Characters: Pamela Isley, Harley Quinn
Pairings: None
Chapter Rating: T
Summary: Ivy is clued into the latest escape scheme
Warnings: Language
BLAH, sorry this is such a short chapter. The time it took me to update is totally disproportionate, but, y'know, Thanksgiving Break and whatever, I've been shitty and unproductive like a motherfucker. If you're wondering why I've taken upwards of three chapters to set up the stupid plot
[whispers] it's because I'm legitimately making this up as I go along. I am so sorry. This fic is shaping up to be a hot mess.
xxxx
At precisely 9:15 AM the next day, a small white sun shone starkly over the cold winter scape of Gotham. The few species of birds that hadn't migrated for the winter hopped gingerly about in what was left of the hard packed sullied snow, peeping. Most of the plants were dead, but a good number of handsome evergreens towered stately over the ever cozy, warm, and oh-so accommodating Arkham Asylum. Within this asylum, a number of colorful characters resided. Pamela Isley was currently one of them. She and a dozen of the other female inmates were herded into the showers like bleary, but nonetheless criminally insane, cattle. It was bath time, and they had fifteen minutes. Ivy considered this portion of her day to be one of the worst, easily. Every morning, she found herself stumbling stark naked into a grimy, institutional hygiene area with a group of her equally surly and humiliated peers. For the next quarter of an hour, the only coherent thought that ran through Ivy's mind tended to be a ticker-tape stream of 'Don't touch the walls, don't touch the walls, do not touch those disgusting public shower walls,' ad infinitum. They were certainly crawling with all sorts of infectious horrors and mystery germs, and the infamous Poison Ivy was not interested in uncovering their many secrets, especially not when her own flesh would have to serve as guanine pig. Miss Isley was not a squeamish woman, but she greatly valued her health.
She focused intently on maintaining her stiff posture as she stared down at the drain beneath her feet and vigorously lathered her hair. 'Stay in place, don't touch the walls, don't-'
"Hi, Red, hi!"
The sound of a friendly nuisance approaching shook the groggy botanist from her internal mantra, but her skin's purity remained intact, and the walls remained untouched.
"Hello Harley," she replied, tired. That girl was always brimming with energy, it seemed. That girl never turned off.
"How's it goin'?" She continued to chirp, twisting her respective shower's nozzle with some effort. "Got therapy today?" Her water was scalding, and she didn't flinch.
Neither did Ivy. "As usual," she said, scrubbing her right forearm with care. Her jaw set slightly at the thought of her current psychiatrist, Dr. Leland. Pam harbored a great deal of disdain for her doctor, though this was for no founded reason other than the simple fact that she was, after all, her doctor. Ivy didn't want to be doctored. She didn't want to be here. As such, when her ditsy companion discreetly expressed an interest in staging an all-ward break-out and would you like to come along, the caged siren's gut reaction was a highly receptive one. However, her better judgment beat her instincts to the punch, as they often did. Harley was truly intelligent under all of the bad slapstick and pancake make-up, but she was first and foremost an indefatigable clod. There was no way she could orchestrate a stunt like that, not on her own at least. God, if what she was doing was looking to recruit Pammie as a helper, forget it. There was no way she'd ever convince the steely Poison Ivy to take on a project that size for the sake of what would largely amount to charity. Especially not on Harley's behalf. Agreeing to that would ensure that Pam would be forced to adopt the project in full, much as a parent would adopt the chores that went along with their irresponsible child's new pet. Nearly everyone on their ward was fond of the chipper little harlequin, but that didn't mean that she could lead them victoriously to freedom like some sort of lunatic Moses. She had no integrity, no decisiveness, no backbone. And her ability to plan ahead was nonexistent. In fact, the more Ivy thought about it, the more concerned she became. She combed the last of her conditioner out of her hair with her fingers.
"No offense Harl, but I find myself doubting your chances at success." 'Can't imagine why that would be,' she finished in her head.
The blonde looked up from her left foot, which she'd been scouring with a sudsy washcloth, and frowned. "Whaddaya mean?"
Pamela shut her water off and wrapped a towel around her hair in a tight turban, then pulled another about her chest. "Well, think about it. I mean, yeah, Arkham's security isn't exactly Supermax, but it still takes a good week or two of planning to bust out, and that's just for one person. Now imagine all of the planning and detail oriented shit that goes into a clean break. Not to mention the likelihood of rats and stoolies…" She started to walk away, her flip flops squelshing unpleasantly with each step.
"Oh, but Pammie!" the girl called after her, tousling her own hair dry with a towel. "I'm not the brains behind the job, I'm a (whaddayacallit?) an accessory!" Ivy stopped in her tracks. 'This better not mean what I think it means.'
"Then who is?" She prodded, certain she wouldn't like the answer.
"It's Jervis!" she said with delight, joining her friend and sporting her own towel minidress.
Pam's eyebrows shot up. That changed everything. Of Arkham's many inmates, The Mad Hatter was ironically one of the more competent, despite the odd psychotic break. However, his alliance with Professor Crane had proved to be a boon, and the ordinarily daffy inventor been more grounded than ever. God knew he wasn't the most popular rogue, but that's where Harley came in. She knew how to get the other rogues on their side. If Ivy herself hitched her star to this developing supergroup, imagine where it (and she) would go. Straight out of the bin and into the streets, she wagered, and if that all went according to plans, who knew? The sky was the fucking limit with ties like the ones she was about to make. The risks that went along with a full-scale break out were still in the front of her mind, but the whole concept suddenly seemed more realistic, and in that case, it would be better to be at the helm of the movement.
"So whaadaya say Red? You in?" Harley's face was sunny and brimming with hope. The botanist's thoughtful pout matured into a shrewd smile. "I say we pay your little friend a visit and talk deal," she said. Harley's bright grin waxed, and she gave a little cheer. She could only begin to imagine the overwhelming sort of fun they'd all be having soon enough, roaming the city freely once again. While Pam was suddenly all business, her counterpart could hardly decide who to recruit next.