Cindy isn't there, but he left some snacks on the counter - assorted fruits and a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies.

Pen eats them and tries to see if she can make his funny music machine work.

The funny music machine is reasonably cooperative!

And soon enough, Cindy comes home. He grins at her as he climbs in the window.

"Hiiii," says Pen. "Where you went?"

"Here'n'there. I had some people to talk to. Could be I'm making a new friend," he says cheerfully.

"Ooh, who?"

"We-ell, that part I don't know yet," he says. "You couldn't really say we've met. It's more like we're, hmm, writing letters."

Pen giggles. "Penfriend!" she jokes.

"Something like that," he says, laughing.

"Maybe are many thems!" says Pen. "I can see? When seeing happen?"

"I don't know yet if I'm gonna see 'em at all," he says. "It only could be I'm making a friend. Could be I'm getting to know somebody who's gonna try to kill me." Brightly, "Could be both."

"Where I go if you die till Mommy get you back?"

"Can't help you there," he says. "But I'll try not to get killed."

"Okay," sighs Pen.

"Are ya hungry? I think I'm gonna make lunch," he says, proceeding into the kitchen area and scooping a cookie on the way.

"Yeah, lunch!" agrees Pen.

He makes lunch! It is mysterious but tasty. And he washes all the dishes and cleans everything up afterward.

"You can if you want," he says. "But people are probably gonna see you, and if they see you and believe themselves there's no telling what they'll do. Could be something you won't like."

"Like what?"

"Somebody might try to take you apart to see what you're made of, or lock you in a box for people to stare at."

"I don't come apart," shudders Pen, wrapping her wings around herself.

"Doesn't mean they wouldn't try."

"If somebody grab me and I not want I allowed hitting them!"

"There's a lot of them, though," he says, "and only one of you. Things can get scary pretty fast that way."

"It'll probably get boring in here," he says. "If you're stuck here a really long time, though, I'll see if I can't get us a trip out to somewhere with no people around where you can fly all you want."

"...In dark?" Pen suggests. "Way high?"

"Not much danger there, no. Except maybe from airplanes."

"Am safe," Pen reminds him. "Mommy safed us. We Mommy's treasures. What airplane?"

"An airplane is a great big metal thing that people fly in when they don't have wings to do it the fun way. They fly at night sometimes, and they go way high. There's an airport near here - someplace where they take off and land. If somebody in one of those saw you it'd be all the same problems as somebody on the ground."

"Oh. Hard avoiding?" Pen asks.

He shrugs. "Maybe you could, maybe you couldn't. I can't fly; I wouldn't know."

Pen sighs.

"Sorry, kiddo."

"Yeah," he says. "But it didn't. And I don't know how to fix it. Wanna hug?"

He hugs her back, careful of the wings. He's a little surprised by how strong she is, even though she told him already, but she isn't squishing hard enough to break anything so he doesn't squawk.

Yeah. It's a sighing kind of thing.

"What do if not fly?" she asks.

"Mm... we could play cards," is the first thing that comes to mind. And the second is, "While I'm thinking about it, do you want some more clothes? I don't think we'll find anything lying around that works with the wings, but I could make you some."

"Yeah! Only have these. Did not packed."

"Mmkay," he says. "C'mon down the hall and we'll see about designing something."

Pen follows him, somewhat cheered.

Fashion design is a cheering thing! At least, the Joker thinks so.

It seems to occupy Pen well enough. She describes which of the possible fastener-configurations that work for angels she approves of, and inspects his fabric supply, and approves enthusiastically of light floaty fabrics and lace trim. She wants a nightgown and a pretty dress (especially since she isn't going to be flying around too much) and a top and some pants that aren't as warm as her leathers. (It's warm here.)

He can supply all of these things! Everyday clothes first, then nightgown, then pretty dress. By the time he starts the pretty dress, he is beginning to yawn; "past my bedtime," he declares, and leaves the sewing where it is while he washes off his makeup and gets into his nightgown and flops onto a couch.

Pen sews fabric scraps together with no particular aim in mind and then she goes to bed too.

The next morning when she wakes up, Cindy is still asleep.

Pen considers waking him up, then starts looking for doable breakfast on her own.

The kitchen is very well supplied, but more with complicated things than simple ones. There's some more cookies in the fridge, though, and milk and cereal.

"Hi. Do play cards?" Pen asks, since that was his other idea to make up for not being able to fly and they didn't get to it yesterday.

"Are strange cards," says Pen, peering at them. "Not stars and apples and kisses and feathers?"

"Nope." He sits on the floor and fans out the cards in front of him. "Hearts, diamonds, clubs, spades," he says, indicating each.

Pen peers at the suits. "And not angel-oracle-archangel," she says, pulling out some face cards.

"Queen, king, jack," he explains. "And ace. And—" he pulls one from the bottom of the deck "—joker."

"Ace one?" Pen asks, searching the deck for ones and finding none.

"Mmyep."

Pen pulls out all the diamonds and arranges them: ace, numbers, queen-king-jack like he said.

"Well, usually it goes like this," he says, rearranging the face cards into the conventional order.

"Oh, 'kay." She arranges the other three suits too, then sweeps them all up into a pile and starts clumsily shuffling. "What play? I know, um," she thinks, "Bite the Apple, but no apples..."

"I know some games I could teach ya," he offers.

"Okay!"

He starts with poker. Poker seems like a good place to start.

Pen has a terrible poker face.

She likes winning, if he ever lets her! And telling blatant obvious lies.

Sure, she can win once in a while. And her blatant obvious lies are very entertaining.

Then Pen will have lots of fun!

Excellent. That is definitely the idea.

But eventually she is tired of this game and wants lunch.

Lunch is provided!

Pen changes into it and twirls around. She doesn't twirl all that well - the wings provide a lot of wind resistance, it's what they're for - but she can do a little.

The Joker applauds her twirling!

Soon she is done. "Now what?"

"Mmm... d'you like books?" he inquires.

"Books okay," she says. "Kinda books?"

"Oh, I've got a buncha kinds," he says. "Wanna see?"

"Yeah."

So he shows her his books! They are many and varied and stored in diverse locations, including under several couches and in bathroom cupboards. But he knows where they all are.

Pen eventually settles on a book and starts reading it.

The Joker disappears into the dangerous room for a while.

Pen tries to sneak a peek when the door's open, but she doesn't touch it.

She gets a glimpse of a half-open cupboard. And then he closes the door.

Pen goes back to her book, and sings wordless tunes that she makes up in her head.

"I come?" she asks.

He laughs. "Nah, you wouldn't like these people. They're not very friendly."

"Why you talk them then?"

"Complicated reasons," he says, flapping a hand to illustrate the inconsequential nature of the reasons. "I don't mind unfriendly people, anyway. Not all the time."

"I go anyway? Small in here. Ignore unfriendly people."

"Yeah, I know it's small," he says. "Hmm-mm... I could maybe take you someplace bigger. Not today, though. Maybe tomorrow. I'll see if I can set it up while I'm out."

"I fly there?"

"I'm gonna try to find you somewhere big enough to fly in, yeah."

"Good. Angel. Supposed flying."

"I do your paint sometime," asserts Pen.

He is out for a few hours.

Pen finishes the one book. She discovers aluminum foil, and wraps various household objects in it. She pokes a fork in an electrical socket, and leaves it there when it gets stuck. (Nothing happens to her.) She takes his fabric pen from the sewing area and starts drawing on the walls, not particularly well, pictures of her family. (With clouds of miscellaneous Samarian-style musical notes clouding around their heads.)

And then he comes back! Wearing the makeup, now, and carrying the jacket and hat.

"You painted! Without me!" exclaims Pen.

"Yep. I had a busy day out there," he says, dropping the jacket over the back of a couch and the hat on top of it. "You can do my makeup tomorrow morning when we go on our trip."

"Where we go?"

"Somewhere I think you'll like. A lot bigger than here," he says. "I know a few places I thought might be okay, but I think you'll really like this one."

"I fly?"

"Mmmmyep."

"Yaaaay!"

"That's what I wanna hear," he says. "Hungry? I'm making dinner."

"Yeah! Dinner."

He makes dinner! Today's dinner is spaghetti. It is delcious.

Pen noms spaghetti. She isn't very neat. She gets sauce on her feathers.

He offers her a napkin. "You gooped," he says.

"True," he says. "I can try'n find a bigger one. No promises. I don't know if they come big enough."

"I fly in rain?" she suggests, thoughtful.

"Would that get you clean or just wet? Mm, I'll think of something."

Pen shrugs.

He grins.

Pen flaps a little bit. "Fly fly fly tomorrow tomorrow fly fly."

"Mhm!"

She folds her wings again. "Home I fly all days," she sighs.

"Well, this isn't home," he says.

She folds her arms on the table and drops her head onto them. "Know that," she says. "Want door. Or Jane."

"I can't get you any of that," he says. "But I can get you someplace nice to fly tomorrow."

"Know that," says Pen. "Want anyway."

"Yeah."

"Miss Mommy and Daddy and sisters and people."

"Yeah."

"Do you dreaming thing?"

"What's the dreaming thing?"

"A Jokers nice bar thing. They dream, they be at it."

He shakes his head. "I've never done that."

"If you dream it tell Jane and she tell everyone."

"And where will I find Jane?"

"She in Belltower, or you just," [brainphone.]

"All right," he says. "I'll remember."

Pen nods. She plops her head onto her arms again.

"Wanna hug?"

"No," Pen sighs.

"'Kay."

"Now what?"

"I'm gonna make cookies," he decides.

"Okay. The before cookies gone."

Pen supervises the making of cookies. She will stir things, if he wants help.

"Okay." Pen pulls the fork back out of the outlet. She does her best to bend it back into shape; she is strong enough to bend it but it's delicate work.

"Thanks."

"What holes for? Not forks, I think."

"Oh. Eyrie music machine not got plug in a hole."

"Some things you can't tell where they plug in without taking 'em apart. Or maybe your music machine runs on somethin' else." He plugs the toaster back in.

"Dunno. Caleb know probably."

He shrugs.

"Caleb do machines," Pen explains.

"Aha."

"And his wife Alleya, she oracle. She finded that Jovah be spaceship and tell Mommy and Daddy."

"Sounds exciting."

"Mommy was do magic, saying, 'Jovah did it!', but Alleya knew he not!"

"Makes sense, if he wasn't a magic spaceship."

"Nope," agrees Pen, "not a magic. Just do weather, drop things. If we singing right."

"Innnteresting. That why angels sing like that?"

"Those songs. Other songs just fun!"

"Mhm."

He listens. It's pretty!

"That Edori song. Daddy sorta Edori," says Pen.

"Sorta?"

"They adopt him when he run away from the bad grandparents. He not look Edori."

"Huh," he says.

"Mostly Edori live Ysral, not Samaria. We go for Gatherings."

"And what's a Gathering?"

"All Edori that be, be one place. And whoever else wants."

"Sounds like it could be fun."

"And singing and food and stuff!"

"Ooh."

"Yeah. And Daddy see all tribe friends."

"I bet he has fun."

"Yeah. He pick me up and carry me and remind me all names and is fun." Now she's sad again. "I miss it probably."

Pen picks up and eats a hot cookie. It is cheering.

Good.

Cookies cookies cookies. She picks them right up off the pan; it doesn't burn her.

He's noticed that things don't tend to hurt her. But she did mention she was safe.

"Mm... I think I'll go to sleep," he says.

It's pajamas today for Cindy. He flops onto a couch again. The couch is kind of small for him, but he seems comfy there.

Pen flops onto the bed, wingtips in opposite corners, hugging a pillow, and sleeps.

The next morning, Cindy wakes up before she does. He makes breakfast.

Pen wakes up to kitchen noises. "What is breakfast?" she asks, almost philosophically, stretching as she opens her eyes.

"French toast!" he says cheerfully.

"What is?" She heads into the kitchen to get a look at it.

He hands her a plate with a French toast on it.

"I like it," he says. He finishes the last toast, serves it to himself, and brings the plate with the rest of the toasts piled on it to the counter. There is also most of the same stuff out that there was with the waffles.

Pen experiments with topping combinations. She seems to really like maple-and-blueberries.

Experimenting is fun! He has a different combination of things on each toast.

"When I'm done," he says. Half a toast to go! He washes it down with the rest of his previously unmentioned glass of milk. "All right, c'mon."

Pen follows him. "Fly there? No airplanes day?"

"Nope. Drive there," he says.

Pen makes a face. "Ew."

"Aw, it's not that bad. I hope not, anyway."

"Been in a truck one time. Bleah."

He closes the window behind them and, for a change, goes to where there is a door in the middle of the roof. It's locked, but not for long. Inside, there are stairs; he takes her down the stairs into the dimly lit parking garage, and from there all the way to the back, where there is a dark blue minivan. He extracts the keys from his pocket, unlocks the vehicle, and rolls open the door for her. Inside, the backs have been removed from the middle row of seats.

Pen examines the vehicle, apparently determines that it's not going to eat her, and sits on a backless seat.

And Cindy closes the door, gets in the driver's seat, and starts driving.

Pen fidgets, and peers out the windows.

Soon they are out of the parking garage; after that, they are on the streets of Gotham, at such an hour of the morning that hardly anyone else is. Still a few cars, though.

"Good," he says cheerfully. The car has a radio; he turns it on. Someone is forecasting the weather.

"Ick weather," pronounces Pen. "You need angels. No Jovah here to sing though."

"Paint sprays?" asks Pen.

"That you!"

"Yep," he says. "That's part of what I was up to when I went out yesterday."

"You paint a wall. I draw a wall!" she adds conspiratorially.

"I saw!" he says. "Do you want some more things to draw with?"

"Yes."

"I'll get you some later," he promises.

"Yay! I draw wall because of bored," she adds. "You bored, paint wall?"

"Mm, not exactly. Remember I told you I might be making a friend?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, we haven't been sending each other letters exactly. We both know a lot of people, and we're kind of playing a game where we each try to figure out who around here knows the other one. All very secret 'n stuff. He got some people I know arrested last week, so this week I found somebody he knows who works in Wayne Tower and I had some guys paint the outside of the building like my makeup, with a little extra bit of smile right where that person's office is. So now my maybe-friend knows I've found that one, and it's his turn to do something."

"Ooh. What if he finds me? You know me!"

"I bet he won't," he says, "'cause you're particularly hidden. As hidden as I am, and it's been four years and nobody's found me yet."

"So if he do he get so many points."

"He sure would."

"How you win game?"

"Don't know yet. We're making it up as we go along. That's part of the fun."

Pen giggles. "Iiiif he win you make him waffle?" she suggests.

"I might!"

"If you win he make you waffle," Pen continues.

"I don't know if he's any good at waffles. He could probably find somebody to make me one, though."

"Cheating," giggles Pen.

"We-ell, I'd let him. Good waffles with cheating are better than bad waffles played straight."

"Waffles important? Cheating not?"

"If you have to eat the waffles, yeah."

"Okay," Pen giggles. "How far place flying?"

"Not that far. A few more minutes."

"Okay. How long flying?"

"All day, if you want."

"Eeeee! You want me fly you too?"

"Sure!"

Pen claps. She looks merrily out the windows all the rest of the way there.

They drive past a large building with elaborate fancy architecture covered in pigeon poop, and enter an underground parking garage with no lines painted on the floor. He parks them near some stairs and gets out. It's very dark, but he brought flashlights.

Pen follows him. In the dark, even with flashlights, she prefers to hold hands.

"Oooh," says Pen, on the basis of the provided light from the flashlights; and then: "Ooooh!" at the acoustics, and she bursts into song, a high fluttery hymn, filling the space.

He perches on the edge of the stage and watches with a smile.

Eventually, when Pen has the hang of the limited space and the knack of indoor flying, she swoops down on him and, one hand under each of his arms, scoops him up into the air with her.

Cindy laughs gleefully.

"Yeah," he says. "'Cause we're inside. I could find you someplace outside but it'll take longer."

"This okay a little while. And good singing!"

"Mhm! This was supposed to be a concert hall," he says. "But they never finished building it."

Pen sings another song, swooping around as high as she can without bumping into the ceiling.

He giggles quietly.

After a few hours, she is tired of flapping so much. She lands on the stage, and finishes her current song, and then folds her wings and yawns and goes up to him and hugs him.

He hugs back, smiling.

She wraps her wings around him and sighs, rather more happily than she has previously sighed, and then says, "Now what?"

"Books're good. I dunno, fun things."

"Then I'll get you fun things," he promises.

Pen hugs him snuggily and then lets him go.

Back to the car they go, turning out the lights on the way.

And soon she is ensconced in his apartment again, peering around the kitchen.

He goes right back out to acquire things, so she has the run of the place. The kitchen has all the same things in it that it did the last time she looked.

She nibbles on some fruit. She's hungry after all that flying.

And Cindy is back in an hour, carrying a white plastic bag full of things and a large cardboard box.

Pen capers up to him. "What things what things?"

"What helicopter?"

Pen is enthralled!

"This is a toy one," he adds, "but there's bigger ones that people fly around in."

Pen catches the flying helicopter and peers into its windows. "Heeee," she giggles.

Pen sets the helicopter down and starts picking at the box. She is not particularly familiar with corrugated cardboard.

The Joker helps open this one too!

And then she investigates the plastic things, and observes the picture on the box, and starts snapping them together, giggling.

He leaves her to it and goes to make a pie.

Pen sings and builds things and tries to land her helicopter on the things.

The pie is peach. It smells tasty.

Pen wants some pie!

She can have as much as she wants!

She wants one big slice and then one itty bitty second slice. And then she goes and colors her coloring books.

"Yeah!" beams Pen, hopping to her feet. "I paint you pretty."

He beams. Into the good bathroom they go!

Hugs! "So pretty!" she asserts.

"Mmhm!"

"Where you go?" she asks.

"Mm, out. Nowhere special. Just gotta talk to a few of those unfriendly people I hang around with."

"Pff. Unfriendlies," says Pen. "Go pretty at them."

"That's the plan!" he says cheerfully, and he gets all dressed up in his nice purple suit, and off he goes.

Pen builds things and flies her helicopter and draws (on coloring books and the walls) and sings songs and eats applesauce.