5230/Don't Freak out! Part II

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Don't Freak out! Part II
Date of Scene: 17 February 2021
Location: Midtown - Founders Island
Synopsis: Harley, Pam and Meggan come across a construction site in the old pier which is taking down the plant life of the area. Then they remodel it.
Cast of Characters: Harley Quinn, Pamela Isley, Meggan Puceanu

Harley Quinn has posed:
So it was that Harley and Ivy had went to the Freaky Tiki to drink to their success on their bounty hunting venture. In true Harley fashion the clownette had gotten herself drunk as a..., well.., as a clownette. So when they got out of the bar it was time to walk down the pier, that place where they used to hang out when younger (and still their bad, bad selves), fully free of society restraints!

Yet as if by a twist of fate that place is nothing like they remembered it. In fact it's being butchered at this moment in time, the sound of construction being done, machines working overtime to turn what was a beautiful zone by the sea into what appears to be a set of buildings. Housing by the sea? Premier prices.

"Shit, I am not suwah if I am seein' things right. Hold my beeah.." she giving her last glass of alcohol to Ivy.

And because things can't get better the sounds of her retching to the side is heard. Great evening....

Pamela Isley has posed:
Strangely obedient, at least for the moment. Pamela takes the glass and holds it. The sound of Harley emptying the contents of her stomach just out of sight doesn't even seem to affect her.

No, it is the site of the construction that fully has Ivy's attention. And, the sound of vomit? Drowned out with the sense of revulsion within Pamela's being. The eyes grow wide, the hand holding the glass trembling slightly. Though, if it is shock or restrained anger is yet to be seen.

"What....what are they *doing*?" The words are spoken, to no one in particular. Just...spoken out loud, in disbelief.

Harley Quinn has posed:
The retching continues for a while, a cacophony of sounds that only the clownette can produce until it fiiiiiinally subsides. Harley stands up suddenly, eyes wide, reaching for the glass and gets some more beer in before spitting it out. "Washin' up the insides." she explains. Has she noticed exactly what's going on here just yet? Not fully apparently.

"Man, did we take a wrong turn somewheah, Ives?" she wiping her mouth on a sleeve and looking around herself. But no, they didn't. It's pretty much the place they used to come before, simply turned into a construction yard to whatever behemoth of a building they are getting done here. Maybe an hotel. 5 stars minimum! Gotham is prone to these kind of events afterall, corruption abound. It makes one wonder what company exactly is behind this. But none with their hands clean if one goes digging (which maybe they will!)

Whatever thoughts are going on their minds are disturbed by a truck moving in down the street towards the yard, honking the horn for the girls to get out of the street and speeding along. The gate is opened by a couple of men, allowing the truck in before starting to close it.

"Motherfuckas..." Harley then finally murmurs when she notes this is the place. She places one hand on Meggan's shoulder. "We gotta do somethin' about this."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
A construction site on the waterside could normally warrant little interest from Gothamites. Everything changes around here, as developers use the shell of a building or buy a lot to earn multitudes of investment for other things. Graft and corruption goes hand in hand, after all. The chopped up earth leaves a strange, wet stench to the air. Squealing metal split by a saw, the endless wails of drills and heavier equipment, add to the melancholy chaos.

A young blonde woman stands close to the skeletal outline, a course correction against nature's will. She sidesteps the honking truck but it doesn't stop her from taking photos. Those narrow fingers rise into the sky, premium prices for premium access, blocking off everyone else's views. Figures. <<A small piece of advice for humanity: when you're in a hole? Stop digging. A crisis created by a lack of respect for nature will not be solved by patching cement. Learn from 2011.>> A snap and the words dance through the ether, already starting to generate likes and retweets, awakening a chunk of the online community. Her head turns, and Meggan catches sight of the other two left in their wake. She can ignore the shouting from the workers, but their disdain and the women's reactions hit hard on her empathy.

The keeper of the light holds up a camera, taking snapshots or recording. The flat stretch of broken earth, the roiling waters, the haphazard health and building code violations by the bucket: that's all captured by Meggan's camera. She isn't smiling. Fingers glide over the screen, crafting sentences soon released. <<Money talks in this city. Those who haven't any are mute, those with it are deaf and blind to us.>> Those slow, undulating panorama shots capture evidence, feeding back to a digital domain populated by millions eager to see through her eyes, hear those words full of quiet damnation and bitter truth. <<Someone will end poverty and create a new magic city where everyone gets a fancy condo, completely unaffected by the sustainability crisis that'll forever remain a blight of haves and have nots. The beauty of trickle-down economics and net zero..>>

Pamela Isley has posed:
"Oh no. We have not taken a wrong turn, Harleen." Ut oh. Pamela used the real name. That, combined with the sudden coolness of Ivy's words indicate that the shock is over. And replaced with anger, dark and cold. It does not take an empath to notice that Ivy is angry...that ice on the verge of melting with the flame it is barely containing.

The eyes shift, taking in the sight. The construction. The utter waste of a perfect habitat. All for what? So someone can ignore the view when they awake in their overpriced bedroom? The now-empty hand curls into a tight fist.

Then, slowly, Ivy turns towards her compatriot. "You want to do something. What do you wish?" As she speaks, a vine slowly sprouts, wrapping around Ivy's leg as the words fall, coiling up and around her arm....a pet seeking its mother's approval. "I have some ideas..."

Judging from her tone, Ivy's ideas are not exactly friendly...nor lawful.

Harley Quinn has posed:
At least it wasn't the FULL name! Harleen Frances Quinn! That would had meant disaster was imminent. Which might very well still be, but maybe in smaller magnitude. Harley notes the coolness in Pam's voice, an understanding look, a squeeze on her friend's shoulder. Harley doesn't exactly have many friends, but the ones she does have she feels for deeply.

"I wish this shit wasn't heah...!" Harley spurts out in true Harley fashion, no measure in words. And to top it all off she shows the finger to the truck driver honking at them. Pffftt. Bastards. Yea, she is getting angry. But when she notes the vine coiling out of the ground she hrms, "That might get us in trouble..."

And she doesn't want her friend to end up in Arkham again. Or her for that effect!

"I can talk ta some people and we can get to the bott--" a pause when one of the workers steps out, muscled, big bellied, bit of a beard.

"Whatya girls doin' here? Scram! No drunkards here!" the man says before a leering smile appears on his expression. "Unless ya wanna have some fun inside, eh?" it's then that he notes the camera-holding girl. "Hey, what ya takin' pics for? Give me that!" he starts walking towards Meggan.

The ones on the other side of the gate just laugh.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Snap. Another photograph condemns the development along the waterfront, the grotesque misuse of public funds and appropriated land to give yet another string of rich people empty rooms to claim for themselves. So much for the mayor's bold strategy for re-election. Meggan frowns, snapping @MayorLincoln into the political fray as she releases that last tweet into the void. Someone sits up, and they take notice, and that becomes ten, and ten becomes fifty. She isn't populating her social media for a series of likes, though, and no other point. There is an anger reflected in her that Pamela shares... though maybe the other side of the spectrum.

The earth is torn, the waves roll, and the elements conjecture beneath leaden skies and steel tools the sorry state of affairs. Her green eyes fade into a gossamer blur, drowning for a few moments in those treacherous currents.

Dangerous people nearby to be exposed to. Dangerous all the same. Harley and Pam are the dark side of the force, and being more than a little metamorphic, it wouldn't take much to knock the fae girl off her balance into the Unseelie side of affairs.

Still dark, still dangerous. When the big-bellied worker comes towards her, the blonde shifts her gaze. Pretty face, gorgeous silver-and-gold hair, that faint smile forming all speak to appeal. The English accent? It's just cherry on the whole sundae: "Checking out the architecture," Meggan says. She palms the phone in her back pocket, but doesn't walk away. "I won't speak for them, but what kind of fun are you thinking of?" The more familiar redhead is less a stranger than Harley, visits at ArcTerra a measured thing. "Why, you need some help coming up with ideas?"

Oh dear.

Pamela Isley has posed:
It isn't obvious, perhaps at first glance, to the workers....but for Harley, who knows Ivy, it is painfully apparent. Ivy...is smiling. Not her normal half smile that creeps out just for the manic pixie that is Harley Quinn, but a thin, knowing smirk. It is the smile that men should fear...for it is the same smile Pamela uses when she is in full Poison Ivy mode. The Batman would know it well. This muscled-bound waste of space? Not so much.

The vine detaches itself from Ivy as the redhead saunters towards the construction worker, those green eyes affixed upon him as a hand lifts up, languidly, the palm turning up to the sky as the green-tinged fingertips curl slowly, oh so slowly, inward. The voice? Sultry with just a hint of breathlessness...an auditory wet dream for any red-blooded male. "Fun inside, you say? And just what sort of fun are you suggesting, my dear?"

The male worker may not realize it now. But sooner or later he will realize that one should not play with Poison Ivy.

Harley Quinn has posed:
More photos? Clearly this girl isn't understanding Big Ted. He said no more photos! "Are you deaf, girl?" he isn't feeling that friendly. But then Meggan turns his eyes to him. Alien ones? Or maybe only for that blur of a moment. It brings him pause. But even if the eyes don't look alien in the end her answer does! Noone answers back to Big Ted!

"Ideas? What..?" Great, now you made him think. Roasted brain anyone? "Are you makin fun of me?!"

The whistles from inside are now more loud. "She clears wants you, Big Ted!" a few more jeering shouts.

The redhead moving in makes some of the others start to trickle out though, maybe they want in with the fun too. And whoever these men are seems they were hired in the dregs of society, most likely thugs moonlighting as construction workers. Maybe they couldn't make ends meet and had to find a HONEST work. Or who knows? But there's an explanation .., somewhere.

The kind of explanation that Harley isn't too caring about. "Yea, fuck this shit." she cracks her knuckles and starts to approach too. Not Big Ted. She expects Pam to help with that one. But instead she is going to the others.

Big Ted looks at Meggan, then at Pam, then back to Meggan. "I am suggestin' the kind of fun where there are no cameras." one hand reaches towards Meggan's camera...

As for Harley, she has engaged ramming speed towards the throng of men by the gate.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Emerald eyes clear as the first blush of spring take in Big Ted. The smile, cheerful and sweet, bearing none of the thorns that Ivy herself has. Though the vestigial memory is there, percolating through the subconscious, the tug of Nature in her fatal green aspect. But even before there can be soporific blooms and toxins excreted from vines, the first show will be the tenderer blooms: crocus smile, snowdrop bow of the head. Fingers lace together, deprived of the phone now in her pocket. Meggan turns that wide-eyed look on the men jeering and hollering at her.

"Not at all. You said fun. We do things a little differently, where I'm from." The saturated accent lilts with musicality that sings of green isles and rain, injected by just enough of the confluence of Scottish Gaelic, Welsh, and Irish Gaelic to seep through. "Though usually with music. Maybe you're all in the wrong place. Working, instead of enjoying yourself?"

It's a tiny, measured act of chaos. Nothing to the full storm behind her, of course. But something to derail plans, an injunction of invitation rather than outright cruelty.

So when Big Ted is fool enough to reach for the camera, she's already darting back a few steps. Already curling her fingers, that universal come-hither gesture. "Mate, you surely could do better out 'ere than in there, right? I won't tell." Oh, the seeds of mischief sown.

Pamela Isley has posed:
Another set of emerald eyes flit over, regarding the fae-like Meggan with a nod. While Pamela may not be empathic, she knows another like-minded individual when she sees her. And, even if they were of similar mindsets, the fact that Tall, Dark, and Boresome had the audacity to solicit Meggan, to be so base, would be enough. The fact that he is representing the force that is destroying nature, at least at this moment, which is the source of Pam enmity?

All the better.

The fingertips uncurl as Pam's hand slides down to her waist. "If you don't mind, I will handle this one." The eyes lock on to Big Ted, but the words are directed towards Meggan. Ivy feels in the mood to play, it seems. She slinks up towards the brute, the hand that was at her waist reaching out, a fingertip tracing along the man's left arm without even a moment's hesitation. "Surely you do not want us back there. Then you would have to share. And you strike me as a man that does not like to share his toys." That fingertip slides up the bicep, over the shoulder, up the neck, and nestles just at the base of his chin. "And...we just can't have that, can we?"

As Pam finishes speaking, the fingertip swivels on the point of Big Ted's chin, turning the palm upward. Ivy leans in and blows across the open palm, her breath washing over the worker's face. It also, conveniently, blows a cloud of plant spores into Ted's open mouth and nose...spores that are designed specifically to perform a singular function quickly.


The spore cloud is almost transparent, but not quite. A thin yellow dusting. Ted might be able to resist if he is quick enough to move. And...if not? Well, then Meggan and Ivy just might have a little fun of their own with their new toy.

Harley Quinn has posed:
"This is Gotham. We do things my way over here." Big Ted says back to Meggan, letting out a laugh but then frowning when she moves away from his grasp. Damn these nimble girls. "Oh, I like it when they struggle.." really? This guy deserves a beating and more. "But you are right.., no need to share..." yes, he is being goaded along. Clearly Big Ted doesn't have a big brain or he might be wondering why these two beautiful women are pulling him away, but he seems unable to resist that siren song.

His attention is turned to Pam when she holds his chin, blinking once, feeling the trickling of fingers up his arms. For some reason it's making his hair stand up. But why? He is in control, isn't he?

His jaw is still open when he receives the spores in, just a sound of, "Wha--" but then he feels his motor functions slowing down. Can't move his feet, hands.. Head. A look of horror starts to spread to his eyes even if he can't react or do anything about it.

Meanwhile, Harley is running. Not one for letting these fuck-ups laugh anymore. A few are already getting out and moving towards the girls. "Hey, what is goin--", and then is hit full force by Battering-Ram-Harley. Shoulder against chest and the man is thrown back against the fence. Clearly a lot more strength to this smaller body than it would seem at first. "Awright boys, ya know what's gonna happen now, dontcha?" a wicked little smile on her lips, hands on her hips.

Royal Rumble! Chaos erupts.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Bounce, bounce away from the epicentre of trouble. Still, the blame will follow, like a trail of pollen carried by an unwitting bird or bee. Flowers often work like that, tagging innocent pollinators with something far worse. At least it's not that skull-cracking, zombifying fungus that Batman has to pray Ivy knows nothing about. Wishful thinking, that.

Ivy may have the way to shift someone's body, but the emotive roil of predatory interest, wounded pride, and pricked lust all strike the blonde English activist in waves. Like jumping into a wastewater treatment plant retaining pool; no matter how much is skimmed off, it will tarnish her. She chokes out a sound of sheer disgust.

Fear. Fear comes percolating up through the veins, overtaking that filthy cocktail. Her head turns back to Harley and to Ivy, assessing them both, right in time to see someone slam the construction worker--workers?--to the fence. Probably through the fence.

"Oh bloody hell." The words are scarce out of her mouth before Harley Quinn does what Harley does best. Scare shit. Or break it. Maybe both.

"One, two, listen //you//," she murmurs in sing-song, darting away from the voluptuous redhead, the girl with the amazing two-tone hair and mean shoulder. "Three, four, fear me more."

It's an ugly thing to do, to detonate a wave of dread that hits the lizard-brain. Her own unease makes that shockwave easier to bear. Shouldn't be hard to ignite the howling voice of instinct at seeing how successfully the two antiheroes have dealt with them. The instinctive, primal cry is only in the mind, strings yanked by an empath reaching for the knots of fear and hauling them hard.

Pamela Isley has posed:
"There, there...."

The hand that was once upon the now frozen Ted slides over, the fingertips caressing the bare cheek. "You are fortunate. There was a day where I would have ripped you to shreds with my babies. And I would have kept you alive and aware during every. single. moment." At each pause, Ivy's hand slaps Ted's cheek. Three stinging strikes, quick and swift. "But, today is your lucky day. I have no desire to make an example of you. So, you get to live to see another day." Ivy leans in, those green eyes upon Ted. "Though you are wrong. This is Gotham. But, it is also my domain...and around here, we do things *my* way." With another slap, Ivy detaches herself from the big construction worker, the fingertips twittering with a farewell. "Now, you just stay right here and be a good boy and I will let you live. I even promise to not personally feed you to my beloved darlings that your machines so brutally murdered. However, I simply cannot be held responsible for the actions of anyone else. So, I do hope that she has a forgiving heart." With that, Ivy casts a glance back towards Meggan, then returns to Ted. "Otherwise, it was certainly lovely fun."

With that, she casts her voice back to Meggan. "He's all yours, now, my dear. Feel free to do whatever you wish." Attention then shifts over towards Harley, watching the gatecrashing with true amusement now. "really, Harl, I thought we were trying to avoid trouble. So much for that, I imagine. Now...let's see about what we can do here."

With that, Pamela starts walking for the gate as well. But her intention is not just the gate, but beyond...to the construction site itself. "I hear my poor darlings cry out in anguish. I do believe it is past time to allow them a little retribution."

Harley Quinn has posed:
The men watch one of theirs being gatecrashed through the gate, some taking a step back, others appearing to be wanting to go in. Did they recognize them now? Being thugs, and mooks of all things they know when they are a bit over their heads! Except Billy. Billy wants to take them on. "Let's go. It's just three girls and ...." and that's when Meggan's incantation hits, the men that were already considering leaving start running in every direction, terrified.

Harley just cackles, perhaps thinking it was all her tackle on the other guy that made them run. "Look at them run, Pam. HahaAHAhAh!" except one. Billy stays. He looks around and uh... "Guys?" promptly receiving a punch to the face from Harley. Instant KO.

More cackling.

Harley stumbles forward a bit, letting out a hiccup. "Damn that beeah .." but soon enough regains her stride to start making her way into the construction site itself. She kicks the gate open with one mighty kick and turns to offer a rather flourished bow towards Ivy, full of drunken grace. "Aftah you, Madam."

Big Ted is sweat quite intensely now even if he can't move. Or maybe just because of that! Eyes dart here and there, focusing on Meggan, then away. Oh how he wishes he could run away too!

Harley then glances over her shoulder to where Meggan is and grins wide at her, eyes manic, "Come with us, gonna have some fuuun."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Fear is an indiscriminate brush using the thickest paint. Everyone buried in the dripping wreckage gets unhealthy shellacked by it. An ugly tincture, a sick welling in the stomach.

Meggan feels it right along with them. The quivering dread, the bitter uncertainty. Her stomach flips as much as his does.

Two men, hardly innocent, caught between a rock and a hard place stand out in her awareness. The vise between the two ought to be terrifying, after all. Ted can't move. Billy might be wishing he were dead, but he's just unconscious.

See, drink too deep from a poisoned chalice, it poisons you back. When Harley turns her attention on the slender blonde, the girl's countenance is torn, far from manic. Those eyes are too wide, too intensely green, her teeth buried in her lower lip.

"Just a second. I don't know I want to get in her way." A nod at Ivy's impressive presence, slipping through the open beams, the skeletal crease of Walls converging on hollow floors. "She looks like she has a mission. Don't mind if I watch what she does from down here. Amazing, innit?"

Fear covered by the girlish laugh. It's not a lie, given her capacity for it's like nil. But honest, Pamela is impressive, Harley's wild, and it's all an amazing show. Amazement can be frightening too.

Besides, the pause offers the moment to try to seek balance and plunge her thoughts not down into the earth but up into the air. To whisper unconsciously in need, to bid the zephyrs and the breeze to turn in her favour. Calling it up takes a second, after all, and she'll need the mist to flee.

Pamela Isley has posed:
As Pamela walks towards the construction site, more of the men present, cowering in their respective corners, get a look. And, already, the whispers are taking flight, heard over the breeze from the sea.

'Wait, is she....green?!'

'Green?! You mean that's...'

'Holy shit, that's Poison Ivy!!'

'That idiot Ted tried to hit on Poison F'ing Ivy?! I'm surprised he's still alive!'

The voices are heard and completely ignored. No, Pamela is not listing to insecure males coddling what little testosterone they have left within them. She hears the pain and anguish of the vegetation...the cries of horror from the plants. It pains her, fuels her...drives her closer and closer to the cause. The construction site, with the I-beams jutting out into the sky, a ragged seam of human folly tearing along the fabric of blue. It is an abomination to nature. And, in Ivy's mind, a wrong to be righted.

"Arise, my poor babies. Rise from the weeping wound of the earth. Take back what was stolen from you. Reclaim your home!" It isn't a mantra or a spell, but, from the conviction of which it was spoken from, it might as well be. And, as Ivy finishes, her arms raising up, for all those workers, thugs and lackeys, it looks damn near magical. The torn earth, bare from the huge machines that tore it asunder, erupts in green. Vines immediately wrap up around the cold steel structure, the shine of silver engulfed in a sea of green. Even more vines wrap about the construction equipment itself, tendrils sliding through each crevasse, clogging up ignition systems and locking up wheels, rendering the equipment immobile.

Then, with a dramatic show, Ivy drops her arms, her hands flaying out to her sides in a singular motion. The vines tighten around the metal skeleton, the steel rivets screaming out into the air as the plants pull and tear, until finally the metal structure just topples to the ground, only to be swiftly overtaken by moss and underbrush.

Harley Quinn has posed:
Those signs of fear Harley notes on Meggan are perhaps mistaken with the reveal of Poison Ivy being here. And who could blame her?! No clue of Meggan's spell, unaware of anything magical going on, besides renewed friendships built on mayhem. There's always something magical about a girl's night out that ends with some just retribution. Still, she winks back at Meggan when she speaks about staying out of the way. "Shoulda brought the popcorn.."

Oh, yes, Harley knows that look on Pam's face. The kind of look that will leave nothing standing on her wake. It brought her back to those years of destruction from the past. A malicious little smile comes to her lips and she regards the cowering men on the side.

"Run, little lambs. Run." She then biting the air to send then scurrying away. Many move back, away from the crazy and the crusader.

And then the show starts, the structure of metal shuddering and groaning at the invasion of the green. With it toppling down Harley erupts in a little dance, spinning about herself and about Pam. "So beautiful. As it should be." she says of the green taking over.

Those few that were still staying are now fully on the run. No way they will be staying after that kind of show. Harley laughs but then brings one arm around Pam's shoulders. It's both a gesture of well-done but also of .., restraint. She may not want her friend to get *too* carried away.

"Should we go back home?"

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Ivy's display is tantamount to a close-cousin of Meggan's own gifts, diverse as they are. Reason enough for her to draw in her breath when the plant-life moves in response to its mistress, dragged up from the depths in kelp beds, in springing vines, in roots shifting in cold, moist soil. All the memories of times splintered arise in a single wave that answers the endless pull of a green moon.

Truly the survivors ought to know better. They need to run. If the hard nudge from earlier didn't hurry them along, then they have one last gasp. The metamorphic elemental fae plunges her fingers into the atmosphere of sorts, calling for protection and concealment alike. This close to the ocean, it takes very little effort to shunt moisture slightly inland. A few dozen meters, enough to start condensing into a creeping fog. Silver doesn't billow up like clouds from the sewer, but just starts to form as the plants writhe and dance. Outward, pushed forth, the spreading veil will fall.

Meg, for her part, takes the opportunity to move back from the plants and the falling structures. Hey, beams could hurt a normal person! Falling debris is dangerous and all that dust flung up into the air makes it hard to see, anyway. See, she's just a totally average everyday bystander trying not to get her oversized coat covered in junk.


Believe that, she's got a bridge to sell you.

The mists rise and the air thickens them, a rushed occurrence plying protection for the men hidden. Two, though, they can't go anywhere; by poison and by unconscious hit. Not anymore, for in the shrouded grey, the girl moves, dashing to seize Billy in his torpor and then swinging her hand out to yank the intoxicated man under the paralysis effect up by sheer force. It's a broader beam than she might like, something that dashes him back on an elevated plate of hardened force. One that will leave him stuffed away on his side at the nearest occupied bus stop. There's hoping the passengers don't panic at the dropoff of a man in the recovery position, right?

The other, that's more complicated. There has to be something like a 7/11 or a convenience store open all hours where another KOed man can be dragged by a clearly concerned citizen.

Pamela Isley has posed:
Could there have been more from the redheaded avatar of Nature? Oh, most certainly. However, when Harley's arm drapes about Pamela's shoulders, the fury of the moment subsides. Faster than normal, which is a good sign for the good Doctor Isley. The righteous anger that fueled the accelerated reclamation of nature subsides to a passive calm, tinged with more than a little bit of self-righteousness. Ivy *knows* what she did was right, for the natural order of life, which is at times contrary to the laws of man.

And, speaking of men. The rolling mists is not lost to Ivy. The men, once so boisterous, have disappeared...ran away to save their own skins, for no job was worth the wrath of Mother Nature's daughters. And, as for Billy and Big Ted? A footnote in the back of Ivy's mind...nothing more. She did promise to let Ted live, after all. It is best that she forgets about him...for his sake.

Harley's words draw a small smile to Pam's countenance. Yes, she is happy. At least for the moment. And the question is answered with a simple nod.

"Yes, I do believe our job is done here. Let us go home."