. There were many samples of these plants thriving in the greenhouses of her old college. Naturally, they let off a pheromone so strong that it could multitudes of insects at once for a mass food source. These plants were responsible for the disappearance of the Lishing beetles in North Siberia. She had decided that the time was right to text out her new experiment.
After spending a minute dosing every inch of herself in the cool, sticky substance, Abigail pocketed her bloodied knife and wrapped herself tight in her overcoat as the freezing wind of winter hit her hard. Three of Sionis's guards stood watch at the doors, each holding a sub-machine gun in hand. As she approached, they turned firmly to face her, and one of them stepped forward, a tall Irishman.
"That be far enough, eh!" he called to her. "You have business here tonight, don't ya, girley? Otherwise I might be putting me bullets in ya, eh?" He chuckled warmheartedly.
Abigail laughed softly, cozying right up to the man and heaving her chest out. She saw the man sniffing at the air. His eyes seemed to be slowly going out of focus. "I just… want to see Roman. I have an appointment, you see. A Reggie Heximal told me to come by at this time. Is he here? Tell him Fisha has arrived."
"Yes… he's here, girley," the man said quietly, his eyes wide as they analyzed her facial features. In particular, the man seemed transfixed upon her glistening lips. She parted them slightly, her tongue wiggling a bit as she came nearer. She felt the man's erection with her leg, and her heart exploded in joy. The pheromones seemed to be working.
"I'd love to see him," she said quietly as well, fingering the erection lightly with an index. "And maybe afterwards, you, you Irish warrior…"
"Heh…heh…" the man laughed stupidly. "I…I-I-I… yes… You be a naughty broad. Sionis doesn't like girls like you. Me… I don't mind so much. But you're looking for Heximal?"
"Um-hm," Abigail purred, brushing her finger against his lips. "Let me in, please."
"Marty, we're supposed to be watching the door," one of the men at the door called over to him. "She have authorization?"
"Y-yeah…I don't know… go and get Heximal… She says she's got a meeting." He was breathing hard. Abigail was lightly fondling her erection in her hand, her eyes boring into his. She wanted to murder him right now. One of the men at the door entered the building, the other one coming forward.
"Hey! What are you doing?" he demanded. He came to halt beside them, but Abigail did not release the now panting Marty. She leaned in towards the bewildered friend of Marty, and watched as he too caught the faint, subtle hint of the pheromones. His eyes too went slightly out of focus, and he inhaled rather harshly. "I… I don't think we should…"
"Should what?" Abigail whispered, her free hand gently brushing the man's cheek. "Do you have a name?" Her knees tapped the front of his cargos. There was definitely a bump growing there.
"Eu-Eugene…" the man said rather dumbly. The bump was getting bigger.
Grinning, gleeful and filling in total control for the first time all day, Abigail took out the perfume bottle once more, and sprayed the air around the two men. Their breathing intensified. They were eyeing her with wide expressions, their lips quivering.
"Don't get much action around here, do you?" Abigail whispered, now groping Eugene as she did Marty.
"No miss…don't…no…" Marty's face was bright red and he seemed to be straining, as if the blood had rushed to his brain. Eugene looked astounded, overtaken with so much emotion.
"Some…I…what?" he whispered, looking dizzy. Abigail closed her eyes, thanking the goddess locked away in Arkham. I will do you proud, unholy matron.
"Get on your knees," she whispered to them, pulling down on their erections hard. They both feel down at her feet, looking up at her with intense expressions. She stroked their heads lovingly. "Now: call me goddess."
"Goddess?" Marty asked, dumbfounded.
"You…goddess…huh?" Eugene looked dizzier by each passing second. Abigail sighed, but was contented for the time. The pheromones seemed to be working to some small degree, but she still did not have total control as the newspapers had reported. The original Ivy had had men go on mass killing sprees. She had entranced an entire crowd of worshippers at a ball. These two seemed to be halfway there: their minds seemed addled, and they were prone to basic suggestion. But they had to be intensified. She had to have total control!
She threw herself atop Marty, forcing him to the ground, pressing her lips against his and kissing him so deeply, so passionately. She switched between the two of men, laying across them, forcing herself upon them, and they did not retaliate. They welcomed her advances willingly. Of course, the enchantment was soon broken. Her lips were still saturated by the poisoned lip-gloss, and Marty was the first to start vomiting, doubling over in pain as he held his stomach firmly in hand.
"God!" he cried, slamming a fist against the ground.
"F-the..no…aagh!" Eugene cried, trying to contain the contents of his stomach. Abigail stood to her feet and watched them as they retched, enjoying every last second of their torment. Their pain would subside in a moment, but for now she could await in such a joyous manner. The gloss gave her power. It made her poisonous in her own unique way… but until it could sap the life from their bodies, it was no good to her indefinitely.
The third man soon returned, and stared in shock at the scene of vomiting men at Abigail's feet. He pointed his gun at her.
"What happened!?" he demanded.
Abigail approached him, and he pressed the gun right against her temple. She smiled, fingering the end of his gun in a suggestive manner. This man seemed to catch the pheromone scent too. An odd expression went over his face.
"You really want to know?" she whispered, stepping forward once more, to where she was right up against him. Her arms were wrapped around him before he knew what was happening, and she had forced a deep kiss upon him. The man punched at his chest, falling to his knees, and Abigail continued on her way past him as he began to lose his dinner. Her heart was filled with such joy, such happiness. Those men were sick. They were in pain. And it was because of her. Her and her poisoned kiss. She was a quarter of the way there. She could make them sick. Sooner than soon, when Sionis had helped her free the goddess, she would be able to make them dead. And she would return to this place, and off Marty, Eugene and the other man as well. They were as good as dead. She would obsess with it.
The inside of the massive chamber was a sight. The warehouse had been emptied of all its equipment years ago, and was host to a wide multitude of tables and chairs. These white tables were empty at the moment. The food bank did not open again until Monday, and on that day, the tables would be filled to the brim with every kind of food and drink imaginable, all for the welfare of the poor, desperate slugs of Gotham. Sionis could not have picked a better charity to control. These were so many clients to such an operation that would not give joining him a second thought.
A beefy, dark-skinned man stood near an office door, in his hand a black pistol. His hair was dyed snow white and spiked up, his beard matching it with its strong fuzziness. He wore a very fine coat, velour and dark purple. Just based on his appearance, Abigail knew that this man must be Heximal. He looked like a man who would own the gruff voice she had talked to over the phone.
Sure enough, when he opened his mouth as she approached, this was confirmed. "Fisha Santos?"
She giggled sweetly. "For tonight, anyway. Maybe tomorrow I'll be Regina Maxwell or Katy Phillbun."
"Well, if tonight you're Santos, then we have a meeting, don't we? My friends outside will have emptied out your pockets, of course." He eyed her coat suspiciously.
"They're on sick leave," she replied coolly, resisting the urge to laugh aloud. "They didn't remove this." She pulled out the knife from her pocket, waving the bloodied thing to and fro in front of the man's face. "Here. Take it. Be careful though. It's got someone's blood on it. Most recent blood. More than one someone, too. I don't want to stain your pretty coat."
Heximal's eyes were wide. He uncomfortably removed the knife from her hand. She continued to grin at him, her eyes wide and mad. "Where are my boys?" he asked in suspicion.
"Out there," she replied, pointing at the door. "Vomiting all over the place."
"Vomiting?"
"Yes. You see, I poisoned them. Don't worry. They'll live. The effects are temporary and non-fatal." She said this with an air of sadness.
"You WHAT!?" he demanded, pointing the gun between her eyes.
"Reggie!" a voice from above suddenly cried, and both Heximal and Abigail jumped. The voice had come from an intercom above the office door, attached to which was a security camera pointing directly at them. "Put the gun down and bring her inside. Now!"
"But…boss…"
"Do it!"
"Um…yeah, okay, sure." Heximal lowered the gun. "Should I clean her out?"
"No…not this one. You let her come in armed with a bazooka for all I care. Don't de-flower that girl one bit."
Abigail smirked. No one could deflower Mother Nature.
Heximal begrudgingly motioned for her to enter the office, opening the door. Inside, a long corridor lead down to another door, which stood open. He escorted her down the way and into the main office of Roman Sionis. The place was extravagant, a compilation of exquisite finery. The walls were made of solid gold, and the light reflected off of them was so intense! The carpeting was so soft underfoot. Abigail could feel it through her ballet flats. There was a fine, dimly lit chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Paintings were attached to the walls, portraying a fine-looking man with sleek, gelled black hair and intense, dark eyes. The man wore a fine suit of white with black stripes, his expression cold and firm. This same man, in the same suit, with the same expression, sat behind a fine desk of mahogany, smoking a strong-scented cigar, an open bottle of brandy at his side. Behind this man was a television screen, which took up the entirety of the wall, and on this screen were a large selection of miniature screens, each showing a live feedback from different positions in and out of the building. One of these screens showed the outside, above the entrance. The three doormen were still doubled over in pain. Marty was still coughing up large bits of vomit and bile.
"Have a seat, love," Roman Sionis told her, motioning for the rather squashy armchair in front of the desk. Abigail did as ordered, taking a seat and kicking her feet up onto his desk, resting them on some scattered papers, her face perfectly relaxed. Sionis raised his eyebrows. Heximal, on the other hand, moved forward fast. "No, no," Sionis said quickly, holding up a hand and shaking his head. "Leave her be. I like my guests to be comfortable."
Heximal stopped in his tracks, looking sullen and pale. He shot Abigail a disgusted look. "Respect the boss," he warned her in a dark tone.
"I'm sure she will, now skedaddle, Reggie. Leave us."
Heximal nodded, sighing as he turned around and shut the door behind him, leaving Abigail and Sionis in the room alone.
"So…" Sionis clapped his hands together, and nodded backwards at the monitors. "Very nice work out there. Poison kiss… such a familiar thing after the shit that went down in Gotham last year."
"You like my work?" Abigail sighed, kicking off her shoes and letting them drop down onto the table. She wiggled her toes in his face, hoping the pheromones she had sprayed there would overwhelm him. He chuckled, but his attention was upon her face.
"You are…quite a different customer, aren't you? You seem to own this world…"
"Of course… I am Mother Nature, after all…"
"Mother Nature… yes… that's what she said, too. She, being Pamela Isley, that wacko they got cooped up in the loony bin." He took a deep swig of brandy, and did not notice (or care about) the expression of venomous rage on Abigail's affronted face. "You look like her too. Same red hair, same green eyes… and a poisonous kiss to boot. So, then… what game are you playing, kiddo? How did you do that to my boys?"
"A girl doesn't display the contents of her drawers on the first date, does she? She waits for round two. We'll still at first base, you and me."
"So how do we get to second? What do you want that's so important, then?" Now he was concentrating on her feet, his eyes filled with a deep lust. His chest was moving up and down rapidly. Abigail pulled out a small box from her pocket, now that the pheromones were setting in. Inside this small box were some pink wipes, moistured recently. Picking one out, she began to apply the solution to her lips, removing the traces of poison that coated them. She would need her lips in just a moment… but she could not afford to do any damage to Sionis, not yet. She needed him to stay in her good books, and she in his. "I can get you anything you dream, Miss Fisha."
"Please, Roman… call me by my real name. Call me Poison Ivy."
"Okay… Poison Ivy… what is it that you want? I…I can get you anything…anything you want…" His eyes were dazing over.
"What I want," Abigail said, unzipping her pants and removing them, exposing the nothingness that she wore beneath, "is a way into Arkham. I want a prisoner to be removed from its custody, Roman." She tossed the pants aside and spread her legs out, removing her coat. Roman was overwhelmed with his lust, his eyes wide and glistening intently. When she removed every last scrape of clothing from her body, she motioned at him with a finger. "Can you do it? I have payment ready for you."
"Sounds like you have a mission… it…it will cost you…"
"Oh, I know. I'm prepared…to pay the price, Mr. Sionis." She dreamily sucked on her finger. She then lowered her hand and took out the bottle again, holding it low and saturating the air.
"And…what…payment…"
"I need a prisoner released from Arkham," she said.
She could see that the pheromones were taking him now, and his face too was red and brilliant. His hands groped around her ankles tightly, his fingers massaging the soles of her feet. She closed her eyes and relaxed her body, enjoying the control she had over one of the most powerful mob bosses in the city. Indeed, in the country. Indeed, in the world. "You want…a prisoner…"
"Yes, a prisoner. Pamela Isley. You know her, too, as Poison Ivy. The original Poison Ivy. She was, as you said, put in the loony bin last year after her attack on the mammals of this wretched city. I offer you myself as a reward if you give her to me. You control Arkham. The chief of police, Loeb… he's on your payroll. You can get her out of there. You give me Ivy… and I'll become your mistress. I'll work for you. I can get things done. I have talents, Roman. Talents you need. And I am prepared to offer you a sizable security deposit. $10,000."
"I...I, uh… just….but…. yeah…?" He was breathing hard, distressed and overwhelmed. "Sure… sure, yeah… you want to work… for me?"
"Yes, I do," Abigail whispered, pressing her big toe against his lips. He kissed it rather loudly, his hands shaking as he stood to his feet. "I offer myself to you, Roman. Myself, the money, and my service. You've seen what I can do. You've seen the power of my kiss, have you not? Perhaps I should show you. Come to me. And lose the pants. You won't need them…lover."
Roman hastily clambered to his feet, overwhelmed by the pheromones now, and he saddled clumsily over to her, removing that which he was commanded. She pulled him over, bringing him into her embrace with a most intense kiss, groping him as she had done his men. Roman climbed onto the chair, not removing his lips from hers, his hands clumsily groping at her chest. She helped him find their mark, and entangled him in a most intense embrace of the evening, destroying all of his mental and physical barriers which protected him from giving in. Abigail moaned softly, directing him into breaking through, intense with the perverse action. The process was tender, the feel of it inside quaint to her tastes. Charles had never existed. Not now. His existence was erased in this moment as she took Sionis and made him hers, giving everything to the crime-boss. It hurt. It always hurt. But pain was a pleasure that must be explored, intensified, and encouraged.
Her legs wrapped his waist like vines, and for a most beautiful moment, an image flashed through her mind of Roman Sionis's corpse strung up, thick green vines wrapped around his neck. He was stripped bare, and his eyes and penis had been cut away. Cut away and offered to the goddess herself, who held Abigail in her arms, transforming Abigail into something so much more… As their lovemaking intensified, she focused more and more upon his murder, and it helped her reach that desperate point of intensity she longed for with him.
At length, she pulled back from her kiss. Sionis was breathing so raggedly, his face saturated in sweat. She held his face by the chin, and her eyes bored into his. "Do we have a deal?" she breathed hard. "Give me Ivy… give me Poison Ivy…"
Sionis's eyes rolled into the back of his head. "Ugh…f-duch… I…ock…Yes…What…?"
Abigail sighed, cradling him close. The effects would wear off in time. She decided to pacify his desires, directing him slowly. For half an hour, they lay in silence, slowly moving in their deed, their kiss unending. Roman was a slave under the influence of the pheromones. She was pleased with this. When the pheromones at last subsided, Roman fell backwards against the table, staring up at the ceiling with an expression equal to that of a man who had seen everything and experiencing every joy that could possibly be know to man. He slowly pulled himself out of her, and Abigail sighed in contentedness, massaging her now bruised, reddened vulva. She had not had such an intense episode in such a long time.
Sionis swayed on the spot, leaning against the wall as he tried to get his senses about him. Abigail joined him, putting a firm hold on his shoulder and whispering into his ear, "I have so much I can offer you, Sionis. Ivy and I… we have plans. We're going to overthrow Gotham together. After we do, it will be left to you to do the picking. You could have anything you want. Gotham would be my gift to you."
"Gift?" he whispered back.
"Yes… help me free Poison Ivy… and I will give you anything you ask of me."
"Anything?"
"Everything…"
He silently dressed himself, and she followed his example, having proven her forced point in a most direct manner. She was satisfied to have conquered his willpower. Abigail knew that if any other woman had tried to force herself upon Roman Sionis has she had, they would have been blown away in a heartbeat. When the two had resumed seating, Sionis reached below his desk and produced a fresh bottle of brandy, which he offered to her. Abigail took it with a soft smile, whispering, "Thanks."
It tasted good. Very good. Like victory. "So… what…what sparks your interest in Ivy…?"
"Can you not see? I admire her. I am her worshipper. Her follower. I desire her rulership, and a chance to rid Gotham of something that has terrorized its very soul for far too long. You see… if Ivy is free, then the three of us stand a chance of doing something…grand."
"And…what's that?" His breathing as getting under control now. He leaned back hard in his chair, his body still weak with exhaustion. "What else can you offer me?"
"The Batman," Abigail said slowly, "and the worshippers."
Sionis blinked rapidly. "The…Batman…? And the worshippers? You mean… you mean Robin? That's what they call the kid. And this new chick… Batgirl…"
"The three of them can and will be dealt with. They brought great harm and dishonor onto the goddess Ivy. I… I will see to it that they are sacrificed to her," Abigail spat, rage overtaking her. "I'll cut their heads off. I'll gouge their eyes out. I'll cut off the needed parts! The goddess demands sacrifice! These things are needed, Sionis!" She gripped the arms of the chair tightly. "I… I can kill them… I can kill them, and you can too! Ivy can kill them because she'll have me! Don't you see…. if you give me Ivy… then I'll give Gotham its greatest triumph: the murder of Batman and his worshippers. But we need Ivy, and we need her now. You control Arkham. You can give her to me. And in return, I will become your assassin, your mistress. I will serve the False Face Society. And I have money. Lots of money. I have ways of getting money. Trust me… I'm the key to your comforting nights. Batman will no longer be able to terrorize you, or your clients. I swear this to you, Roman Sionis."
"You… you're not joking, are you?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Who are you really, Ivy? Who the hell… who the hell are you?" His grasped at his heart. It seemed to be pumping at an alarming rate.
Abigail brushed her hair lightly in hand. "I am Poison Ivy. Now. At this moment. I am Poison Ivy. But…I am also Abigail. Abigail Robinson. Name me what you will, however. You're the boss, not me. I'll take a name of your choosing."
"Abigail Robinson…" Sionis pulled a blank sheet of paper forward and scribbled the name down with a ballpoint pen. "Alias: Poison Ivy. For now?" He glanced up.
Abigail winked. "For now. Perhaps she will allow me to keep it, for it is who I am. She…she is the goddess, and must be named as such."
"Poison Ivy, then. Other alias: Fisha Santos. Other aliases?"
"As I said… that's up to you."
Sionis considered for a few moments, and then continued writing: "Diane Persh. Tasia Valen. Uma Thorma. All applicable names, circumstance based." He glanced up at her again. "Learn them well."
"Beautiful. Such lovely names."
"Alright, here's the deal," Sionis said, handing her the folded paper, which she pocketed enthusiastically. "I'll give you one job. One job. I want you to prove yourself to me. You've already halfway done that. You're a woman who will do anything for a favor. I'll make you my mistress. You can share the role with Amelia and Darla. But you mentioned that you could be valuable as a killer for hire?"
"I love killing," Abigail said bluntly, kissing her finger. "I've killed six people alone tonight…"
Sionis nodded, looking impressed. "I like your style. Those boys of mine… they had it coming. Maybe I'll get you to off them… I've hired better."
"I had that in mind, actually."
Sionis frowned. He held up a warning finger. "Now listen here, sweetheart. In the bed, you're a star. But offstage, you're still an amateur. One thing I'm going to make clear: you don't spill False Face blood unless I tell you to spill it. This society is a family. If I tell you to kill Heximal out there, then I expect a hammer in his skull by sundown. But that's only if I tell you to do it. Is that understood?"
"You're the boss," Abigail whispered. "I can sate my bloodlust in other men and women."
"Well, good, because I have some troublemakers who need a woman's touch. You new in Gotham or a native?"
"New."
"Well, then, I guess you don't know about these guys." He pushed a manila envelope forward and opened it up. Inside were two photos, one man and one woman. Both were Asian in ethnicity and had hard, dark expressions. The man was shaven, the woman cropped-cut. Their names, according to the police mugshots, were Hatsumoto Myazaki and Takada Myazaki. Their file listed numerous offenses, mostly robbery and homicide through robbery. "They're siblings. Twins from the Red Dot itself. They've hit three of my banks in the last month, and killed guards and innocent civilians each time. They're wild and unpredictable. We've recently acquired their base of operations. They're based out of the Hippodrome in the entertainment district. Live in the basement, I'm told. We've actually been planning a raid for a few days now, but… I'd like to test you, Abigail. You think you can get rid of them?"
Abigail straightened up now, tense and concerned about what Sionis was asking her. "Eh?"
Sionis smiled darkly. "They're very dangerous. Minds are addled. But I want to see what you're made of. You take these out, Abigail. You take these two out, and Ivy's as good as yours. I'll have her removed from Arkham and put into the care of the society. I expect a retaliation on her part, but any inmate we remove from Arkham has to be put under our watch until I deem them ready to leave. It's just the name of the game. If you're really set on swearing yourself to me, then she'll have to do the same."
"I… I'm sure she'll be gracious," Abigail said nervously, biting her lip. She was supposed to take these guys out? By herself? Sionis would not give her Ivy unless she did this…
"So… we supply you with weapons, ammunition and protection. You go in. You off them both, and you cut their heads off. Bring the heads back to me and lay them on my desk. After you do that, I'll give you Ivy. And I'll also be taking that $10,000 from you. You can give it to me with the heads. My boys will be keeping an eye on you. You'll stay here until you move out. Try to backstab or run out on me, and I'll be…heartbroken." He punched his fist into his other hand. "Terribly so. That's the deal. Will you do it?"
Abigail gulped. She was trembling now, fearful of what she was being asked. Could she do this? Could she kill two dangerous murderers like herself? These people would have guns on them and be ready for a fight. They would not be unsuspecting victims as Justin and the old man at the hotel had been.
"Yes…" she breathed, clenching her fists tightly. "I can do this."
Goddess…give me your power from afar to destroy these mammals. Give me your power to be Poison Ivy full realized. Let me tear these mammals apart. Let me spill their blood in honor of the coming genocide…