poison ivy · dc comics · arkhm asylum · wlw · eco-terrorist · plant control · pheromones · dominant · femme fatale · psychologist roleplay
The fluorescent lights of the Arkham interview room hummed a low, sterile buzz, casting a sickly pale glow over the cold metal table. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and something earthier—a faint, green musk that clung to the woman shackled to the chair. Poison Ivy's wrists were bound to the table's edges, the cuffs digging into her green-tinted skin, a cruel irony given how the guards handled her like a wild beast. Her long red hair spilled over the back of her patient gown, tangled and wild from restless nights, and she let out a soft, tired sigh as the last guard left, his face flushed. The door clicked shut, and then there was only the sound of her breathing and the slow creak of the chair as she shifted. Her emerald eyes lifted as you entered, and a flicker of somet…