(to all who want to know about "Pamela's Vengeance: Poisonous Pursuit 2"- since I cannot reply to GUEST reviews, I am writing this here. Try to make profiles, those Guests of you who want to ask questions: I haven't fully given it up yet. It's just been a VERY busy semester. But the summer comes, and with it, opportunity. However, I will pound away at this one for now. In addition, I invite you to check out my Deviantart profile, where I am currently illustrating THIS story. CAUTION: SPOILERS in the drawings for things that will happen in this story here. Feel free to check them out and tell me what you think: )
"Do I want you?" Fredericks gasped, looking repulsed and backing away. The crowd around them had begun to silence down now, hearing Pamela Isley speaking. Pamela smiled and walked forward, holding up one finger pointedly.
"Let me spin you a spider's tale," she said slowly, "of lies and passion sweet, that in the end, re-life began, fueled by toxic deceit."
"Bailiff, restrain her!" Fredericks cried, backing into his table as she approached. She stopped, however, and turned to face the bailiff, brushing her gloved hand across the man's mouth and nose again, before resting it on his cheek and saying, "Restrain me? Is that what you want to do to me, bailiff?"
The bailiff's eyes went wide and intensified in their glossiness. He began to drool, his expression vacant. His erection was quite obvious. The man did not move, merely stood and descended into statue-worthy vigilance. Pamela turned back to Fredericks.
"He's not doing anything," she noted, sounding concerned.
"I love you," the bailiff moaned from behind, drooling heavy amounts of saliva now. His hand, shaking hard, stroked her hair longingly. Pamela's confidence was fiery on her face. "God, I love you… God I love you…"
"Anyone else?" Pamela cried out to the audience. "Anyone else here love me?"
There came almost an instant outcry from more than half of the people assembled in the crowd. Men and women alike were proclaiming their love for Pamela Isley. Fredericks was looking more horrified by each passing second. Judge Kroker had fallen to his knees before her, hissing his own desires.
"Please escort me out of the room, now," Pamela told both he and the bailiff, still grinning at Fredericks. "I believe the judge had made his decision."
From the jury stand, those bound by duty and civil service were ogling her, crying out her name. All of them were sniffling as they did so. All of them were sneezing, here and there. The pollen in this room was ridiculous…
Kroker and the bailiff escorted her away. Fredericks, however, took charge and followed them out of the side door, into the west hall.
"Now, listen!" he almost screamed as the doors to the courtroom behind him slammed shut. "Kroker, I don't know what the hell your game is, but enough is enough! We're in the middle of a legal precedence that-"
"Of?" Pamela turned around, as did the bailiff and Kroker, who both looked completely out of their minds. "Of?" she repeated, stepping forward and looking up at the red-faced man. Fredericks did not back down.
"What have you done to them?" the lawyer demanded, prodding her in the neck with a finger. She looked down at his finger for a second, raising an eyebrow.
"Get your hands off of me," she warned calmly. He did not relent, and instead grabbed a fistful of her shirt and yanked her forward.
"I'll deal with you myself if I have to," he spat in her face. Pamela, however, had other ideas.
"Bailiff…Kroker… will you obey me? Will you worship me and do as I command?"
"Yes!" the bailiff hissed ravenously.
"I love you…" Kroker said dumbly. Pamela grinned.
"Very well… then pin him down now."
"What the hell are you-" But Fredericks was suddenly flying backwards as the bailiff and Kroker both rammed at him, forcing him down from either side onto the floor. Fredericks struggled, confused and evidently frightened, as either man pinned down one of his arms. Pamela, meanwhile, raised one foot and brought down one of her long, black heels down onto Frederick's left arm.
The stiletto went through the suit and Fredericks let out a scream, which was silenced as quickly as it had issued. She withdrew her foot, smiling in satisfaction, and saw Frederick's eyes droop, and his mouth sag.
"Sleep for a bit," she whispered. And as she did, the powerful anesthetic laced upon her heels took effect, and Fredericks went out like a candle being extinguished.
Into darkness he went, and sailed into cold sleep…
Sleep was hard, back then.
Every time she tried to adjust to these hard, almost stone-like twin-sized alters, she would inevitably roll on a bad side and jerk awake. Coreman's beds had at least been reinforced with all manner of padding and leisurely quality. And the bed that she had slept in before that, back at home with her parents… it had been a water bed. A fucking water bed. But no… no, these beds weren't beds at all: they were stone pyres. They were hell on the back.
That first night, Pamela Isley did not sleep. Instead, she drifted like a ghost about the dark, abandoned campus grounds and explored her new kingdom. Morris Hall centralized the kingdom, where the poets and prose-pipers gathered for their analysis of who fucked who and why they did it. Across from that, the Thomas J. Wayne Memorial Library with its pillars of white towered with its Latin, engraved command: Sapere Aude ("Dare to be Wise"). Krimley Science Institute stood beside McLain Fine Arts, and the Timothy B.W. Burton Student Union curved around to the further reaches of campus, its mighty glassy windows inviting late-night wanderers for games of pool, secret spots for fucking and open opportunities to break into the campus cafeteria and raid the storeroom.
All of these small details she analyzed, coming to terms that this was real….this was happening. For the first time in her life, her genius had been recognized. She was in her paradise, her Eden. Gotham University would allow her to be known. People would see her genius, understand that she was the future of environmentalism, and, as per due, award her with the funding and influence she needed to start educating the rest of humanity on the preservation of Mother Earth. She would be beyond respected, and little by little, would encourage both students and faculty to put Mother Earth first. Gotham University needed her brilliance.
This was the dream. But the dream would require hard work and intensive study. She would put her past behind her, as Killinger and others had, and concentrate on making for herself a future. This place was real. This now was real.
When she made her way to the furthest edges of the campus, near the Hallow Forest, a spanning wood-world on the southern border of Gotham City where the campus situated, she haunted the biology grounds, her future castle of exploration set atop a hill, tall chimney stacks even now billowing out pollution from the interior workings. She would have to fix that. She would have to petition better means of fuel usage.
Near this building, she found it. It. Her true kingdom, a domain worthy of her own. Gotham University Botanical Garden was sizable enough, a thriving, englassed world of rainbow foliage, gargantuan buddings and a fine, green lagoon teeming with frogs and lilies. She could hear them in there, singing their nightly chorus. "Ribbit, ribbit, we are frogs, Ribbit, Ribbit, we're not dogs, Ribbit, Ribbit, we like green, Ribbit, Ribbit, we're so mean!"
She worked her way around this crystalline palace and found the cobblestone path to the iron doors. Locked, they were, as to be expected… she would have to remedy that. This world within must be experienced by any hour of time's continuation. The nightly wanderers must pay Nature its due. A petition to come…a petition to come.
She did not return to her dormitory home that night. She stayed awake, lying in the deep shade of the greenhouse and meditating with the environment around her, smelling the dew-stricken grass and the flowers around her. Tomorrow, her classes began, and with it, the social obligations that came with these institutes of knowledge.
She was ready to make them see ingenuity.
Throughout the night, she casually cast glances over to the dark woods of Hallow. Inside of those dark canopies, those towers of trees and creature comforts, an entire world awaited exploration. Nature's abundance. She would have to explore that place, and soon.
It was Nature calling…
Nature was calling. She called his name, here and there. "Fredericks," sang one windly breath. "Fredericks," called another passionate sigh. Words failed her, of course, where an injection of the toxin's remedy did not. Injected, then, was the solution to his unconsciousness, and Fredericks awoke with a start.
His world had transformed. Gone were the redwood walls of the Gotham Hall of Justice. Gone were the polished tiles of porcelain floor. Here, there was only…green. Green brickwork by its mass of moss covering. The floor was not floor, but ground, muddy and swamp-like. A lagoon below him. He, above it, bound, he, in a frenzied, stroke-worthy shock, to what felt like hard bark against the back, thick, green vines his binding. Thick vines against nudity. He was nude. His clothes…where had they gone?
All around him, ivy and vine dominated a black ceiling. Light green light illuminated the room, but its source…it had no visible source…unless the plants themselves were somehow emitting the light. The lagoon below him bubbled green and smelled something foul, like unwashed sandals after long-term water submergence.
My God…it must be toxic. This was his first thought, and all too true it was. He could barely move his head, but even so, he felt the presence above him. Fredericks strained his eyes as best as he could. And as if to answer his ocular summoning, down it came, answering his silent call (unwanted though it was).
Was it a plant, or an animal? More so, to his observation, it was both. A fly-trap? That was what it looked like. Its massive, elephantine body lowered itself down from the dark ceiling and came to rest before him. Forest green and textured like sugarcane, the giant bod burst open, splitting into four different ways of green oval. Inside, there she sat, and so did Kroker and the bailiff on either side. But all three had taken a change for wardrobe.
All three were nude, like him. However, unlike Kroker and the bailiff, she had adorned her limbs in thick clumps of poison ivy. Pink and green flowers adorned her flaming red hair, and bound around both ankles and wrists were black, thorn-like circlets, each thorn tipped with red. Her hair was wild and messy, and she looked bitterly content with her current view. Kroker and the bailiff, meanwhile, were ogled beyond sanity, their heads swaying to and fro, drool positively pouring out of drooping mouths. Both of them had a new addition, too: crimson, thick thorns, which seemed to be stabbed into the sides of their heads.
"Tell me something," Pamela whispered, throwing her arms around the two lobotomized vegetables, "what does your view look like? Please describe to me, in detail, everything you see."
Fredericks was on the verge of tears. They threatened to come like the rapids north of the Hallow. He could already feel the first trickles of fear bleeding from the ducts. Summoning the courage that his father had always tried to install within him, the little boy inside said, "I see a situation that I believe must be evaded, at all costs. That is what I see. Please, Isley, whatever you're-"
"That is not what you see," she corrected him, shaking her head. "I am disappointed in your answer. Test question number one…failed." And in one swift movement, her hands cupped either cheek of the bailiff, and she pulled him into a ravenous, passionate kiss, her green lips engulfing his orangey-red in wave-like potions. She held him there for a moment, and then released him. The bailiff went stone still, his eyes rolling into the back of his heads, and he let out the most horrible, guttural choking sound before toppling over on his side, empty eyes staring forward at the horrified Fredericks. His veins bulged out at once, all over his body, and they had all turned a sickly, nauseating green. The man was stone dead.
Even as Fredericks strove to find the strength to scream, Pamela casually prodded the man's corpse with one foot and pushed him away. Over the edge of the giant fly trap and down he went, landing face first into the poisonous lagoon below, where vines broke through the surface at once and, entwining the body, drug him down into the depths. He was gone as quickly as he had landed.
Pamela concentrated more firmly on Fredericks now, nuzzling Kroker against her bare breasts, her expression cold and waiting. Kroker drooled over her chest and lay there, still as can be, barely blinking, his eyes occasionally moving around. Waving a disappointed finger at Fredericks, Pamela said, "I'll give you one more chance. You failed the first question, but there's two on this quiz. So maybe you can get…fifty percent?" She raised an eyebrow, and smirked. "I doubt it, though. So, Fredericks, here it is… your final question: Who am I?"
"Who…who are you!?" Fredericks sputtered out, his eyes widening as he beheld her in disbelief and torment. He wanted to scream at her. He wanted to break through these vines that held him naked against this tree and cut her…tear and rip her… She had murdered that bailiff. Just murdered him, and done so with an almost inhuman enjoyment. She had disposed of an innocent man's life with such…ease. "You're crazy!" he panicked, his mouth trembling. "Pamela Isley, you're insane!"
Pamela glowered darkly. "Pamela Isley? Is that really your answer? Fuck me, you're a moron. You…you disgust me with your ignorance, Fredericks…you really do. That is not my name. I am displeased with your answer." And for the second time (and this time, Fredericks managed to scream, pleading with the murderer to no avail), she forced her deadly, poisonous kiss against Judge Kroker, and Fredericks watched in horror as the man too succumbed to the deadly poison and was too pushed by Isley into the lagoon below, where, like the bailiff, he was taken down into its bubbling depths.
Pamela watched him scream, studying him intently. He, her specimen. Sprawling on her side, she stroked the plant she sat within tenderly, lovingly, and whispered to it, "Come to me." And come it did. Vines ascended from the waters below, the same vines that had torn down her two victims, and bore down upon her, entwining arms and legs. As if by her puppetry, she was pulled into the air and flung forward, where she descended down upon him and, sensually, entwined he with her legs, throwing her arms around his neck, he hers. Frederick's heart stopped, for now he would surely die. Now, he would surely taste that poisonous kiss himself. This was the end…
"I want to tell you a story," she whispered, brushing his hair tenderly with his ivy laden hand. "And we have all the time in the world. I want to answer, you see, your two questions for you, as you failed the test. You need to understand not only the answers themselves, but the life of the answers. I can help you understand. I can help you know me, like no other. Sound good?"
"Why?" He was not sure why he said it. The word just seemed to…leap out of him? She grinned, and prodded his nose playfully.
"The answer to the first question," she said, "was 'I see Eden, and I see Mother Nature, its goddess.' The answer to the second question was 'Poison Ivy.' I would have also accepted, again, 'Mother Nature… Eden… Eve… Gaia… But Poison Ivy is special to me. It's a special me, bitter and disastrous. That is what I am, what I wish to be. I want to educate you, Fredericks, before I send you down to join Kroker and what's-his-face. I want you to know why you should have seen Eden…and why I should always be referred to as 'Poison Ivy' and never 'Pamela Isley.' Syntax and semantics, Fredericks…as a lawyer, you should have more respect for these concepts. Let the lecture begin, then. I'll tell you everything, lover…"
God help me, Fredericks dared to pray within, sobbing now. Please, God, help me…
"God?" Pamela repeated, pushing away the young man's brochure in disgust. The representative to the Gotham University Baptist Collegiate Ministries stepped backwards, looking shocked at her sudden, violent reaction. "You advertise for Mother Earth, then? You advertise for Gaia?" She knew better, of course, but she wanted to force her severity with a question.
"N-no," the man stammered, blushing deeply. "I just wanted to invite you to our Bible study this Friday night. We want everyone to come and hang out, and I just wanted-"
"Want, want, want, want, want, want, want," Pamela mocked continuously, shoving him roughly aside with her arm that held no books. "We all want, don't we?" she told him in passing. "Figure out what you really want, Bible Boy, and return to me when you do." And she left him, stricken and offended, passing into the sunlight plaza out the student union doors. Her second class, Humanities 1, awaited on the third floor of Morris Hall. The nerve of such a man, to offer the fucketries of irrationality, or so she saw it. Offended, she was, by his nerve to dare accuse her of worshipping anyone save for the goddess, for Mother Earth… For myself.
People eyed her funnily as she haughtily passed by, her arms filled with every book needed for the day's classes (she had awoken late, lying in the field beside the greenhouse, and had had no time to situate her books into her bag). Already she had missed her very first class because of this. The thought of missing Physical Science on the first day stunned her horribly. Mother Earth could not be pleased with her negligence.
Morris Hall was a soul-dampening climb up two sets of wide stairs, all the while bustling students, mostly majors of English, side-swiping her in their hurries for their useless literary classes. One of them, a burly, curly haired beard in glasses tripped over her long green skirt and forced her, unwantedly, against a pillar atop the third floor.
"Sorry!" the stupid shorts wearing, blue-eyed giant begged of her, though he kept advancing her for his class without stopping.
Fucker, she hissed irritably in her head. Imaging the man lying in a bloody heap in the middle of the Hallow woods, she continued onward, slipping into her classroom with five minutes to spare, which was already overcrowded with at least fifteen other imbeciles.
Baaaaah! she sheeped within. Baaaahh!
A desk at the very back of the classroom. Perfection. In front of it, a wily haired man in thin glasses, who lay asleep at his desk, an empty can of Demon Energy Drink beside his head. She made sure to forcibly shove him as she passed, jerking him wildly out of his deep stupor. She shook her head even as she turned around to stare at her, and pointedly said, "Sleeping in class leads to failure. Do you want to be failure?"
And she opened her Physical Science textbook to shield away both the image of him cursing at her and the visual reminder that he existed. A young woman sitting to her right turned in her chair and noted her book, and the expression that came with its reading.
"What's up?" she whispered, throwing out a half-hearted wave of greeting. Pamela noted her briefly with a glance. Blonde. Blue-eyed. Perfect body, fine tan skin. Contrasted to her crimson hair, foggy green eyes and pale skin. It was obvious who was more beautiful. Me.
"What's up yourself?" Pamela shot back, ensuring that she sounded like a total bitch. The other woman, however, smiled at her attitude, and leaned back comfortably enough.
"Alissa Jagner," she introduced. "You're a freshman?"
"First day ever," Pamela replied in a bored voice, intensifying her skim of the book. Alissa nodded.
"This is my second semester. What's your name?"
"Pamela," Pamela replied shortly.
"Do you have a last name?"
"Isley. Would you like to know my social security number next, Alissa Jagner?"
"Hell yeah!" Alissa said excitedly, pulling a sheet of paper towards her and preparing her feathery blue pen. "Give me the first three digits."
Pamela looked around now, wide-eyed. Alissa snorted aloud, causing snoozing uncarers to jump up and look around. "I'll take your social and debit pin, if you have it, Pamela Isley."
Pamela was not sure what to say, or how to react. Was this what the common folk called 'humor?' If so, then what was she expected to say? How was she expected to react? This Alissa was beyond charming, beautiful and alluring to the eye of many in this classroom who even now shot sneaky glances at her long, smooth-skinned legs. She was an athlete, Pamela noted, based on the gym shorts, long white socks and black cleats that she wore. Not to mention one of those ugly, furry headbands around her golden hair.
"You like sports?" she asked the woman, awkwardly. Alissa grinned broadly, nodding at once.
"Intramural basketball star, I'll have you know. A little softball, here and there. Nothing official, of course. Stick to one team and you never get to play anything else." I'll say, Pamela hissed mentally, she already smells like a sweaty gym sock without adding to my troubles. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Pamela forced a smile and held out a hand.
"Well, then, I hope to play against you some day." She was not sure why she said it. But she had to say it. It was destiny that she say it. Alissa, looking ecstatic, shook her hand excitedly and replied, "Well, the first day is always the most important. So you better get ready. I want a match tonight."
"How about we spend a few days preparing?" Pamela suggested shortly. "I need time to learn how to properly kick your ass, Alissa Jagner."
Alissa smirked, stunned and fascinated with this red-headed bitch. She lightly punched Pamela on the arm (who immediately conjured a fantasy of decapitation in the girl's favor) and spun around in her seat, saying, "I'll shoot you a contact number after class. I'm gonna hold you to it."
At that moment, all funnetries and comquazits had to be ceased, as the instructor for the class walked in, handbag swinging in tow. Curly haired, aging and prominently cheek boned beneath square-framed glasses, Randall Prouse threw up a hand to them all, and said in a quiet, slow voice, "Good morning. Happy first day back, eh?" He gave a nervous, quiet laugh. As he set up books and folders atop the speaking desk, Pamela observed him carefully. It looked like a gentle breeze of wind could blow him away. He was an awkward, quiet man.
The entire class waited patiently (and unconsciously, for some) as the man wrote his name upon the board, until there was no doubt within the entirety of Creation that he was Randall Prouse.
"Welcome to Humanities 1. I'm really happy to see that a lot of you were brave enough to venture into this class so early in your academic career. Most of you are freshman, and I think we have a senior in here, right, Carl?" He nodded at one man in particular, who was drooling in his sleep. "Nobody wake Carl up, right?" Prouse winked at them all. "Now, I'm not going to scare any of you with-" WHACK! Out of nowhere, he slammed one of his hard textbooks into the table before him, and Carl awoke with a violent jolt. Smiling mischievously, Prouse continued, "-thing particularly horrid for the first day back in the joint. I want to go over the basic syllabus in class, but I also want to pose each of you a question, and I hope you'll be willing to give me what you believe is a satisfying answer. Alright?"
And so it began. Attendance policies: Miss more than three and your grade gets hit in the knee. Special accommodations: If you're cripple, don't start a ripple, just give Student Life a shout and they'll throw your troubles out! Semester activities: Let me lay you down a beat, and give you three tasty treats, there's two essays, both the same, and the final book project won't be so lame (?) Everything that Prouse said, Pamela expected.
When the man had gone over everything, he came to a halt, looked around the room, and then said to them all, "Tell me something, and I want an answer from each of you: in the study of human culture, what, to you, is the most important element to understanding why we, as humans, must preserve our cultural evolutions?" He finished speaking, closed his eyes for a moment, and then sat patiently atop his desk, awaiting them to speak.
The entire class sat in silence, stunned by such a profound insight demand on the first day of the semester. Well, almost. One person spoke up, and did so directly and firmly.
"Can't you challenge us a bit more than that?" Pamela demanded, setting her syllabus down. "Why ask us about the importance of preserving cultural evolutions? The point of evolution is that perseverance is outdated, and has no true purpose in the grand scale of things. Evolution dictates that change is inevitable, and thus we must not waste time trying to stall it. Why not ask, instead, as to why it is important to evolve our culture, and to keep them within contemporary respects until change comes calling again, inevitable as it is?"
She took a breath, now, and sat back in her chair, smiling confidently. The entire class was staring at her, dumbfounded, mouths agape. Prouse, meanwhile, shifted to hide his obvious erection.
"W-w-well spoken!" The man was breathless and excited. "What is your name?"
"Pamela Isley, sir."
Alissa was shaking with utter glee, looking at Pamela with the strongest of lightly glints in her dazzled eyes. She shot up her hand at once, and promptly said, "Evolution is a natural calling, like Pam here says! We have to change depending on what makes society grow stronger. Right?" She glanced at Pamela, who shrugged.
"Not for me to decide," she replied. "Nature has a time and a plan of its own. We're just the ones who have to sit by and wait to either be fucked or be fucked over."
"Holy Hell," Prouse sighed, trying to keep his excitement (and sweat) under control. "You're a rare breed, Miss Isley. Everyone, listen to this here: She is correct. Humanities teaches us about the disciplines and social foundation of human culture. However, Humanities will also teach you about the changes… the evolution… of said culture. That's why we strive to understand the seeds of that change, and the roots. History will repeat itself, continuously, forever."
Not always…
"We have to remember that despite technological and social transformations, humans will inherently possess the same assemblies of good and evil, balancing both and thus engaging in open opportunities to perform both."
Not if I can stop them…
"And so, keeping the first day short and all, I'm going to be releasing you now, but I want you to go back to your dorms and others classes with this in mind: What kinds of changes would you apply to human culture to evolve it, if you were given the power of a Creator for one day? Understand why you would apply those changes, and how they would relate to historical alterations. You don't have to write anything. Just come back on Wednesday and tell me your thoughts."
My thoughts would terrify you all…
The class ended well enough. Pamela was out of her seat at once and ogled by everyone as she sped from the room. She moved fast, taking the stairs down the way two at a time… but she was not fast enough. The pursuer was faster than her, and she, Pamela, the prey, had not a chance in the world.
"Good one, Red!" Pamela pretended not to hear her…at least at first. After all, her name was not Red, so she did not have to act as if she had heard the name and admit that she associated it with herself in this moment. "Red? Pamela!"
Well fuck. "Yes?" Pamela sighed, turning around to face the almost out of breath Alissa.
"Sorry… it's just that, that was awesome, girl! I've never seen anyone as invested before. You've got fire in you. I was gonna ask, since Prouse let us out thirty minutes early… you wanna grab some food from the caf with me?"
"Why are you so interested in me?" Pamela demanded, unable to restrain herself. Alissa's eyes widened into shock.
"W-what?"
"What is it about me?" Pamela pressed on. "I'm not a nice person, if that's what you're looking for, Alissa Jagner. I'm a bitch. A real bitch."
"So am I," Alissa shrugged. "And that's good enough for me. You're not like the rest of these boring SOB's. You have ovaries."
"Trust me, for your own sake, just let me be for now," Pamela warned, stepping away. "I'm here to socialize on my own time."
"That's fine. That's absolutely fine. But I want you to know that you don't have to start the semester off alone, either."
"Nor do I intend to. I intend to make friends. I intend to go and get food from the caf. I intend to play basketball with you, and I intend to look at male pornography with a group of friends one of these days. But I need time. Alright?"
Alissa grinned. "Alright. I understand. Look, let me give you my cell number and I'll look you up on Facescroll, alright?"
Pamela's eyes narrowed. "Facescroll?"
Alissa was bewildered. "You don't… have a Facescroll?"
"I've never even heard of one."
Alissa jumped up and down. "Pamela, you really are a bitch." She chuckled. "Thank God I'm here to pull your head out of your ass. Here. Give me a shout and I'll break you in the right way, okay."
And two minutes later, Alissa was speeding out of the dorm, leaving a bewildered and uncertain Pamela Isley to contemplate her new…friend?