The room isn't designed for long-term human occupation. There is no bathroom, no food, no bed, no climate control - though this is Florida, so climate control is not such a concern - no plumbing.
But there's lots of magic. It's such fun to make, after all.
(Nathan had been worried he'd have to ask one of the succubi, or Joham, for lessons on what might whimsically be called "safe sex". He likes not having to bother with this better.)
He shrugs. "Dunno. It just is. Well, it wouldn't be my house in my world, either; I burned the place down when I left."
"'Cause I hated it," he says lightly.
"...Scale of days, this is a good time, probably because it'll bother me not to know."
"My father was a nasty piece of work," he says serenely. "A few of my scars are from him. So when I was fifteen or so, I blew up the house with him in it."
"I love you, and if that'd been your house, I'd be hard pressed not to break in and destroy whatever facsimile of your father might've lived there."
"You're a sweetheart," he says. "Don't go killing people for me, it'll just make Goldie mad."
"With luck, there will never be anyone quite that accessible who I want to kill for you."
"But if you don't want me to kill such people, at least point them out so I can report them to Her Majesty and get them blacklisted from immortality?" Nathan asks hopefully. "Then we can just outlive them."
"I wanna get a place," the Joker declares. "Stick around for a while. Get a sewing machine. Make pretty clothes. What do you think?"
"Sure," says Nathan. "If you have someplace in mind I can come up with when to ask about obtaining it."
Wandering - and possibly more ducking into alleys, as alleys present themselves - ensues!
The Joker, it turns out, is naturally attracted to small, crappy apartments on the lower floors of small, crappy buildings.
"...Babe, you know my shiny gold credit card and the account connected to it could get us a nice place, even in Manhattan, right?"