A Trip to Brookhaven Wednesday 3/22
He'd promised to get Tara interviews with the patients and when after weeks of asking Dr. Chilton, he's given the go ahead, Jonathan doesn't hesitate to call Tara over.
Jonathan greets Tara at the entrance gates to Brookhaven, he has a visitors pass for her and he's quite excited to finally be making good on the offer he made to her so long ago.
"Hey Tara," he says when he sees her, handing her the little placard, "You look nice. Thanks for being available on such short notice, Dr. Chilton was a bit stingy on exactly when we could do this and I was afraid if we didn't act on his sudden generosity now, it might never happen again. And I really wanted you to get a chance to interview some of these patients. This way."
He flashes his I.D. badge at security, motioning towards her visitors pass and they're waved through. They stop in front of the wide, heavy door to the entrance into the hospital proper.
"They have to search us and your bag. Make sure we don't have anything the inmates might be able to use," he explains, holding up his arms as he's patted down. There's only one guard here at the door, and only one beyond. It's rather obvious that Brookhaven is a bit short staffed.
"Oh, of course," Tara murmurs, looking to him for reassurance as she holds out her arms to be patted down. Male guard and this is the most intimately a man has touched her in... years. Many, many years, because he's being very thorough about it. His professional attitude is the only thing that saves Tara from calling this whole thing off - he's obviously not interested in her in any way. "Thank you. And Dr. Chilton, too. I've been, um... yeah, I've been a little delinquent with the work my, um, bosses, and they're... not particularly interested in excuses?" Her bag holds her cell phone, her notebook and a couple of pens, amongst the other detritus that always seems to accumulate, including fruit leather, tissues, wet wipes and a deck of tarot cards. She doesn't think any of those would be a problem, but it's hard to be sure.
The Guard gives thorough look over Tara's things, going so far as to open the box and flip through the deck of cards.
"Sorry about that Tara," Jonathan says to her as the guard goes through her things, "It completely slipped my mind to warn you about having to be searched. Obviously, security is pretty tight around here."
"Ms...," the guard looks at the visitors pass, "Mrs. McCutcheon, you're going to have to leave your cell phone here with us at the main gate. Along with your notebook," he slides a yellow legal pad across the desk as he takes her notebook and outs it in a basket with her cell phone, "Yours to keep, we're also going to be keeping the fruit here. You are allowed one pen; please describe it in detail on the claim sheet. Under no circumstances are you to leave the premises without that pen. Do you understand?"
The notebook is spiral bound - she can see how that might be dangerous. Wouldn't have thought of it on her own, but can see it now. But... the fruit leather? What harm can fruit leather do? "It, um... it might be easier if I just take the pad and a pen, and leave the whole bag behind?" she offers. If these people are so dangerous that a pen becomes a weapon, she's glad they'll be safely behind bars. All she's doing is interviewing them. This is her job. Dear gods, she's glad Jonathan is here. He won't let anything happen to her.
The guard laughs, "If you prefer that ma'am, that's fine with us. As you can see, Mr. Crane usually goes for the minimalist approach as well," he gestures to Jonathan who has one pen in his pocket and shrugs at their notice. Taking Tara's bag he puts it in the basket along with her cell phone, notebook and fruit. He hits a button and with a buzzing noise, the door opens.
Jonathan smiles warily, "You officially think my job is completely nuts don't you?" he asks as they walk through the door. Two people with white coats are standing at the front desk and a few nurses and orderlies pass by.
"Jonathan Crane and guest for Pamela Iseley, Dr. Quinzel, and Garfield Lynns," he tells the nurse, who then hands him a small stack of files and three keycards, 2 with a blue strip on the front and 1 with a green one. Each name is clearly printed across the front.
"Would you like to start with the reason you can't bring fruit in?" he asks her, holding up a card with a green strip, "Or would you prefer to start out with an arsonist?" and here her holds up one of the blue cards.
"The fruit thing," Tara says, with a definitive nod in her head. "Because, um, at the moment? That's the pat that makes me think your job is nuts. I mean it's... it's fruit. Fruit leather, so you can't even really choke on it. Not really. I mean, it's all soft and bendy!" She fidgets with the pen for a few moments, lacking a shirt pocket to tuck it into, and finally slides it behind her ear. It's up today - unusual for her, because Shane much prefers it loose - but she doesn't want to have anything hanging that could be grabbed onto and pulled. Not that she's paranoid.
Nodding, because he'd assumed that would pique her interest, he puts the other three cards in his pocket and takes Tara and the files down the hall to the left, making another immediate left into a hallway. There's a green stripe on the wall, but aside from that it's exactly as boring as every hospital hallway ever. They pass by innocuous looking doors with small placards being the only clue as to who is inside.
Octavius, O Allerdyce, S. J. and on and on. Jonathan stops them in front of a door that says, Isely, P and slides his key card through the lock. The room they enter would be completely normal looking, if not for the fact that the area for them to stand is only a small 4x4 foot space. It's separated from the rest of the room by a huge Plexiglas wall. Behind it, a beautiful redheaded woman sits with her back to them; she's brushing her hair, and looks at them in the mirror in front of her.
"Good afternoon Ms. Isely," he says, with a polite nod to the woman.
"Mr. Crane," she says, never stopping the way her hands move over her hair, "Don't you know it's polite to knock before entering the domicile of a lady?" her eyes flick to Tara, "and you've brought a friend," she turns around, "How interesting."
She stands, sashaying towards the glass, her body clearly shapely even through the plain drab uniform. She sits down in the chair near the glass, but never touches it. She brings her feet up to the chair, one foot tucked beneath her, the other bent, and she links her hands around this leg. She never stops smiling at Tara.
"What can I do for you my dear?" she asks her, "You aren't like the others are you... something, different about you."
She's... beautiful. Beyond beautiful. Her skin has a faintly greenish tinge, but it only serves to offset the perfect red of her hair, the loose curls that seem to have a life of their own. Her lips are a dark green, a colour that can't be achieved with lipstick, but makes Tara want to touch her, to see if it feels the same way red lips do. Those physical differences are nothing compared to that of her aura - she's connected to the world in a way humans just aren't. Tara doesn't know how to describe it, but she holds more of the rust-brown aura that trees do than the typical human pattern, although her chakras are still in place as a human's would be. "You're so beautiful..." she whispers, decorum stunned out of her as she takes a step closer to the glass.
Jonathan looks surprised by Tara's reaction to Isely. He'd known she liked women, but she was happily married after all.
"Tara," he says in a warning tone, reaching out to her.
"Don't do that Crane," she says to him, her lips forming a pout, "It's not often I find a woman quite this... intriguing. Tell me young lady, what do I call so tender a flower as you?" he smile is completely for Tara, "You love Her don't you. The Mother? And not just like those yuppie poseurs and wannabe hippies. You love the Mother Earth properly, feel the call to you, as her child," she reaches up one hand to the glass, pressing it flat, "And you still get to feel Her, underneath you and around you... feel the air and the sun feeding her," she looks wistful, "I haven't been near Her in months."
Tara's hand is halfway to the glass, to press it up against Mr. Isely's before Jonathan's tone filters past the woman's voice and into her brain. Her fingers curling short of that mirrored touch, she folds her arm behind her back, tucking her fingers against her tattoo. "I'm Tara. And... yeah. I do. I'm... I'm sorry you don't get to feel the sun on your face, Ms. Isely. It's wan, these days, but the cherry trees are in bloom and the snowdrops are up - some of the early crocuses, too. The trees have their little green buds, but they haven't burst yet - still too shy to come out, I think. Maybe... maybe, um, I could bring you some photographs? I mean, it's not the same, but..."
He relaxes when it becomes apparent that Tara's been brought back from wherever it was she had gone to for that brief moment. And Ms. Isely seemed to like her, so she was much more likely to be cooperative.
"Ms. Isely, Tara is here to ask you a few questions. You wouldn't mind speaking with her for a few moments would you?" he asks her.
Her hand drops from the glass and she curls it back against her body, looking almost sad, "The hush before Spring," and her tone is reverent, quiet as she closes her eyes, "The whole world holding it's breath until that beautiful day when life Springs forward."
She shakes her head, "Pictures, video, pale imitations of the life She creates for us. It is a kind offer though Tara, and perhaps, if I'm allowed... it might bring some color around here," she says smiling at her mostly empty walls, "Please, call me Pamela. A friend of Mr. Crane's I assume? What is it exactly you wanted to ask me?"
"Pamela, then. And yes, um, Mr. Crane and I are good friends." Best friends. There's nobody she trusts more, other than Shane and perhaps Mr. Phale. She's tempted to beg Jonathan to let her bring in Joshua, to do a mural on Pamela Isely's wall, to give her something beautiful to look at, something that looks the like world outside. To not even have a window... she's sure the white and grey and the artificial light would drive her mad after a few weeks, and she's sure Pamela's going to be in this cell a lot longer than that. "I, um... I'm doing a research project? On evil. And... well, you're, um... you've been judged criminally insane. Or you wouldn't be here, obviously. But I was wondering, um... what do you think evil is?"
Isely is clearly feeling much warmer towards Tara then she's felt towards anyone else who's worked at Brookhaven for as long as she's been here. Tara had that affect on people.
She smiles at that, something large and clearly delighted, "Oh dear Tara, have a seat," and she gestures to the two seats on the other side of the glass, "and I will tell you exactly what Evil is."
"Evil, is what's going on in the world today. Men... Man, scurrying through existence with no regard whatsoever to the world around them. She gives us life, a place to live, food, everything we have, comes from her in some way. And how do we repay Her? We poison Her oceans, rivers and streams, we cut down her forests, pave over her valleys, choke her air with our vile, noxious gases and waste," she says, voice heated.
"And why? Why must we do these things, how does mankind justify it? Progress. As if there is something progressive about destruction. As if it hasn't been around since the beginning of time. That is evil, dear Tara. Our beautiful Mother Earth being destroyed before our eyes and no one trying to fix it."
Tara takes a seat, feeling awkward in the chair. She ought to be sitting at Pamela's feet, feeling those perfect green fingernails wind through her hair, stroking and petting her. Sitting is better, though. She shouldn't be above Pamela, shouldn't look down onto her. She nods as Pamela speaks. "Our lives are so short. I mean, humans have existed for two million years, something like that? In the life of this planet it's an eye blink. She'll survive us all - she's stronger than us. But only with scars. Entire species killed for no better reason than people liking cheap hamburgers."
Her voice is filled with disgust, and she swallows as if something vile is in the back of her throat, tainting the air she breathes. "You've heard the theory that all the natural disasters we've been having recently are Her way of trying to correct the balance? Shrugging us off of her shoulders? There are new diseases now that we've learned how to fight the old ones, but nobody learns how to fight earthquakes, or tornados, or tsunami. She's screaming just as loudly as she can for us to listen - and if we don't, we'll pay Her consequences."
"Oh my dearest darling girl," she says, watching Tara with rapt fascination, "You... that is precisely it. We're nothing, nothing compared to Her. She'll outlive us, one way or another. We're like germs, living on Her, just as fleeting and just as insignificant. What do you do when a germ is bothering you? Making you sick and damaging your health?" she leans forward, "You exterminate it. That's what She's doing. And can you blame Her? Can you blame Her wanting to save all that She's created from destruction?"
She leans back slightly, "My job, dear Tara, is to help her. It was supposedly an accident that made me like this. But I believe it's destiny. I believe I was meant to be made into what I am, to better serve and understand Her. I do Her bidding when She is unable to. Her arm if you will. Do you understand what I mean?"
"I... I'm not sure," Tara confesses. "I mean, I understand about being the hand of the Gods, or the Powers. I, um... yeah, I kind of work for the Powers myself? So I know what it means, and I know how people can sometimes think you're crazy because of it. But I don't understand what you mean about, um, making you 'like this'. You're... you're more connected than people are. I can see that. Are you... excuse me, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but are you a dryad?"
She tilts her head at Tara quizzically, a small smile play at her lips, "I have no idea what you're asking me Tara. Are you referring to the Greek Myths? Of Forest People?" she shakes her head.
"I was just like you once Tara," she says, "Except I fell in love with the wrong man. He used me as a subject for his experiments and then... I was like this. I'm a hybrid, they tell me; chlorophyll runs through my veins, not blood. Part of me is one with Her, the other... still flesh.
"Do you know why I'm behind this wall?" she asks, gesturing to the Plexiglas, "I'm poisonous. My kiss can be deadly and my pheromones allow me to control men's minds. This,” she taps the glass, “is to keep me away from the staff. Who are mostly men, as is the case in most hospitals. Some things will probably never change.
"I'm less human every moment," she explains, "In flesh; I'm still half and half. But my mind? It's going further and further towards Her. I'm becoming one with Her, in my mind. It's why I feel confident saying that the things I do, I do for Her. In Her name," she looks over, making eye contact through the glass, "You see her in me?"
"A lot of those myths are real," Tara tells her seriously. "The dryads were the spirits of the trees, somewhere between plant and person, and their responsibility was to be the voice of the forest, to be the ambassadors between Nature and Man. It depends how you read the legends, but it looks like there was a treaty formed, that allowed people to live in harmony. And then something changed, and Man broke the treaty, and slew the dryads - chopped down their trees to silence their protests and quiet the power that could turn the very forest against them. And those that were left slept, hibernated. Hid, deep within the heart of the trees, because to fight was to die against metal blades." She stops, giving a wry grin. "That's what I see in you. The voice of the forest, of the Earth herself. But I believe in evolution, Pamela. She improves Herself, every day, in a thousand tiny ways. The dryads were plant first, and person second, and they were tied to their trees. So she's created them again, through you - and you're tied to nothing."
"What a perfectly wonderful idea," she says, getting off her chair and moving so she's sitting directly in front of Tara behind the glass, "Changed, human first so I can move about more freely, better exercise Her will. It makes perfect sense, and for this new incarnation to be made now. Now is when my kind or fighting is most needed. Lying in wait all these years," she's clearly working out something in her head, but she smiles something large and blissful.
"I won't be in here forever then... She wouldn't abandon me, not after all that work," she holds her hand against the glass again, tracing out Tara's features, "Thank you," he fingers trace over her mouth, feeling only smooth glass beneath her fingers but knowing Tara is on the other side, "Who are you, really sweet Tara, to make me feel like this?
The hesitation that Jonathan's warning caused before is long gone, and Tara slides off her chair onto her knees, pressing her hand against the glass as if she would reach through and take Ivy's. "They were ambassadors, though, not fighters," Tara clarifies. "You... you're recreated. Sharper spines, deadlier poison. Her way of protecting Herself from the slaughter that happened before... but She doesn't need any help to destroy mankind. She has diseases we don't know how to fight, disasters we can't stand against. If it was our deaths She wanted, we'd all be dead. What She needs is a mouth. A messenger, someone who can speak the languages of Man and give them - us, I should say - a last chance.
There are so many people who want to help, but who don't know how. People still believe plants don't feel pain, even though science has proved that they do. Pain and fear and trust, it's all been proven in labs, but because they can't speak for themselves, people can't believe it. You... you're an impossibility, Pamela. Chlorophyll instead of blood... by science, you shouldn't exist. Just looking at you... you've been given the power to control men's minds, so that you can make them hear. You're Her mouth, not Her arm." She doesn't answer the question of who she is really, her mind swimming with this sudden revelation of purpose. She doesn't know how to answer the question, the tale of her death and rebirth, the mission she's on for the Powers, how to explain her small purpose to this extraordinary woman who has been given such a vital one.
They don't come near the glass, any of them, so afraid of her, Crane sits near it, but... even then he's clearly wary of her. And she can't touch anyone; it's been forever since she's been close to anyone, not her beloved Earth and not a living person. Palm to palm with Tara through the glass though, she's certain she never wants to see Tara without this thick wall between them. Never wants Tara to look at her with eyes clouded from her pheromones.
Looking into Tara's eyes though... it makes sense. Maybe... maybe that's why she was brought to Jason, why she is the way she is. "To speak, to speak for Her," she says, stunned, "I'm going to be here for a long time... a long, long time," she looks away for a moment, looking behind her at the walls, "Do you think... do you think She'll mind if it takes me many years? The next 20 to life is... quite possibly entirely booked, but I don't want to anger Her."
Tara's eyes soften, and her fingers curl, stroking Pamela's hand through the glass. "Being here doesn't mean you can't speak," she says. "People write their memoirs from prison all the time, why not you? People can't come and hear it from your own mouth, but you understand, better than any of them. Write it down. Or if they won't let you do that, have someone come and take dictation, take down your words to share. You've been put in a box, and I'm so, so sorry, Pamela... but you're not dead. You can't move, but you can still speak - and I'll help you, if there's any way I can. I swear it."
"Sweet girl," she says, "It's not a bad idea. They're even more inclined to listen to me from here, aren't they? The human pop culture where prison memoirs are such a hot commodity. I'm allowed pen and paper, so long as they've been checked by the hospital staff first. I think I'd like to do it myself, that way it will always be within my reach if I think of something to add. The process for getting things through this wall... it's quite arduous.
"As for help... I'd like for you to visit, on occasion, if you don't mind. Wear something pretty, with vibrant colors and tell me what the first blush of Spring looks like," she looks down at the carpeting of her cell, the drab of her prison uniform, "It feels like it's been winter forever."
Beaming softly, Tara nods. "I can do that. And I'll bring you photographs, and I'll tell you what's happening in the world outside. How She breathes." Her heart breaks for Pamela - for her, of all people, to be without the scent of green growing things, the rich loam of the earth and the delicate scent of flowers, to not feel the sun on her face and the wind in her hair... for a person, food and water and sleep are necessities. To force a person to go without is considered torture, and it's forbidden by the statutes that protect human rights. For a plant, sunlight and good earth are just as essential, and Pamela Isely's prisoners seem to have forgotten she's as much plant as person. What's happening to her is torture and Tara has every intention of taking it up with Dr. Chilton - and on up, if he won't listen to her, as far as she has to go.
vy kisses the glass, where Tara's forehead is and smiles softly at her, "Thank you," she says, "Such a bright outlook on the world. Something radiant, in this artificial world. I'll see you again soon. Perhaps I'll have a chapter or two done by then."
She stands and acknowledges Jonathan for the first time since the interview began, "Have a pleasant afternoon Mr. Crane, thank you for bringing such a rare bloom to me.
Jonathan stands as well, used to Isely's non-verbal cues for ending sessions. He always tries to respect her boundaries, due to her issues with men. "Thank you Ms. Isely for being so candid with my friend. I'm pleased you got as much out of the interview as she did," he replies with an incline of his head.
"Tara?" he says to her, swiping the card in the door again and opening it for the two of them, "After you," and he gestures out the door and into the hallway.
"Thank you, Pamela," Tara says, rising to her feet. "I'll see you again soon." She's loathe to leave this woman in this prison of concrete and glass, where life never touches, but she also knows she has no choice. People call her naive, but she didn't miss this eco-terrorism inherent in Pamela's words. She's come across it before - a hopelessness in the way the world is moving that turns to anger. Humanity is destroying the planet, a cancer on its surface, and logic maintains that the best solution is to sharply cull its numbers.
People aren't logical creatures, though, and if Pamela Isely made an attempt to do that it would explain why she's in here. There are other ways, though, and Tara can only hope she can find them. She really does belief that the Earth Goddess has the power to destroy mankind - or selected parts of it - all on Her own. She doesn't need help from anyone, not even the dryad in the cell. Her heart is good, her decisions bad, but Tara doesn't see anything evil in her. Her motivation comes from love, from a greater logic and wisdom and insight than most people are capable of. It seems, though, that anyone who does not value human life above all other kinds is judged as evil, and she muses on this as she passes through the doorway and out into the hall.
"You aren't happy with me," he says, the moment the door is closed, "Or... the whole situation really. It's upsetting to you, I can see it." He noticed something in the way she took in the cell, displeasure that he's certain she's going to do something about.
"You liked her though. I know that much and she really liked you. She hasn't been that friendly with any member of the staff in months from what I hear."
"Jonathan," Tara sighs, the smile fading from her once Pamela is out of sight. "She's half plant. She's starving to death in there, can't you see it? She needs the sunlight the way you and I need water to drink. Denying her the touch of living things is like putting a human being in solitary confinement. She can bear it for a while, but she's going to go mad. I know that there are reasons why she's being restricted, but there have to be ways around it. To give her a little life, a little colour, something more than those grey walls. There has to be." Yes, she liked Pamela. That's obvious; it's written all over her face, in the determined set of her jaw and the tension in her shoulders, her grief for what this woman is being forced to suffer. "Jonathan, she's being tortured, do you see that?"
Definitely upset, but he's sure he can make her understand, "Tara, you have to understand, it wasn't always like this. When she first got here, she was very popular among the staff. She's well spoken, passionate and you have to admit, she's easy on everyone's eyes. They had a garden for her out back; she got to work in it two hours a day, everyday. But Tara, she has... a connection with plants, almost but not quite psychic. She grew something, vines of some kind... she almost killed a guard. After that, they took away her garden privileges. It's why you couldn't bring the fruit in. It's most likely the seeds aren't active but... hospital security isn't taking chances with her."
He looks over at her... "You know she's in here for murder right? I mean, she had her reasons but, she did kill someone."
"I figured as much," Tara replies calmly. "So no seeds, no flowers - fine. No taking chances. But leaves aren't a problem - they're not generative. They could be brought in. Photographs, a mural on her wall - a skylight, even, of that same Plexiglas, so she can at least feel the sun on her face through it. There has to be a way." She'd be surprised if there's anyone she meets today who hasn't killed someone. That side of things was dealt with long before she arrived this morning.
Nodding along with what she says he makes a note on one of the pages on Ivy's file, "It would be worth bringing up with the hospital staff I suppose," he tells her, "Though... it's unlikely it will happen. The board is obsessed with the budget so a skylight is most definitely out. I mean... they won't even pay overtime to Bethlehem nurses, orderlies and security to help us with our short staffing problem. No way are they going to approve of construction on her cell. But you have a point; non generative plant life wouldn't be too large a risk. Do you think UV lamps might work as a possible substitute?" he asks.
"It's not perfect," Tara muses, gnawing on her lower lip. "But it's better than nothing. I mean, it won't do much for her soul, but it'll help her health." There was recently a ball to raise money for Xavier's, and the rumour mill has it that they raised almost $30 million dollars. Could they raise money from the hospital? Chances are people are less likely to support the criminally insane than they are the bright promise of the future in the flower of their youth or however it is CJ spun it... but she has faith in CJ's ability to spin almost anything. Something to talk to her about, perhaps.
((pre-played via IM locked for interaction, but please OOC to your heart's content))
Jonathan greets Tara at the entrance gates to Brookhaven, he has a visitors pass for her and he's quite excited to finally be making good on the offer he made to her so long ago.
"Hey Tara," he says when he sees her, handing her the little placard, "You look nice. Thanks for being available on such short notice, Dr. Chilton was a bit stingy on exactly when we could do this and I was afraid if we didn't act on his sudden generosity now, it might never happen again. And I really wanted you to get a chance to interview some of these patients. This way."
He flashes his I.D. badge at security, motioning towards her visitors pass and they're waved through. They stop in front of the wide, heavy door to the entrance into the hospital proper.
"They have to search us and your bag. Make sure we don't have anything the inmates might be able to use," he explains, holding up his arms as he's patted down. There's only one guard here at the door, and only one beyond. It's rather obvious that Brookhaven is a bit short staffed.
"Oh, of course," Tara murmurs, looking to him for reassurance as she holds out her arms to be patted down. Male guard and this is the most intimately a man has touched her in... years. Many, many years, because he's being very thorough about it. His professional attitude is the only thing that saves Tara from calling this whole thing off - he's obviously not interested in her in any way. "Thank you. And Dr. Chilton, too. I've been, um... yeah, I've been a little delinquent with the work my, um, bosses, and they're... not particularly interested in excuses?" Her bag holds her cell phone, her notebook and a couple of pens, amongst the other detritus that always seems to accumulate, including fruit leather, tissues, wet wipes and a deck of tarot cards. She doesn't think any of those would be a problem, but it's hard to be sure.
The Guard gives thorough look over Tara's things, going so far as to open the box and flip through the deck of cards.
"Sorry about that Tara," Jonathan says to her as the guard goes through her things, "It completely slipped my mind to warn you about having to be searched. Obviously, security is pretty tight around here."
"Ms...," the guard looks at the visitors pass, "Mrs. McCutcheon, you're going to have to leave your cell phone here with us at the main gate. Along with your notebook," he slides a yellow legal pad across the desk as he takes her notebook and outs it in a basket with her cell phone, "Yours to keep, we're also going to be keeping the fruit here. You are allowed one pen; please describe it in detail on the claim sheet. Under no circumstances are you to leave the premises without that pen. Do you understand?"
The notebook is spiral bound - she can see how that might be dangerous. Wouldn't have thought of it on her own, but can see it now. But... the fruit leather? What harm can fruit leather do? "It, um... it might be easier if I just take the pad and a pen, and leave the whole bag behind?" she offers. If these people are so dangerous that a pen becomes a weapon, she's glad they'll be safely behind bars. All she's doing is interviewing them. This is her job. Dear gods, she's glad Jonathan is here. He won't let anything happen to her.
The guard laughs, "If you prefer that ma'am, that's fine with us. As you can see, Mr. Crane usually goes for the minimalist approach as well," he gestures to Jonathan who has one pen in his pocket and shrugs at their notice. Taking Tara's bag he puts it in the basket along with her cell phone, notebook and fruit. He hits a button and with a buzzing noise, the door opens.
Jonathan smiles warily, "You officially think my job is completely nuts don't you?" he asks as they walk through the door. Two people with white coats are standing at the front desk and a few nurses and orderlies pass by.
"Jonathan Crane and guest for Pamela Iseley, Dr. Quinzel, and Garfield Lynns," he tells the nurse, who then hands him a small stack of files and three keycards, 2 with a blue strip on the front and 1 with a green one. Each name is clearly printed across the front.
"Would you like to start with the reason you can't bring fruit in?" he asks her, holding up a card with a green strip, "Or would you prefer to start out with an arsonist?" and here her holds up one of the blue cards.
"The fruit thing," Tara says, with a definitive nod in her head. "Because, um, at the moment? That's the pat that makes me think your job is nuts. I mean it's... it's fruit. Fruit leather, so you can't even really choke on it. Not really. I mean, it's all soft and bendy!" She fidgets with the pen for a few moments, lacking a shirt pocket to tuck it into, and finally slides it behind her ear. It's up today - unusual for her, because Shane much prefers it loose - but she doesn't want to have anything hanging that could be grabbed onto and pulled. Not that she's paranoid.
Nodding, because he'd assumed that would pique her interest, he puts the other three cards in his pocket and takes Tara and the files down the hall to the left, making another immediate left into a hallway. There's a green stripe on the wall, but aside from that it's exactly as boring as every hospital hallway ever. They pass by innocuous looking doors with small placards being the only clue as to who is inside.
Octavius, O Allerdyce, S. J. and on and on. Jonathan stops them in front of a door that says, Isely, P and slides his key card through the lock. The room they enter would be completely normal looking, if not for the fact that the area for them to stand is only a small 4x4 foot space. It's separated from the rest of the room by a huge Plexiglas wall. Behind it, a beautiful redheaded woman sits with her back to them; she's brushing her hair, and looks at them in the mirror in front of her.
"Good afternoon Ms. Isely," he says, with a polite nod to the woman.
"Mr. Crane," she says, never stopping the way her hands move over her hair, "Don't you know it's polite to knock before entering the domicile of a lady?" her eyes flick to Tara, "and you've brought a friend," she turns around, "How interesting."
She stands, sashaying towards the glass, her body clearly shapely even through the plain drab uniform. She sits down in the chair near the glass, but never touches it. She brings her feet up to the chair, one foot tucked beneath her, the other bent, and she links her hands around this leg. She never stops smiling at Tara.
"What can I do for you my dear?" she asks her, "You aren't like the others are you... something, different about you."
She's... beautiful. Beyond beautiful. Her skin has a faintly greenish tinge, but it only serves to offset the perfect red of her hair, the loose curls that seem to have a life of their own. Her lips are a dark green, a colour that can't be achieved with lipstick, but makes Tara want to touch her, to see if it feels the same way red lips do. Those physical differences are nothing compared to that of her aura - she's connected to the world in a way humans just aren't. Tara doesn't know how to describe it, but she holds more of the rust-brown aura that trees do than the typical human pattern, although her chakras are still in place as a human's would be. "You're so beautiful..." she whispers, decorum stunned out of her as she takes a step closer to the glass.
Jonathan looks surprised by Tara's reaction to Isely. He'd known she liked women, but she was happily married after all.
"Tara," he says in a warning tone, reaching out to her.
"Don't do that Crane," she says to him, her lips forming a pout, "It's not often I find a woman quite this... intriguing. Tell me young lady, what do I call so tender a flower as you?" he smile is completely for Tara, "You love Her don't you. The Mother? And not just like those yuppie poseurs and wannabe hippies. You love the Mother Earth properly, feel the call to you, as her child," she reaches up one hand to the glass, pressing it flat, "And you still get to feel Her, underneath you and around you... feel the air and the sun feeding her," she looks wistful, "I haven't been near Her in months."
Tara's hand is halfway to the glass, to press it up against Mr. Isely's before Jonathan's tone filters past the woman's voice and into her brain. Her fingers curling short of that mirrored touch, she folds her arm behind her back, tucking her fingers against her tattoo. "I'm Tara. And... yeah. I do. I'm... I'm sorry you don't get to feel the sun on your face, Ms. Isely. It's wan, these days, but the cherry trees are in bloom and the snowdrops are up - some of the early crocuses, too. The trees have their little green buds, but they haven't burst yet - still too shy to come out, I think. Maybe... maybe, um, I could bring you some photographs? I mean, it's not the same, but..."
He relaxes when it becomes apparent that Tara's been brought back from wherever it was she had gone to for that brief moment. And Ms. Isely seemed to like her, so she was much more likely to be cooperative.
"Ms. Isely, Tara is here to ask you a few questions. You wouldn't mind speaking with her for a few moments would you?" he asks her.
Her hand drops from the glass and she curls it back against her body, looking almost sad, "The hush before Spring," and her tone is reverent, quiet as she closes her eyes, "The whole world holding it's breath until that beautiful day when life Springs forward."
She shakes her head, "Pictures, video, pale imitations of the life She creates for us. It is a kind offer though Tara, and perhaps, if I'm allowed... it might bring some color around here," she says smiling at her mostly empty walls, "Please, call me Pamela. A friend of Mr. Crane's I assume? What is it exactly you wanted to ask me?"
"Pamela, then. And yes, um, Mr. Crane and I are good friends." Best friends. There's nobody she trusts more, other than Shane and perhaps Mr. Phale. She's tempted to beg Jonathan to let her bring in Joshua, to do a mural on Pamela Isely's wall, to give her something beautiful to look at, something that looks the like world outside. To not even have a window... she's sure the white and grey and the artificial light would drive her mad after a few weeks, and she's sure Pamela's going to be in this cell a lot longer than that. "I, um... I'm doing a research project? On evil. And... well, you're, um... you've been judged criminally insane. Or you wouldn't be here, obviously. But I was wondering, um... what do you think evil is?"
Isely is clearly feeling much warmer towards Tara then she's felt towards anyone else who's worked at Brookhaven for as long as she's been here. Tara had that affect on people.
She smiles at that, something large and clearly delighted, "Oh dear Tara, have a seat," and she gestures to the two seats on the other side of the glass, "and I will tell you exactly what Evil is."
"Evil, is what's going on in the world today. Men... Man, scurrying through existence with no regard whatsoever to the world around them. She gives us life, a place to live, food, everything we have, comes from her in some way. And how do we repay Her? We poison Her oceans, rivers and streams, we cut down her forests, pave over her valleys, choke her air with our vile, noxious gases and waste," she says, voice heated.
"And why? Why must we do these things, how does mankind justify it? Progress. As if there is something progressive about destruction. As if it hasn't been around since the beginning of time. That is evil, dear Tara. Our beautiful Mother Earth being destroyed before our eyes and no one trying to fix it."
Tara takes a seat, feeling awkward in the chair. She ought to be sitting at Pamela's feet, feeling those perfect green fingernails wind through her hair, stroking and petting her. Sitting is better, though. She shouldn't be above Pamela, shouldn't look down onto her. She nods as Pamela speaks. "Our lives are so short. I mean, humans have existed for two million years, something like that? In the life of this planet it's an eye blink. She'll survive us all - she's stronger than us. But only with scars. Entire species killed for no better reason than people liking cheap hamburgers."
Her voice is filled with disgust, and she swallows as if something vile is in the back of her throat, tainting the air she breathes. "You've heard the theory that all the natural disasters we've been having recently are Her way of trying to correct the balance? Shrugging us off of her shoulders? There are new diseases now that we've learned how to fight the old ones, but nobody learns how to fight earthquakes, or tornados, or tsunami. She's screaming just as loudly as she can for us to listen - and if we don't, we'll pay Her consequences."
"Oh my dearest darling girl," she says, watching Tara with rapt fascination, "You... that is precisely it. We're nothing, nothing compared to Her. She'll outlive us, one way or another. We're like germs, living on Her, just as fleeting and just as insignificant. What do you do when a germ is bothering you? Making you sick and damaging your health?" she leans forward, "You exterminate it. That's what She's doing. And can you blame Her? Can you blame Her wanting to save all that She's created from destruction?"
She leans back slightly, "My job, dear Tara, is to help her. It was supposedly an accident that made me like this. But I believe it's destiny. I believe I was meant to be made into what I am, to better serve and understand Her. I do Her bidding when She is unable to. Her arm if you will. Do you understand what I mean?"
"I... I'm not sure," Tara confesses. "I mean, I understand about being the hand of the Gods, or the Powers. I, um... yeah, I kind of work for the Powers myself? So I know what it means, and I know how people can sometimes think you're crazy because of it. But I don't understand what you mean about, um, making you 'like this'. You're... you're more connected than people are. I can see that. Are you... excuse me, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but are you a dryad?"
She tilts her head at Tara quizzically, a small smile play at her lips, "I have no idea what you're asking me Tara. Are you referring to the Greek Myths? Of Forest People?" she shakes her head.
"I was just like you once Tara," she says, "Except I fell in love with the wrong man. He used me as a subject for his experiments and then... I was like this. I'm a hybrid, they tell me; chlorophyll runs through my veins, not blood. Part of me is one with Her, the other... still flesh.
"Do you know why I'm behind this wall?" she asks, gesturing to the Plexiglas, "I'm poisonous. My kiss can be deadly and my pheromones allow me to control men's minds. This,” she taps the glass, “is to keep me away from the staff. Who are mostly men, as is the case in most hospitals. Some things will probably never change.
"I'm less human every moment," she explains, "In flesh; I'm still half and half. But my mind? It's going further and further towards Her. I'm becoming one with Her, in my mind. It's why I feel confident saying that the things I do, I do for Her. In Her name," she looks over, making eye contact through the glass, "You see her in me?"
"A lot of those myths are real," Tara tells her seriously. "The dryads were the spirits of the trees, somewhere between plant and person, and their responsibility was to be the voice of the forest, to be the ambassadors between Nature and Man. It depends how you read the legends, but it looks like there was a treaty formed, that allowed people to live in harmony. And then something changed, and Man broke the treaty, and slew the dryads - chopped down their trees to silence their protests and quiet the power that could turn the very forest against them. And those that were left slept, hibernated. Hid, deep within the heart of the trees, because to fight was to die against metal blades." She stops, giving a wry grin. "That's what I see in you. The voice of the forest, of the Earth herself. But I believe in evolution, Pamela. She improves Herself, every day, in a thousand tiny ways. The dryads were plant first, and person second, and they were tied to their trees. So she's created them again, through you - and you're tied to nothing."
"What a perfectly wonderful idea," she says, getting off her chair and moving so she's sitting directly in front of Tara behind the glass, "Changed, human first so I can move about more freely, better exercise Her will. It makes perfect sense, and for this new incarnation to be made now. Now is when my kind or fighting is most needed. Lying in wait all these years," she's clearly working out something in her head, but she smiles something large and blissful.
"I won't be in here forever then... She wouldn't abandon me, not after all that work," she holds her hand against the glass again, tracing out Tara's features, "Thank you," he fingers trace over her mouth, feeling only smooth glass beneath her fingers but knowing Tara is on the other side, "Who are you, really sweet Tara, to make me feel like this?
The hesitation that Jonathan's warning caused before is long gone, and Tara slides off her chair onto her knees, pressing her hand against the glass as if she would reach through and take Ivy's. "They were ambassadors, though, not fighters," Tara clarifies. "You... you're recreated. Sharper spines, deadlier poison. Her way of protecting Herself from the slaughter that happened before... but She doesn't need any help to destroy mankind. She has diseases we don't know how to fight, disasters we can't stand against. If it was our deaths She wanted, we'd all be dead. What She needs is a mouth. A messenger, someone who can speak the languages of Man and give them - us, I should say - a last chance.
There are so many people who want to help, but who don't know how. People still believe plants don't feel pain, even though science has proved that they do. Pain and fear and trust, it's all been proven in labs, but because they can't speak for themselves, people can't believe it. You... you're an impossibility, Pamela. Chlorophyll instead of blood... by science, you shouldn't exist. Just looking at you... you've been given the power to control men's minds, so that you can make them hear. You're Her mouth, not Her arm." She doesn't answer the question of who she is really, her mind swimming with this sudden revelation of purpose. She doesn't know how to answer the question, the tale of her death and rebirth, the mission she's on for the Powers, how to explain her small purpose to this extraordinary woman who has been given such a vital one.
They don't come near the glass, any of them, so afraid of her, Crane sits near it, but... even then he's clearly wary of her. And she can't touch anyone; it's been forever since she's been close to anyone, not her beloved Earth and not a living person. Palm to palm with Tara through the glass though, she's certain she never wants to see Tara without this thick wall between them. Never wants Tara to look at her with eyes clouded from her pheromones.
Looking into Tara's eyes though... it makes sense. Maybe... maybe that's why she was brought to Jason, why she is the way she is. "To speak, to speak for Her," she says, stunned, "I'm going to be here for a long time... a long, long time," she looks away for a moment, looking behind her at the walls, "Do you think... do you think She'll mind if it takes me many years? The next 20 to life is... quite possibly entirely booked, but I don't want to anger Her."
Tara's eyes soften, and her fingers curl, stroking Pamela's hand through the glass. "Being here doesn't mean you can't speak," she says. "People write their memoirs from prison all the time, why not you? People can't come and hear it from your own mouth, but you understand, better than any of them. Write it down. Or if they won't let you do that, have someone come and take dictation, take down your words to share. You've been put in a box, and I'm so, so sorry, Pamela... but you're not dead. You can't move, but you can still speak - and I'll help you, if there's any way I can. I swear it."
"Sweet girl," she says, "It's not a bad idea. They're even more inclined to listen to me from here, aren't they? The human pop culture where prison memoirs are such a hot commodity. I'm allowed pen and paper, so long as they've been checked by the hospital staff first. I think I'd like to do it myself, that way it will always be within my reach if I think of something to add. The process for getting things through this wall... it's quite arduous.
"As for help... I'd like for you to visit, on occasion, if you don't mind. Wear something pretty, with vibrant colors and tell me what the first blush of Spring looks like," she looks down at the carpeting of her cell, the drab of her prison uniform, "It feels like it's been winter forever."
Beaming softly, Tara nods. "I can do that. And I'll bring you photographs, and I'll tell you what's happening in the world outside. How She breathes." Her heart breaks for Pamela - for her, of all people, to be without the scent of green growing things, the rich loam of the earth and the delicate scent of flowers, to not feel the sun on her face and the wind in her hair... for a person, food and water and sleep are necessities. To force a person to go without is considered torture, and it's forbidden by the statutes that protect human rights. For a plant, sunlight and good earth are just as essential, and Pamela Isely's prisoners seem to have forgotten she's as much plant as person. What's happening to her is torture and Tara has every intention of taking it up with Dr. Chilton - and on up, if he won't listen to her, as far as she has to go.
vy kisses the glass, where Tara's forehead is and smiles softly at her, "Thank you," she says, "Such a bright outlook on the world. Something radiant, in this artificial world. I'll see you again soon. Perhaps I'll have a chapter or two done by then."
She stands and acknowledges Jonathan for the first time since the interview began, "Have a pleasant afternoon Mr. Crane, thank you for bringing such a rare bloom to me.
Jonathan stands as well, used to Isely's non-verbal cues for ending sessions. He always tries to respect her boundaries, due to her issues with men. "Thank you Ms. Isely for being so candid with my friend. I'm pleased you got as much out of the interview as she did," he replies with an incline of his head.
"Tara?" he says to her, swiping the card in the door again and opening it for the two of them, "After you," and he gestures out the door and into the hallway.
"Thank you, Pamela," Tara says, rising to her feet. "I'll see you again soon." She's loathe to leave this woman in this prison of concrete and glass, where life never touches, but she also knows she has no choice. People call her naive, but she didn't miss this eco-terrorism inherent in Pamela's words. She's come across it before - a hopelessness in the way the world is moving that turns to anger. Humanity is destroying the planet, a cancer on its surface, and logic maintains that the best solution is to sharply cull its numbers.
People aren't logical creatures, though, and if Pamela Isely made an attempt to do that it would explain why she's in here. There are other ways, though, and Tara can only hope she can find them. She really does belief that the Earth Goddess has the power to destroy mankind - or selected parts of it - all on Her own. She doesn't need help from anyone, not even the dryad in the cell. Her heart is good, her decisions bad, but Tara doesn't see anything evil in her. Her motivation comes from love, from a greater logic and wisdom and insight than most people are capable of. It seems, though, that anyone who does not value human life above all other kinds is judged as evil, and she muses on this as she passes through the doorway and out into the hall.
"You aren't happy with me," he says, the moment the door is closed, "Or... the whole situation really. It's upsetting to you, I can see it." He noticed something in the way she took in the cell, displeasure that he's certain she's going to do something about.
"You liked her though. I know that much and she really liked you. She hasn't been that friendly with any member of the staff in months from what I hear."
"Jonathan," Tara sighs, the smile fading from her once Pamela is out of sight. "She's half plant. She's starving to death in there, can't you see it? She needs the sunlight the way you and I need water to drink. Denying her the touch of living things is like putting a human being in solitary confinement. She can bear it for a while, but she's going to go mad. I know that there are reasons why she's being restricted, but there have to be ways around it. To give her a little life, a little colour, something more than those grey walls. There has to be." Yes, she liked Pamela. That's obvious; it's written all over her face, in the determined set of her jaw and the tension in her shoulders, her grief for what this woman is being forced to suffer. "Jonathan, she's being tortured, do you see that?"
Definitely upset, but he's sure he can make her understand, "Tara, you have to understand, it wasn't always like this. When she first got here, she was very popular among the staff. She's well spoken, passionate and you have to admit, she's easy on everyone's eyes. They had a garden for her out back; she got to work in it two hours a day, everyday. But Tara, she has... a connection with plants, almost but not quite psychic. She grew something, vines of some kind... she almost killed a guard. After that, they took away her garden privileges. It's why you couldn't bring the fruit in. It's most likely the seeds aren't active but... hospital security isn't taking chances with her."
He looks over at her... "You know she's in here for murder right? I mean, she had her reasons but, she did kill someone."
"I figured as much," Tara replies calmly. "So no seeds, no flowers - fine. No taking chances. But leaves aren't a problem - they're not generative. They could be brought in. Photographs, a mural on her wall - a skylight, even, of that same Plexiglas, so she can at least feel the sun on her face through it. There has to be a way." She'd be surprised if there's anyone she meets today who hasn't killed someone. That side of things was dealt with long before she arrived this morning.
Nodding along with what she says he makes a note on one of the pages on Ivy's file, "It would be worth bringing up with the hospital staff I suppose," he tells her, "Though... it's unlikely it will happen. The board is obsessed with the budget so a skylight is most definitely out. I mean... they won't even pay overtime to Bethlehem nurses, orderlies and security to help us with our short staffing problem. No way are they going to approve of construction on her cell. But you have a point; non generative plant life wouldn't be too large a risk. Do you think UV lamps might work as a possible substitute?" he asks.
"It's not perfect," Tara muses, gnawing on her lower lip. "But it's better than nothing. I mean, it won't do much for her soul, but it'll help her health." There was recently a ball to raise money for Xavier's, and the rumour mill has it that they raised almost $30 million dollars. Could they raise money from the hospital? Chances are people are less likely to support the criminally insane than they are the bright promise of the future in the flower of their youth or however it is CJ spun it... but she has faith in CJ's ability to spin almost anything. Something to talk to her about, perhaps.
((pre-played via IM locked for interaction, but please OOC to your heart's content))