He was escorted inside by two rather heavyset police officers--it seemed that the NYPD wasn't taking any chances. Escorted? More like thrown--he was tossed inside and the door was shut tightly behind him, with only an inquisitive look at the girl who actually wanted to visit The Joker before the door was shut.
He rubbed at his wrists, which were, in his defense, red raw. "Ow!" he said, with the tone of a teenage valley girl who'd been handed the wrong outfit. "Jeez, you could attempt to be more gentle--"
Then he spotted Candy. His tone, posture, and expression completely shifted. His eyes lit up, and he grinned. "Hi," he said cheerfully.
It was funny, seeing the reality of the man who everyone was so terrified of, who even the police refused to turn their back on. He was shorter than he was made out to be, for one, though some of it could be attributed to his hunched posture. He was standing straighter now that Candy was in the room, but he still couldn't be taller than 5'8", tops. Skinny and lanky on top of that, his makeup was flaking off after several days in jail. He looked even dirtier than usual, like the cops didn't even trust him to give him the chance to shower.
"I didn't expect any visitors," he confessed, his tongue flicking out over his lips. "Is that...food? For me?"