Busy schedule notwithstanding, the barber was given the chance to visit, and so he took it.
Sweeney swept into the room, having been smart enough to leave his ladies at home, and sat quietly in the seat while he waited for the Joker to arrive. He had, however, brought with him a fine gift -- He was no sympathizer to the Joker, but he'd printed out all the Joker-centric threads from the Forum so that the other man could read through them at his leisure. Or make something of the papers to keep himself occupied. He took a seat with the neat folio of papers on his lap and waited for the jolly man to come in.
Once he did, Sweeney stood and offered his hand. He was a thin man, himself, but taller -- at least 6'0" -- and well dressed, though not in his usual Victorian attire, but a proper suit, his hair pulled back into a tight, short tail at the nape of his neck, though the white streak was still very prominent. "After a measure of time, one gets the impression that you're some sort of demigod, sir." He mentioned by way of a 'hello', his words spoken in a put-on proper English. If one were nosy enough, and could tell these things, the edges weren't quite refined, and it only overlayed what was once a Cockney accent.
"I did bring a bottle of brandy along with me, but they said they'd hold it until your release. Either that poor thing's going to sit and age until it's mellow as a toothless old hound, or you'll have to rescue it from your personal effects once you're out."