From her eyes || Poison Ivy

1: September 20th

She had glossy leaves and bursting buds and she wanted to struggle with life but it seemed to elude her.

I lay back against the solid floor, the only thing between me and the concrete floor a thin white mattress. The other cells contained actual beds propped up with pillows and a cover, but as I had to keep reminding myself - they didn't have my best interests in mind. The bare minimum was all that was required.

That was made clear by the low level defoliant that was heavy in the air only in my area. No life could grow in this pathetic, shrivelling cell, and even I felt I was curling up to die.

My attempt to play by the rules and reach a point halfway to death by remaining in my cell all hours of the day had bought me a single record player, which sang out the slow, somber notes of Clair de Lune. Anything was better than listening to the drivelling of other inmates in the vicinity. Of course they'd be a hell of a lot louder if I hadn't gotten my own allocated room behind several security doors. At least I could thank my gift for that.

Even with the music, I heard the creaking of electronic security doors open. I sat up and turned to face at a right angle to the door so I could look through the gaps in my fiery vermillion hair; appearing aloof yet still keeping a close eye on whoever thought themselves smart enough to come up here.

There was no clocks here, a clear move to enforce so kind of pressure on us: not knowing the time may lead to a loss of coordination of time at all, have you been here three weeks or three years? Nevertheless, I could sense the time just from the particles in the air, not exact but to the hour. And my sense was telling me that it was 10am and checks didn't usually happen until lunch.

Through the cracks I could make out the guard that was always stationed by my door - Maggie or Annie or something like that. There were always female, as as far as the Warden was concerned, I had only seduced men into giving me what I what. Little did she know that no one was safe, as long as I was out of this damned cell. 'Door Guard' was talking to a more petite woman in a white doctor's coat, and blonde hair pulled back so tight even I could feel the stain on her scalp. I hadn't tied back my hair in years, heh, now there's something I don't miss.

'Petite Doctor' flashed 'Door Guard' a smile, and gestured further with her hands, which I noticed she did a lot of. I curled up my slender knees to my face; the muscle tone almost non existent due to months of not much movement. From what I'd heard they let the other inmates out to the exercise yard, but I assumed they just didn't want to risk it with me. I'm sure that's a violation of my human rights. Not that the word of a terrorist would hold up in court, and I didn't have a family to stand with me.

Both the door guard and the doctor approached my circular glass cell. There was no air holes in the glass to prevent any plant spores sneaking in to my cell, so there was an intercom to speak into so I could hear outsiders more clearly.

"Isley, you have a visitor; you know the protocol - stand up and put your hands on the glass where I can see them." the guard instructed, and I grumbled.

Hesitantly I rose to my feet which ached from the coldness of the concrete beneath them. I found my way over to the glass by the intercom which had clear circles where I was required to put my hands. I did as such but didn't removed the red hair that was still spilling over my face.

The song changed to Gymnopédie Number 1.

The first security door to my cell opened, allowing the doctor to enter. It closed behind her and she stood in the the decontamination tank, where she was sprayed down with a gas defoliant to stop her accidentally bringing in plant spores. I noticed her grimace and it made me grin which was thankfully hidden by my hair.

The second security door opened, finally allowing me to see the doctor to the full. She was very reserved, a blonde woman in her late twenties dressed in a black pant suit, a white coat hiding most of her frame. She adjusted the black glasses further up her nose so she could better see me.

"You can remove you hands from there, Miss Isley. Please make yourself comfortable." she told me, softly, pulling out the padded chair and sitting down. She placed a notepad on her knee, and let her eyes fall on me.

I sat up straighter and took down my hands from the wall. Using one to push my hair back I returned to my dull mattress, stretching out my long legs so the orange material of my asylum two piece didn't scratch against my skin. It was terribly uncomfortable and I was just lucky enough that it was too big for me so the contact with my skin was minimal.

With the hair out of the way I could lift my head and raise my yellow xanthophyll eyes to meet her blue ones. "My name is not Miss Isley," I responded calmly, tipping up my straight nose.

She chewed her lip, and pressed the button on a tape recorder. "Sorry about that Miss- what would you prefer I call you?" she asked.

I hmphed, leaning backward and resting on my hands. They weren't cuffed so they obviously expected me not to do anything. "Ivy, Poison Ivy's too much for a sustained conversation."

She thought about it for a second. "Here at Arkham we're not told to use a patients own given name, as it could encourage their habits, I hope you understand." she responded, and I scoffed - I couldn't even be called my chosen name. Of course this had been a rule for a while, but I'd gotten used to my past doctor using Ivy anyway.

Speaking of Mooney, where was she?

"What happened to the other doctor then?" I asked, raising a red eyebrow.

The doctor what she must have thought was a concerned face; mine remained neutral no matter what I heard. "Dr Mooney has retired, and so I will be your new doctor, that is if you don't object." she responded with a professional smile.

Hah, retired. Mooney has probably begged to be transferred to a different establishment after the last session where I talked about nothing but sleeping with her husband. Of course I couldn't do that as I was stuck in this stupid cage, but I knew enough about him to make her nervous.

"I'm Dr Quinzel," the doctor added after my silence. "I don't do this with patients but if it makes you more comfortable you can call me Harleen."

My mouth opened slightly in confusion, but my features remained calm. I didn't want her taking my responses and running. "Why would you do that with me?"

She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "I'd like for us to be friends, or at least as close as one can get in this setting."

My lip twitched. "That's kind of... weird." It was very weird, I couldn't tell if she was creating an atmosphere of cold hard professionalism, or warm friendship, and neither really mixed.

"So what can I call you? You didn't answer before."

Yes, Captain Obvious I was aware that I didn't. "My friends at college used to call me Red." I regretted it as soon as it came out of my mouth, as I realised I'd given her something of substance to chew on.

"Red sounds nice." she commented, not even drawing attention to the friends at college part. Interesting, maybe she would be more tolerable than the others.

She smiled once again and got up, dusting down her trousers. "Well this has been nice but I just came here to introduce myself, not for a full session don't worry. I thought we could start sessions every Tuesday and Thursday at 11am?"

I managed to pull the corner of my mouth up slightly, though my tone still sounded sarcastic. "Sounds fine."

She nodded her head, allowing her some time to process my words. "Well miss- Red, it was pleasant to meet you. I'll see you on Thursday!"

Dr Quinzel gave a signal to the guard outside and the security door opened and closed. Once again the doctor was sprayed with a defoliant, before the other security door opened and closed behind her. I didn't take the time to watch her as much as she may have liked that, so I lay back on my mattress.

The introduction didn't have much of an affect on me, and so I stretched out my arms and played with my long hair. Doctors came and went in the year I'd been incarcerated, and I was sure this Doctor Harleen Quinzel wasn't going to be the last of them.

The song changed to Nocturne op 9 number 2.