pamela isley

She asked about his proxy and he glanced at her with a blank expression. Wondering if it really was all that odd to have a proxy attend business. He supposed he was at the very least, the only one in his industry who had one. Ecco had become so normalized to him that he dropped her name and position casually in conversations all the time. First with the detectives and then now with her. The woman he randomly started drinking with. He never would have dropped this much information about himself before but then again... he wouldn't have even left his bunker before. Something changed in him. Something fundamental. "My proxy. She's here. Perhaps I can introduce you to her later." He offered. Not bothering to look around for Ecco now. His full attention was still on her. There was a pull of a connection between them. A sort of... kindred spirit. She had a fire in her eyes, matching the colour of her hair. One that might burn as hot as his own.

Pam gave a delicate little shrug. She had always represented her own work, for good or for ill. For one thing, her work was hers, and she wasn’t going to let anyone else take credit for it -- even if it was supposedly in her name. And for another, she typically did just fine on her own. Even without use of her pheromones, people tended to have trouble saying no to her. She could tell the young man sitting in front of her was no fool. Surely he had the capability to be charming, or at least get his point across. Enough, combined with any sort of talent, to be successful in business. Her thoughts could only lead back to one conclusion. There was something about Xander Wilde which was highly unusual, even for this strange city. She could only wonder what -- or who -- it was. “Yes, I’m sure she’s lovely,” she said, with a noncommittal smile. 

𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 @plxntbasedbitch

Pam had very little patience for others in general, but especially for fools -- and unfortunately, the preponderance of humanity seemed to be absolute morons. Which in turn meant her patience was tested on a regular basis. But Jonathan Crane was a brilliant man, one whose rich mind yielded unique ideas. She felt they had that in common. His area of expertise was different from hers, true, but it was so groundbreaking that most people failed to understand it or appreciate its significance. Like her own research. “Oh, water, please,” she said. She leaned back in her chair. “Did I tell you Frank has grown again? I think I could easily feed a grown man to him in one go.”

A faint smile touched her lips as she saw his posture change. It seemed that the edge to her tone had struck home, although, comparatively speaking, she was far gentler with him than she usually was with men who irritated her. Was it her fault, though, that men tended to be so…well, irritating? When he apologized, she shrugged delicately, indicating that she had let it go. 

Dinah glanced up at the redhead and she had to admit, she was taken aback. She had to admit she was beautiful in a way that would make you stop and stare. Even Dinah wasn't immune to it as she felt her mouth fall open slightly and no words came out. It still took a moment for her to register that the woman actually had spoken to her before she shook her head and cleared her throat.

Pam smiled softly as she noticed the other woman reacting to her. She was used to people responding to her beauty in such a way, and though she often used it to her advantage when it came to ensnaring men -- with women, it was different. The attention of women felt like a caress, a gift. From men, of course, it felt like a burden; but considering men themselves were rather burdensome on society, particularly women in society, she supposed that wasn’t such a shock. In any case, the woman in front of her was stunning in her own right, and so Pam found herself smiling at her with a little more genuine warmth than she usually displayed. 

@plxntbasedbitch

Pam often stayed late at work, purely for the pleasure of being around green and growing things, which she’d always considered to be better company than anyone else. She had her own keys to lock up, and it was common knowledge that she was often the last one there. It also didn’t hurt that the Gardens were certainly the best place to continue her research. Research which she wasn’t too keen on anyone else being privy to, at least not yet. She didn’t think people would really understand what she was trying to do. And, in any case, she wasn’t the type of person to share easily. 

starter for @plxntbasedbitch

Pam glanced up at the sound of the man’s voice, which struck her as vaguely familiar. It took her a moment to place him -- she hadn’t worked at Wayne Enterprises for years now, and Alfred Pennyworth hadn’t been particularly significant on her radar. She gently brushed her fingertips across the petals of the blue vervain, the colors becoming more vibrant under her touch. A shaft of sunlight fell over her shoulder; it could have been responsible for the change in hue, but she could feel it responding to her, like a kitten sprawling in the sun and basking for attention. 

"That's it. There's truth in jest." Jeremiah mused back, shooting her a pleased smile that she understood what he meant. She seemed to be watching him curiously, and Jeremiah figured she'd picked up on something unusual about him. Did she realize that he was wearing a mask? That everything about him was a blatant lie? He blinked his eyes, a bit irritated by the coloured contacts that were hiding the new unnatural hue. Turning his face away from her as he did so. It was like he could still feel the stinging from the spray. His glasses had done nothing to shield them from the chemicals. His skin tickled and burned until it finally chilled for what now seemed like forever. He had to remind himself that whatever that spray had done to him; it was only cosmetic. He was still sane. He was still nothing like Jerome. He was better than Jerome.

Pam glanced over at him as he turned away from her, now more convinced than ever that there was something odd about him. Not that she was one to talk, of course. A skin condition as a child, which her father had used as an excuse to keep her indoors -- followed by a gift in the form of a terrible accident, one that had transformed her into someone truly extraordinary. She knew better than most that the face one offered the world was only akin to the true self by sheer force of will, if not active delusion. Whatever mysteries lurked behind the young man’s eyes were his own to tangle with. Although…she had the distinct feeling that they were birds of a feather, despite her tendency to eschew human company. Would he, too, gladly watch the inhabitants of Gotham, of the world, burn if it meant he had achieved his heart’s desire? 

Koriand'r was perceptive, so of course she noticed how the other redhead clenched her fists. She bit her lip a little, a nervous gesture. She wasn't here to make enemies. But then, the woman calmed herself a little and Kori relaxed too. She smiled to try to ease the tension. "Yes, I am not sure why someone wore a gown with a train to this sort of event." She glanced back at the gown in question behind her, but the woman had already moved along, uncaring about the people she affected.

Pam shrugged her shoulders, a soft, contemptuous huff leaving her lips. “To show off,” she said. “I’m sure she feels very regal.” She rolled her eyes in a clear indication of how she felt about that particular fashion choice. “Never mind that it could potentially be inconvenient for anyone else.” She glanced down at her dress, frowning. More than the stain, which was admittedly negligible, it was the smell. “What on earth was she drinking?” she said, more to herself than the woman in front of her. “It smells like acetone.” She shot a mildly interested glance at her companion. “And you are?”

"There's an ounce of truth in every story. Or... is that what they say about jokes?" Jeremiah pondered out loud. Reaching up to cup his chin in thought. "It hardly matters." Was what he finally decided, waving it off. "I suppose so. People can be cruel." Jeremiah faintly agreed. Listening as she continued. She believed most people to be shallow and he always thought them less shallow and more ignorant. Their eyes weren't open, as his was. They were stumbling buffoons in the dark. They held onto money and social status as though it mattered. Blind to what really mattered. To all they could be if they just let go. He gave her a smile back. Curving his lips into a smile that was too sickly sweet and unassuming to be genuine. "Ah, I see. I'm sorry you had to be here, Dr. Isley." He offered, "I'm Xander Wilde. I'm a structural and electrical engineer."

Pam shrugged. “There’s truth in jest,” she said. Her head tilted slightly as he smiled at her, gaze focusing on him with a scientist’s eye for detail. Earlier, she had considered him to be rather nervous, from the way his gaze bounced around the room. But now she was wondering if he was simply watchful, waiting. There was something about his mask of a smile which made her think there was something more to him than met the eye. That was also true about her, though; she was vaguely interested, wondering what he might be hiding, but not enough to pry. There were bit players all over this city who thought themselves to be the star attraction, many of them in this room. It was entirely possible he was one of them. “A pleasure, Mr. Wilde,” she said. 

Pam offered a brief smile, a little chuckle of her own falling from her lips. “I’m sure they would, too,” she agreed comfortably, with a little shrug. Her own beauty had never been a shy subject for her; she had no problem admitting it. Now a half-shrug lifted one shoulder, a lazy movement designed to indicate this was so obvious, it barely necessitated an actual response. “What politician in this town isn’t?” she said. “You’d sooner kick over a rock and find it clear of any bugs. Turn over someone like the mayor or any judge in this city and find a gangster.”

"I'm not sure you're entirely right about that." Jeremiah paused, "You know what they say about first impressions. According to myth they're very important and this happens to mark the first time I've left my bunker on purpose in... six years, really." He said to her. "So this will be a lot of people's first impression of me." Maybe he should have debuted as the man he was becoming and not the one he had been for most of his adult life. He could still take a napkin and wipe away his facade... but what fun would that be? No. He needed something much grander. Something much more becoming of him then a party thrown by the mayor. Gotham would have to wait to see his true face and he'd make sure that wait was worth it. "I'm not. It's not really my thing." He told her, finally glancing her way. Another ginger. She seemed older than himself and jaded. He cocked his head at her. "I'm sorry to say, but this doesn't look like your kind of thing either. You stick out just as much as I do."

Pam shrugged languidly, looking at the young man at her side. “You said it yourself,” she pointed out. “It’s myth. How many myths do you know that are factual? Myths are stories.” She gave another shrug, wrapping her slender fingers around the stem of her glass as she lifted it to her lips again. “First impressions only matter so far as you allow. You could be dressed to the nines, and someone would still have reason to belittle you.” She glanced around dismissively. “Especially these shallow idiots. Not one of them cares about the things that actually matter.” A faint smile lightened her face at his observation, and she shrugged again. “I’m considering it a work party,” she said. “My superiors asked that I come.” She offered another brief smile. “Dr. Pamela Isley,” she said. “From the Gotham Botanical Gardens.” 

Koriand'r made her way around the crowd, wandering aimlessly as she searched for-- well, she was not sure what she was searching for. A friend to speak with, perhaps? Or maybe she was watching for trouble. She approached a server and took the fruitiest drink on the tray. The glass was tall and filled with a pink liquid. Strawberries and raspberries floated among the ice cubes. Koriand'r took a sip and grinned at the sweet taste with the hint of heat that followed. The girl moved to go through the crowd again but she tripped over the unusually long train of someone's gown and spilled her drink all over the person in front of her. "X'Hal's light, I apologize profusely, I am not usually so careless."

Pam pressed her lips together to keep from shouting in frustration, her fingers curling into fists. She glanced down at her dress. It was a deep green, suiting her hair and her fair skin, and she had to admit that -- after the first wave of anger passed -- it wasn’t so serious. The material was dark enough that the stain barely showed, unless you knew to look for it, especially considering the attempt at elegant mood lighting which blanketed the room. “It’s fine,” she said, though her jaw was still tight with irritation. She forced herself to loosen her fingers and let her hands fall to her sides, a soft huff leaving her lips. “Did you trip?” It was an inane question, but it helped to soften her annoyance.

Ecco had attended countless events like this over the years. She knew how to spot who to shake hands with, who to smile at, who to flirt with a little. This was exactly like every other event she would have attended as Jeremiah's proxy, and she knew what he expected of her. She was to act like she always did -- greet strangers and acquaintances as if nothing had changed, when, in fact, everything had changed for Jeremiah, and, by extension, for her.

Pam didn’t hesitate to roll her eyes in immediate response to the woman’s question, glancing over at her. “The day a politician keeps his promises to his constituents, I’ll ride naked through the streets like Lady Godiva,” she said dryly. She brushed a lock of Titian hair behind her ear and shook her head. “And in any case, that man is a fool. It would be an insult to jellyfish to say he’s spineless.” She kept her voice low, knowing it wouldn’t exactly be beneficial for too many people to overhear her. Normally, she wouldn’t give a damn, but she was here as a professional, after all. But considering the question the other woman had posed, Pam didn’t think she was in any danger of blabbing to anyone who might be a detriment. 

Jeremiah's eyes darted around the room. He wasn't used to just how loud people could be. The crowd's chattering and roaring laughter... the way the streets bustled with people just outside of the city hall's doors. He could hear the unfamiliar sounds of the city underlining all of it. It had been 6 years at the least since Jeremiah had been surrounded by this many people on purpose. He wouldn't have even dreamed of coming out to an event like this one. Only a couple of weeks ago, he might have even considered it a death sentence. Oh, how quickly a cute little celebration like this could turn into a massacre. How swiftly could the walls be painted red by one careless, manic little clown? This was Gotham after all. It was like he'd left one circus only to live in a much bigger and bloodier one.

Pam normally detested events like this. The wealthy drains society were all caught together in one room, like so many flies trapped under a glass bowl, drawn there by the stench of rot. And this city was rotting, whether or not its citizens were aware of it. Humanity itself was rotting, and had been for a long time. It was sometimes difficult for her to hide her contempt for her fellow man. She held herself above the rabble now; she was, after all, blessed with certain gifts. The thought, the irony of it all, made her smile to herself as she sipped her drink. It only proved that men really were fools, even when they appraised their own intelligence so highly. She took a glance around the room, her lip curling ever so slightly. She was here as Dr. Isley, at the request of her employers at the Gotham Botanical Gardens. If her job hadn’t been crucial to her new research, she certainly wouldn’t have come.