Candy Quackenbush had had enough of hiding. She hated it. She and Boa had gotten restless, gotten angry, and she wanted to confront the man that had hurt her new friend in person. If he had a crush on her as she suspected (as much as it made her stomach bottom out), she hoped she might be able to barter one or two people's safety.
She'd worn what she'd been stuck in since he called her out, but had washed her clothed. The police looked at her and asked her to repeat herself three or four times. It was probably the first time a petite sixteen-year-old girl in jeans and a black tanktop carrying a bag of food. After she continued in her request, they shook their heads and inspected the food to make sure she wasn't sneaking anything in. Briefly, she wondered if they were going to test it for poison or anything, but when they didn't, she realized that they probably didn't care.
Candy was lead to a visitation room with cameras in every corner and guards just outside the door. Before the Joker arrived, she murmured a spell that coated her body in feathersteel: a lightweight, invisible, skintight coating that functioned like steel armor. She didn't want to be careless, and who knew what he was capable of.