Concrete walls and walkways surrounding the plexiglass cell. Ventilation systems humming relentlessly lest she attempt something with pollens.
Natural light and air were all but a myth now. Can't give the plant lady any real food now, can we?
Her usually vibrant green skin receded to her human flesh tone, her chlorophyll levels too low for comfort. However, none of that stopped her from being able to hear them. Her babies. Screaming in agony as the pesticides block their ability to photosynthesise in the gardens of this very asylum.
Her containment in Arkham was cruel and unusual punishment, disguised as treatment. She would get them all back for this. Every last one of them. Especially the Bat.
The only way to track the passage of time reliably was the delivery of some dehydrated pulp that was meant to resemble a meal pushed into the cell via a tray, which she assumed to be twice a day. It was hard to keep track, with time running together. The lights, the droning of the ventilation, the screaming of the other inmates, her babies suffering all made sleep scarce, which didn't help her situation either.
Hearing the by now painfully familiar grating of the tray slot being shunted open, followed by rapping on her case Ivy opened her eyes. Had she dosed? Did it matter?
"Slops up, Isley. Rise and shine."
Unfurling herself from her fetal position on the 'bed' bolted into the plexiglass wall, her bare feet dropped to the eternally cold concrete floor. She didn't have the energy to correct him. To tell him that it was 'Doctor Isley'. The weeks? months? of… this had worn her down. She said nothing as she retrieved the tray of colored pastes and assorted bland foodstuffs from the floor. As usual, she wasn't afforded the luxury of cutlery. Not after the scene she caused when given the plastic kind, and to their credit, they weren't foolish enough to give her the plant fibre eco friendly ones.
Scooping the... was it pureed carrot? pumpkin? – it was so hard to tell what anything was anymore after those animals had destroyed them like this – up with her fingers and dropping it regretfully into her mouth, Ivy cast a scornful gaze over the compartmentalised meal, before being filled with a swift and burning anger.
There, half buried beneath what was probably once an apple, sat two sad, wilted lettuce leaves.
Were they mocking her?
Was this how they saw her now?
So weak and non threatening that they dare slap her in the face like this?
She would make them regret that.
Snatching up the shards of the usually hearty romaine lettuce, clutching them to her chest, she willed them to live. To thrive. She called upon The Green to grant these leaves a boost, to allow her her freedom.
To strike vengeance upon all those that hurt the planet, starting with the damned groundskeeper over spraying the gardens. To return to enacting justice as The Green's chosen warrior.
Ivy was weak, from Gaia only knows how long without sunlight. But The Green was not.
The Green answered. .