Ivy does flinch, then. She doesn't yet have the affinity with this place that she did with Robinson Park; she hasn't invested enough time or energy to feel like it's a part of her. But all the same she feels the echoed pain when the tree's ripped from the earth, tearing at the fine spreading roots of its neighbors. The entire park aches with a hot, fresh wound.

Back home, Ivy tries to be circumspect around the metahumans. Some are sensitive to her pheromones, some aren't; some of them she can fight off, and some not. Generally she has the benefit of other people's experience when she's going into a fight, but not this time.

Anything she grows, he could tear through, if the tree's any indicator. She knows the plants will spring to her aid in the defense of the Green but she doesn't want to make any sacrifices she doesn't have to. Better to try the silk glove before the iron fist.

Her biochemistry works overtime as she climbs down, clouding the air around her with dense pheromones. By the time her feet touch the grass at the base of the tree she could make a dozen men forget where they are.

She keeps her voice soft. "Hey."