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Pen likes the new apartment. It's bigger, she has new walls to draw on (she's got paper, too, but sometimes she wants to do a proper mural), and she doesn't have grit under her feathers anymore.

She gets left alone a lot, though. Cindy is out doing things all the time. He doesn't have as much time to take her to the flying place. (Once, when he is out and she can't even ask, she hops out over the patio balcony onto the neighboring roof, and checks to see if there is anybody around, and flies a little bit, low and owl-quiet. She doesn't think anybody sees.) She builds elaborate structures. She solicits another box of pieces.

He leaves the news on, a lot. Pen mostly ignores it. She knows English, technically, but the pentagon didn't tell her the concepts her upbringing has left her missing.
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And then one day Cindy is making lunch and listening to the TV with half an ear, and the news anchor interrupts himself in midsentence.

"...of more than—oh my God."

The Joker bolts out of the kitchen just in time to catch the replay of the collapsing football field. He watches the screen intently, scrambling onto the closest couch for a better view, and the voiceover notes shakily that this is now coming in live as the camera pans over the flaming ruin that used to be part of the stands. Specifically, he is informed, the part of the stands containing the mayor of Gotham.
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Well, Cindy appears to find this exciting, and it's delaying her lunch. Pen goes and watches when he runs.

She frowns at the television.
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And out comes a large, powerfully built man wearing a strange mask, and he addresses the people of Gotham in a garbled but comprehensible voice. The Joker hears the words, but he's less interested in them than he is in the person doing the speaking. This has to be the new player in town, the one who's been stirring things up, the source of that strange mood that's been spreading through Gotham's criminal element like a nasty flu. Nobody knew anything, but everybody felt it. And now here he is making his play.

He has a sense of theatre, at least, when he brings out that scientist type and has him identify the big round thing as a nuclear bomb.

"Who can disarm it?"

"Only me."


As soon as he hears that, the Joker winces preemptively; half a second later, the masked man breaks the physicist's neck. Of course. How could he do anything else, with a setup like that? Telegraphs the punchline from a mile away. Effective, though, all the same.
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Pen ducks behind the sofa when it's clear someone's going to be hurt onscreen.

She peeks.

She whimpers, "I not have wishes. Can't make them."
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"A little magic sure would be handy right now," he murmurs, eyes locked on the screen as Bane orates about the ultimate nobility of his cause and just how fucked everyone is going to be if they don't toe the line.

Part of him is falling a little bit in love, but most of him is going in quite the opposite direction. This Bane guy has a talent for public speaking, but when you look at his actions, it becomes obvious that this is not someone with the best interests of any part of Gotham at heart. This is a con, and it's a con that's going to end with the city of Gotham becoming a glowing hole in the ground - if the part about the nuclear bomb is true, which he has to assume it is.
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"I only - safed. Is all my magic."

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"'S all right," he says distractedly. "I'll get this numbnuts sorted any which way."

Just as soon as he thinks of a plan.
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"Okay," sighs Pen. She climbs over the back of the sofa to flop half into his lap.

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He hugs her and keeps watching. He's going to have to track down reruns of this; he isn't taking in one word in five. The emotions are more important right now, anyway. Bane is calm, controlled, projecting benevolent superiority.

And then Bane is leaving.

The Joker rubs his face with both hands, hard. A few stray smears of makeup smear further. Now the news people are stuttering some more. He isn't interested. They can't tell him anything he wants to know.

He has to think. He has to—mm. Maybe. Not his usual style, but this is not a usual situation.

First things first, though.

"You get what the guy on TV was saying?" he asks, looking down at Pen.
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"...Some?" Pen says. "The thing can..." She snuggles up, thinking. "Like thing hurt Shell Bell? Same word, 'nuke'. Wards better now but only me..."

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"Mhm," he says. "He said he'll kill everybody in Gotham if anyone tries to leave or take his bomb away, and he wants to show us something tomorrow. I'm pretty sure that whatever he's doing, killing everybody in Gotham is gonna figure into it at some point, even though he didn't say so. So I wanna figure out how to take the bomb away without him setting it off. And I think I'm gonna see if Batman wants to help me with that."

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"The unfriendly man," remembers Pen. "Will he?"

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"Don't know yet," he says. "I think I'll have to spend a night at the old place. And I'm gonna have to, mm, make a call first." He glances into the kitchen. "I'll finish lunch first, but then I gotta go. Will you be okay without me? I'll probably be back tomorrow morning. You can talk to me the magic way if you get lonely or run into trouble."

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"What for dinner though?"

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"Leftover lunch?" he suggests.

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"Okay," says Pen, in the voice of someone nobly making a great sacrifice.

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"Thanks."

He hugs her again, then bounces to his feet to finish making lunch. There is plenty to be left over; he barely eats before he scrambles into a hat and jacket and out the front door.
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"Bye!" calls Pen. She eats lunch at a more leisurely pace. She watches some TV.

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The Joker makes some arrangements.

While the news is mostly occupied with discussion of Bane and his threat, several channels do find time as the afternoon wears on to mention that Wayne Tower has been vandalized again: someone spraypainted CALL ME across the back of the building, in black letters outlined sloppily in red over a background of white scribbles. Although the message is large enough to be seen from a distance, no one has yet come forward to report witnessing the crime.
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Pen doesn't bother to turn the TV off, but she loses interest after a while. She amuses herself as best she can and doesn't bother Cindy. Eventually she goes to bed.

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And the Joker goes back to the apartment they vacated only a short while before. He doesn't know how long he'll have to wait. He doesn't know if Batman will even show. Maybe one monster seems as good as another to him. Maybe he crashed his newest mystery vehicle after that rumoured chase a while back, and he's at the bottom of a river right now waiting for some unlucky soul to dredge him up. No telling.

So he cleans out the fridge, puts on his makeup from what he left here when they moved, dismantles the deadly traps on the front door, and settles in to see what happens.
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He does get a visitor, but it's not the visitor he expected.

A few hours after sunset, someone knocks on the door.
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That is not Batman. He took down the traps because he didn't need them anymore; he didn't expect anyone to actually come in that way.

He gets up and peers through the spyhole to see who on Earth it could be.
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A young man with an unfamiliar face, in plain clothes but still obviously a cop. He isn't carrying his gun openly, but that doesn't mean he's not carrying it, and that is definitely a bulletproof vest under that jacket.

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Well, well, well.

He opens the door.
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