Poison Ivy was with the air, and the air was her absolute. She was breathing, and was as breath. Life was her every movement. She rested comfortably against the window of the car as Heximal drove her to the Poisoners Guild home-base, her dreamy thoughts centered on the face of goddess, and how it would feel to soon be in the goddess's arms as the divine one showered her praise upon the head of her follower. Ivy wanted to touch the goddess's skin, to smell the goddess's hair and be touched in return by her brilliance. She wanted to sit for her hours and tell the goddess of her sacrificial murders, of the pleasure of murdering someone for the first time with a poisonous kiss.

Takada Myazaki's head rested in the shotgun seat next to Heximal, who kept shooting awkward glances down at the thing. The poison that Abigail had unleashed into the room had left the head inhumane in appearance. Hatsumoto, meanwhile, rested in Abigail's lap, or at least, his own head did. It was positioned upward, staring with eyeless sockets, its nose missing. Abigail stroked his hair softly in hand, attracted by him in this form. She tenderly traced the lines of toxin that saturated the veins in his face. Absentmindedly, she placed the head between her legs, shakily compressing it.

It felt good. She clawed at his scalp, feeling a rushing, hot sensation in her body, aroused by this evil deed. Gently, inhumanely, she began to pleasure herself with the head.

"Hey," Heximal said quietly, tapping the steering wheel impatiently, "got a question for you?"

Abigail, her eyes closed in intense, sexual satisfaction, only moaned erotically in response. Heximal looked in the rearview window, and studied her face closely. He looked around fully, and saw what she was doing with Myazaki's remains.

"Hey!" he suddenly hissed, reaching backwards and yanking the head by the hair, ripping it away from her with a look of disgust on his face. "What the hell are you doing!?"

Her eyes snapped open. A look of flame and ice, all thrown into one poisonous mixture. Her gaze could steal souls as she looked at Heximal and wished death upon him. She should grab him. She should murder him.

"What!?" she snapped viciously, pulling her switchblade out of her pocket and unsheathing it.

Heximal angrily tossed the head next to Hatsumoto's sister, and stared forward as he drove, shaking with fury. "You really are a disgusting creature," he said quietly. "What kind of sick shit is that? And in my car, too… damn! I want to know something right now, freak: What are you!? How the hell did you pull all of this off!?"

"Oh, little old me?" Abigail cooed softly, playing the ditzy Southern bell on her draw. She laughed loudly, coldly, every resounding fracture of sound laced with cruelty. "I succeeded because I fucking enjoyed it. I was merciless, a warrior with bloodlust to fit an entire Hun army. I was animalistic in the approach, wild and untamed without limitation. I was with her, and she was with me. The goddess. It's simply that."

"Fuck you," Heximal snapped, his hand twitching as he eyes the revolver on his dashboard. It glinted in the street lights invitingly, begging him to put a bullet in her. But he relented. The boss would murder him if he did anything to the bitch. "You can't always get away with spouting that horse-crap. I just want the technicalities. How did you manage it?"

"How? A combination of poison bombs and my natural charms. That enough information for you, dipshit?"

Heximal slammed his foot on the break, bringing the car to a violent, jolting halt. Abigail remained calm in her seat, her seatbelt keeping her stable and secure. She was smiling madly, anticipating an attack… a reason to kill… The man turned in his seat and flicked on the light, his eyes alive with fire and terror.

"What-the-fuck-did-you-call-me?" Heximal whispered in a deadly tone, pronouncing each word more silently than the last. Abigail leaned forward, her knife raised in front of him.

"I called you a dipshit," she whispered back, blowing onto his nose. "Did you hear me that time, dipshit?"

Heximal's fist raised in the air, about to put a crater into Abigail's face. Abigail readied herself, the knife arcing down…

"In a New York minute…oo ee oo… everything can change!" Heximal's cellphone went off at that moment, vibrating violently in his pocket. The boss's ringtone… He jerked backwards, pulling the phone out at once and flipping it open, not taking his eyes off of her.

"Boss?"

"Yeah, it's me. Where's my A-List candidate? Harleen and Lissa are waiting."

I'll tell you where she is. She's in the backseat of my car, about a rat's ass away from a cat's mouth from getting an abyss put through her face." Abigail raised her eyebrows, impressed by the man's creativity. She kissed up at him from afar, winking. Heximal raised a finger, and a deadly one at that.

"I doubt it," Sionis said confidently. "Because I'm sure you don't feel like sleeping on a bed of coals tonight. You know, like Manson did last week…"

Heximal closed his eyes, shuttering at the thought of what Sionis had ordered of Manson the previous Wednesday. Manson had learned the price of being a mole for Maroni. A bed of coals had not been good for his complexion.

"No, I don't…"

"Then I'm sure there won't be even a quiver of tear in the girl's face when she gets here, say, in, oh, I don't know?" Sionis paused for a moment. "1:15… Okay, how about fifteen minutes? 1:30 on the dot."

"I'm almost there, boss," Heximal sighed, turning around and starting the car once more. Abigail huffed, satisfied. Sionis, you god-like stallion, you… He had her back. The pheromones must have been very strong indeed. She would make sure to dose him again. He was going to become her utility.

"Good. Put her on."

Heximal jerked his hand backwards, coming close to hitting her as he shoved the phone into her face. Abigail grabbed it quickly and spoke in a seductive manner to Sionis. "Hey, there…"

"Miss Thorma," Sionis began, addressing her by one of the aliases he had given her. "I need you to listen good. Quinn's got a place set up here at the safehouse, and her and Lissa will be taking you in. But you need to make sure you're willing to follow the rules. I'm gonna try to fill you in before you get here. First, Harleen Quinn is in charge. Her rules apply on a daily basis, and all appeals for official jobs go to her. If it involves or benefits the False Face Society, she'll relay it to me. Tell me you understand."

"Hard on, stallion," Abigal sighed passionately, rubbing her leg dreamily. She liked his voice. It was dark and very commanding. She heard him pause for a moment, his breathing getting slightly heavier, and she smiled, knowing she had hit an erective curve.

"A-anyway… Quinn's the boss, and I expect loyalty. Second, you work as a team in all jobs. I'm going to be needing your services quite a bit, Ivy. I compiled a list of hits while you were out. Men I need taken out of the picture. When I give you a job, you work out details for completion with Quinn and Heximal, depending upon the job. They set the deadlines, dead-drop locations for payment, all the good stuff. Clear?"

Abigail groaned to herself, glancing up at Heximal. Even from behind, she could see the shit-eating grin on his face. If he was setting up conditions for the jobs, he would get his revenge for her disrespect. "Clear," she said quietly.

"I sense hesitation. What's wrong?"

Good perception, Roman. "It's just… I feel like he doesn't like me…" She said this sweetly, softly, playing to the victim once more, empowering his sense of protection over her. Heximal shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Yeah, he hates your guts, but I'll have a word with him on setting fair terms. Now, the third rule: Our secrets don't exist. They're with the grave. Tell imaginary stories and you join those secrets."

"Roger, captain."

"Fourth: We've had a long-lasting standoff with the Bat for years now. The Bat's given us a lot of Hell and we prefer not to do anything that draws him in. What do you know about the Bat, really? You offered me his head…how?"

Abigail considered Sionis's words. The Bat…

The Bat was a horror-figure in Gotham's underworld. He was definitely real. He had saved the city countless times from a wide range of dangerous circumstances. And she had even seen him in person. He had come to Bludhaven to investigate her murder spree. He was a freak, unlike her, driven by revenge rather than glory. It was an overdone cause that would lead to his death. And he had to die. Oh, yes, he had to die. Abigail would sacrifice him to the goddess.

"I know he must be dealt with," Abigail replied darkly. She clawed at her crotch intently. "I have to murder him, in the most painful way imaginable, and sacrifice him to the goddess Poison Ivy. I know he's a man who can be manipulated. Everyone's seen the footage from the rainforest ball last year. The goddess wove him under a spell of infatuation and almost killed him. I will follow in her ways. I will lure him into a trap. It will be a fun trap."

"Tell me the details."

I see bodies lined up in the street. Bodies lined up, leading into the first national bank of Gotham. A breadcrumb trail for him to follow."

"You mean my bank? No, I don't think so. We don't get publicity by turning it into a House of Horrors."

"Oh, Roman, a girl can dream, can she not? Your bank is fitted with intense security. Perfect for trapping a bat. Laser grids fitted with pulse magnifiers and machine guns hidden in various cubicles."

"How do you know about that!?" Sionis demanded, suddenly sounding startled. Heximal was looking wide-eyed up into the mirror.

Abigail sighed. "Because your main man told me. Willis. I…thoroughly interrogated him before we left the Drome."

"Thoroughly?"

"You'd be amazed at what a heavy dose of my pheromones and a decent hand-job could get me. Willis squealed some of your dirtiest secrets. And I'm a gardener. I like dirt. He told me about Beta-7. The shipments for advanced security came from the Gellus Cooperation in Bangkok, correct?"

"Willis told you all that!?"

"Everything."

"I'll have him shot. He released secrets without authorization."

"If you don't mind, let me. I have a date set up with him, you see. We're meeting at the Rollar-Dome this weekend. He's going to teach me to ice-skate, isn't that sweet?"

Sionis was breathing hard now. "I have to say… I am…deeply impressed."

Abigail yawned. "All in a day's work for a competent girl."

"You're telling me… alright, I want you to kill Willis. Make it a painful death. We'll discuss this later, in private. Look… I don't know much about you, other that you have vicious skill and a vicious appetite to use that skill. I like you because of it. So I'm going to give you my faith. My trust is sacred. You are honored, Poison Ivy."

"As am I."

"Alright, give the phone back to Heximal."

Abigail obeyed and handed the phone back to Heximal with a smirk. Heximal snatched the thing from her and said frantically, "Boss?"

"Give her a raise in the morning," said Sionis. "Fifteen up front. She makes a five thousand dollar profit. And I want you to sign her in tonight, too. The paperwork needs to be on my desk by six tomorrow morning."

"Sure, boss…" Heximal sighed, disheartened heavily.

"And Heximal… you make her life a living Hell without reasonable cause… I'll gut you." The line died after that. Abigail reclined across the backseat, daydreaming of Roman Sionis. Her god. Her hero. She was his slave, bound to his law and existence. She would serve him enthusiastically and effectively. She absentmindedly began to carve into her own skin, marking a small, exquisitely painful R into her wrist. Her tongue grazed the blood that trickled down from her mark on Sionis's first name. With each new kill that would follow tonight, she would add another letter, until Roman Sionis's name was a tower down her arm. I think I like him, she thought to herself. He was a shield against those who would seek retribution against her. If she could manipulate him, his entire operation could be hers, along with the security benefits. First, Heximal had to die. Heximal would cause severe problems in the long-run. She would have to murder him in private, and pin it on someone else. And that would take time and careful planning. After Heximal was dealt with, then she could begin to work her influence over the rest of Sionis's men and women. She to work her way into their minds. Into their very daily thoughts. Her presence must saturate them. The pheromones had to be advanced. She had to make them permanent in their effect. Perhaps the goddess knew of an answer to that riddle.

"Alright," Heximal said at length, pulling down a woody road that seemed to be exiting Gotham, but only by a fracture. Out there, on this western most coordination, the Sapphire Woods surrounded them with the city just in view across the Jackson Bridge. A single house stood about a mile into the trees. It was a most beautiful cabin, flourishing with exotic plantlife that seemed to slowly be overtaking the place. Ivy grew across the walls in large clumps and the grass was severely overgrown. But the cabin itself was a lavish coloration of periwinkle on white, and a novelty chimney was smoking from the top. Several cars were parked in the front of it, and all around the yard stood Sionis's security, all dressed in black suits, all wearing the same black, skull-like masks on their faces, and all carrying the same automatic machine guns. Sionis himself stood in a pearly white suit upon the enclave porch, waving with a smile in their direction. On either side of him stood a woman.

One woman was blonde and slender, with dazzling blue eyes that intensified in the headlights of Heximal's car. The other woman was shorter and had the slightest pudge to her belly. Her hair was cropped short and fair-colored, her eyes wide and green. This woman seemed to be muttering softly to herself, occasionally jerking glances over at Sionis and the blonde woman nervously. Her skin was devilishly pale, and her eyes were dark and hollow. Heximal parked the car into the gravel drive and got out without a word to Abigail, who followed behind confidently, smiling as the eyes began to draw in. She had not changed back into her suit after finishing the murders and seducing Willis. She had remained naked and free, with only the ivy that clung to her to provide clothing. Mouths dropped and eyes widened as she passed by, and Abigail basked in their admiration.

She sauntered right up to Sionis, who looked disoriented at her beauty.

"Holy Hell," he murmured, a drool-like dementia in his eyes. "You dressed for the occasion…"

Abigail fingered his chin seductively, pulling him in for a kiss. He had nothing to fear. She had removed her deadly weapon from her lips. When she pulled back, Sionis took a few steps backwards, the force of her advance overencumbering. Abigail smiled kindly at the two women who stood at his sides, the blonde of which was looking ravenously invigorated by the newcomer.

"Hi, there," Abigail sang, holding the woman's hand in her own and planting a kiss upon it. "Quinn?"

Harleen jerked her hand away in irritation, affronted by such an advance. "Yes. Don't do that, though. Ew!"

"Kissed your hand, HA!" the other woman hissed manically, running forward and throwing her arms fully around Abigail. Abigail was suddenly aware of the woman pulling her into an almost bone-crushing hug. "Ha! So wondrous," she whispered into Abigail's ear, "to have you here. I am Lissa…" She imitated the sound of a snake hissing. "Wanna know how many children I murdered in May of 1993?"

"Lissa," Sionis said calmly, pulling her gently away from the startled Abigail. "Lissa," he said directly to Abigail. "She's a five-star act. Aren't you?" he asked the mad woman.

"I poured acid down my grandmother's throat," Lissa hissed excitedly, wringing her hands together. "I dissected my cat while it was alive, and suffocated my neighbor in its entrails."

"How quaint," Abigail whispered back, twiddling Lissa's hair with her finger. "You're a natural at your job, aren't you?"

"She's a loose breed," Sionis said, beckoning them to follow him inside. When Abigail stepped through the door, she was greeted to an intriguing display. A soft of carpet of nylon fibers. Walls decorated with scarlet papering, insigniated with black diamonds. A lavish living room met her gaze, with very expensive looking cushioning on the furniture. A royal fireplace burned, smelling heavily of oak. The walls were adorned were African masks and precious paintings that looked like they belonged in a continental galleria. The figures on canvas were almost alive in their presentation, beautiful and crisp in their watercolors. Tables were piled with beautiful gems and precious jewels of a wide variety, glittering sapphires and glinting jade stones alike. A massive television was built into the wall, theatre sized and prominent. To one side, a tall black wardrobe with a single padlock. To another, what appeared to be a large, man-sized birdcage. Abigail was certain that no birds ever lived in such a thing, but a man… oh, gosh, yes, a man…

"Welcome to the Poisoners Guild," Quinn announced grandly, throwing her arms above her head as she twisted about like a ballerina, positively soaring through the air in one astonishing leap. She landed gracefully into a curl upon the circular-shaped couch. Roman took a seat beside her and beckoned for Abigail to sit on his left. As Abigail took her seat, Lissa bent down onto all fours and began to crawl about the floor, flicking her tongue out and hissing like a snake. Abigail wondered about the girl.

"Is she…alright…in her own special way?" she asked, nodding at the animalistic Lissa.

"In her own special way, yeah," Quinn replied, petting Lissa's head gently, who had curled up at the foot of the couch and had begun to purr like a cat. "We found her on the street, poor girl. In a gutter. A filthy one at that. She had…opened up a young man and was taking shelter from the frigid air inside of him. Did you know that if you cut open a dog, you can survive a harsh winter night?" She looked around at Abigail and blinked rapidly. "Lissa here is a survivor. Aren't you?" she cooed at the girl. Lissa replied with maddened giggles, bursting into a spree of insane laughter. Quinn forced Lissa's head down with her foot, muffling the laughter into the carpet. "And what about you?" she asked Abigail. "You're obviously a survivor, Poison Ivy."

"Harleen Quinn," Abigail pronounced slowly. "That name sounds fake. Like Harley Quinn. Or did your parents just have a sense of humor?"

"Ha!" Quinn shrieked joyfully, clapping her hands together. "I like you already. I suppose that depends on your perception, doesn't it?" She gazed longingly into the fire of the chimney. Sionis stood to his feet suddenly, looking inspired.

"Quinn, tell her everything. Really introduce her. I'm gonna go set some things up. I'll be back." He walked away with a dark smile on his face, looking pleased about something. Quinn nodded, and turning to Abigail, began her tale.

"The year is 1989," she began. "During this time, a dark shadow descends over Gotham City, putting crime-lords and crooks into their places of defeat. People get desperate, and scared. Some heroes of the underworld rise up and fight this shadow. They fight against this Bat. He was one of them. The greatest. A man of true legacy." Her chest heaved up and down, her eyes fogging over in a dream-like stance. "The Joker. They called him the Joker. He called himself the Joker. His real name…Jack Napier…he was insane. He was evil, murderous and a master of anarchy and chaos… I fell in love with him. I was fifteen at the time. I still remember the red fur scarf I wore. I was just a young girl trying to make her way on the streets of Gotham. Homeless. Free-spirited. Of course, even without a home, everyone knew about the Joker. Anyone could run up to a window of a Martis or Ucell store and watch the news feeds. And I was present at his parade."

"He comes riding down the street, on a giant, cake-like float, all these colorful balloons leading him and his men on. Perfect white skin… perfect green hair… He was perfect in every way. A god in purple. A god with a joybuzzer and a flower on his shirt. A clown god. He murdered so many people during that parade. It was a celebration of Gotham's bicentennial, and of my first true love. I had…admired him for some time before that night. That was the night he died. The night he was murdered by the Bat. My love for the Joker began when he began to remove the creatures of Gotham one by one. He had poisoned thousands of cosmetic and homeware products. People were dying left and right…all with grins on their faces." She snorted. "All was stupid grins on their stupid dead faces. They died laughing. Laughing maniacally, laughing like they had never laughed before. He brought joy to my life. So much joy that it made me realize: Why live on the street and struggle to live…when I could join him, and spread his laughter? He was the future king of the country. He was a god waiting to burst free and spread his happiness to the rest of the world."

"When he died, on that night, I thought to myself: Will the happiness go away now? Have we lost all laughter? I contemplated suicide, if only to join my…beloved Mr. J… in death. Mr. J… that's what I called him. That's the name I adopted for him. I desperately searched for his home-base, desperately did I search for his operations, wanting to round up his follows and lead them in a manhunt for the Bat who had murdered the god…"

"And did you succeed?" Abigail asked, holding onto every word with fascination. The way she spoke about the Joker… it was the same way she saw the goddess.

"They had all fled. They had all betrayed my Mr. J… I wanted to kill them. I wanted to murder every single one of those bastards with my bare hands. But I found my new life in the hideaway. Mr. J…he'd left behind so many of his precious weaponry. Files with all the names of his employees. More files on his aspirations. Whole containers full of Smilex…that wonderful poisonous gas that had brought…so much joy to his many victims." She grasped at the sides of the couch lovingly. "I loved him. I still loved him, even as he lay broken and destroyed upon the street. So I took up residence in that place. His hideaway became my home. The shattered remains of the god of clowns and smiles."

"How did you find it?"

"Oh, my love for Mr. J was strong. I tailed one of his worshippers one night, following them in the shadows… just to know how near I could be to the Joker. I trailed him to the old construction site where they were based. I don't even think Batman ever discovered the location of this place. In the days before Mr. J's murder, I had anticipated the thought of approaching the hideaway and offering myself to him. I would have offered my body and soul to be his plaything. But… before I got the chance…"

"The Bat," Abigail spat.

"The Bat," Quinn nodded.

"Bastard," Abigail hissed.

"I swore revenge on him," Quinn seethed. "I swore I would murder him. Swore I would sacrifice him to Mr. J. And I will. You know why? Because that's all I have left. I began a crusade against those who opposed him. You asked me earlier if my name was a lie, or if my parents had a sense of humor? You were correct on both parts. You see, it's not the name I was born with. My birth parents…fuckers… they named me Tarana Strong. No, that was a shitty name, and I always hated it. I found myself a new name. A beautiful name, in honor of my angel. Harleen Quinn. I'm his Harley Quinn. That name did come from my parent. The parent who re-birthed me, he who did indeed have a sense of humor. Mr. J gave me rebirth through his actions. You see…that's why I am who I am."

"And those who abandoned the Joker…did you hunt them down? Did you make them pay for their disloyalty?"

"I've been putting in money in for years to make the necessary trips," Quinn replied. "I've been hunting them down, one by one. Where I go, so does the Smilex. They laugh and laugh until they drop dead. That is the only reward for betraying Mr. J…"

"How many?" Abigail insisted, her eyes wide with malice, a huge grin on her face.

"So far…thirty-seven. That's nine years' worth of crusading."

"I suppose now… but no, you say, "So far?"

"There are nine left. But they've all moved abroad. None remain in Gotham. And I haven't had the time to schedule the trips."

"But you know where they are, right!?" Abigail insisted.

"Yes. I know where they are. And their time is coming, don't you worry. I won't always be with Mr. Sionis. He understands my commitment to the Joker, and he won't stand in the way. I've given him too much loyalty, I've succeeded too many times. I have free reign in his family. In the meantime, I spread the joy and happiness of Mr. J throughout all of Gotham. Children and elderly, there is no discrimination. I like seeing their smiles, hearing their laughter. The Joker is praising me, I know it! I can feel it!"

"I bet you can," Abigail agreed, privately thinking to herself that the goddess must have foreseen this meeting. The goddess had brought her to this moment, had brought her into contact with this fellow worshipper of Ascension. She and Quinn shared the same dream, and that was to honor their dark deities. "So you took all of it? All of that Smilex, all of those weapons and information. Everything?"

"Yes. When I found Sionis, and he gave me this home, I made this the news base of operations for Mr. J's Movement."

"And Lissa here? Does she worship the Joker, too?"

"Lissa? Why, no, of course. Lissa…worships madness. Isn't that right, Lissa?" Lissa yawned, rolling over onto her side and gazing up at Abigail.

"Madness is the only reality," she whispered. "It is the gate to the seagulls."

"Seagulls?" Abigail repeated. "I understand. But can we speak to the seagulls?" she added, appealing to the mad woman's speech. Lissa gasped.

"No. Never. We can't, you can't, mustn't…mustn't…"

"What if I want to hear the seagulls?" Abigail persisted, rubbing her feet as she reclined across the couch. "What if, say, a seagull spoke to me in my dreams?"

"You whore," Lissa whispered suddenly, her eyes widening. Quinn gulped.

"Lissa, she didn't mean-"

"YOU WHORE!" Lissa suddenly threw herself at Abigail, who shrieked in startled demeanor, overpowered by fast-moving madwoman. "DON'T SPEAK OF WHAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" Her hands went around Abigail's throat, who struggled, in vain, to throw her off. Quinn came from behind and grabbed at Lissa's shoulders, forcing her backwards with marvelously hidden strength. Lissa toppled over onto the floor, hissing venomously as she crawled away into the distant, dark kitchen. Abigail, meanwhile, lay massaging her throat, staring at the darkness where Lissa had vanished. She had never seen anything like that before…

"W-what-was-that!?" she struggled outward, straightening herself up, shaking. Sionis stepped out of the shadows where she stared.

"That was your introduction to Lissa," he told her. "Lissa is deranged. She gets more so by the year."

"She was…a victim," said Quinn, opening a small wardrobe near the fireplace. A blast of cold blew out and Abigail saw a fine stock of wine and beer. Quinn tossed a crimson colored drink her way, labelled "King's Oil." "Attacked, around 1990… the Mad Hatter. You know of him?"

"The Mad Hatter?" Abigail wrapped her mind about it for a moment. "The lunatic who thinks he's from the kid's book?"

"Got him pinned up in Arkham," said Sionis. "Back when he was loose, before the Bat got ahold of him, he was abducting girls left and right, with this mad delusion that he could turn them into the character Alice. He experimented on the brains, did some twisted shit to them. The ones who survive usually went crazy. Lissa…survived. Like Quinn said, we found her crawling around in a street gutter, raving, cutting people open in alleyways and sleeping inside the bodies. It's amazing she was never captured and institutionalized."

"I've been taking care of her for a while," said Quinn. "I took her in and tried to give her constant routines. I thought it might help her if she lived by commitment. It…sort of has worked. She's not as feral as she used to be. The only reason we know she was a victim of the Hatters was because he liked to photograph his victims while he…raped them…"

"The Hatter's in Arkham? Then maybe he can fix her."

"He's just as feral, just as demented," said Sionis. "And he's in Arkham indeed. He has no reason to help her, nor a desire. I've thought about asking Quinn to murder the poor girl in her sleep, out of mercy. But I can never bring myself to do it."

"One day I'm going to do it," Quinn assured him. "One day, when her mind has deteriorated beyond functionality. I'll murder her in her sleep. She'll die laughing, with a great big grin on her face. It will be my gift to her. Just... not now."

"It's gonna happen sooner or later. Her going apeshit on all of you," Abigail warned them. "Best if you…deal with it now. I could do it." She was calm and collected as she said it, her chest heaving at the thought.

Sionis shook his head. "No," he and Quinn said in unison. "I told you. No blood of the family gets spilt unless I say spill it," Sionis hissed. "I mean that. When Lissa's time comes, Quinn will handle it. Now, you've gotten a decent introduction to both Lissa and Quinn. You're a three-woman team now. Ivy, are you ready to start your new life?"

"Of course," Abigail soothed him, approaching him and throwing her arms around his neck. He inhaled deeply. The tiny bottle of pheromones was almost invisible between her fingers as she sprayed. "I really want you," she whispered in his ear. Sionis's breathing intensified.

"We…we g-gotta get you set up…" he said slowly, quietly, weakly.

Abigail pecked him on the lips. "I know," she whispered. "Afterwards, though…"

"Q-Quinn…" Sionis hissed, not taking his eyes off of Abigail. "I…wanna meet…you three…tomorrow…usual time…"

"Okay," Quinn nodded, her expression a strange one. She was aware by now of the power of Abigail over men… but it creeped her out, in a way… It was almost inhuman, Abigail's power. Otherworldly. "Well…Ivy…do you want to see your room?"

"I'll have Roman show me," Abigail sighed, rubbing his chest with her hands, her eyes fixed with his, her expression hungry. "Will you show me the bed, Roman?" she asked softly, releasing another stream of pheromones into his senses. Roman nearly tripped over himself, dragging Abigail along, who giggled relentlessly, waving good-bye to "Harleen Quinn" as she and the crime boss of the False Face Society vanished into the darkness.

An hour later, he lay entranced and shaking beside her, his body weak from the intercourse dance. She held him close to her, snuggling him against her chest, her eyes burning with triumph. Roman Sionis had become her personal bitch. He belonged to her, he was her slave, and she could now feel the radiating power that she had over him will. His spirit had broken. Under her influence, he was as an uneducated dog. She had absolutely adored the surprise that Sionis had established for her. He and his men had set her room to mirror a true jungle. Heavy, fresh vines and ivy hung from the ceiling and crawled up the wall. The floor was pure earth, with a multitude of flowers growing fresh out of the room-wide patch. The bed was covered in wet ivy and the air smelled heavily of damp dirt. As Roman's breath continued on its ragged crusade of distribution, Abigail absentmindedly placed yellow flowers in her crimson hair, not able to remember a moment that triumphed over this one. Her moment of triumph was glorious. She was in with Roman Sionis and his Poisoners Guild. She was going to release the goddess from incarceration come morning. Eden would soon return to Gotham…