The tea was set in a place that should not have existed: a quiet, lamplit parlor folded into the space between sewer brick and starlight. A small round table stood on an island of dry stone, porcelain cups steaming gently, the air smelling faintly of bergamot and sugar. Red balloons hovered lazily near the ceiling, their strings tied neatly to chair backs, swaying as if listening. Somewhere far away, water dripped, but here it was calm..civilized, even.

Pennywise sat across from Mary Poppins with an ease that suggested long familiarity. There was no tension between them, only a peculiar understanding: he did not pretend to be good, and she did not pretend to be afraid. She poured the tea as though this were the most natural arrangement in the world, while he watched with open amusement, a predator lounging rather than sleeping. Their friendship existed in that narrow, dangerous space between fondness and inevitability.

He lifted his teacup, a soft giggle slipping out before he could stop himself, shoulders giving a small shake.

“..oh, I’ve had fun today,”

He said, voice lilting and darkly pleased.“Lots of little worries, lots of tasty thoughts scurrying around..like mice.”

He took a slow sip, eyes gleaming as he leaned closer. “Nothing worth finishing, of course. I saved my appetite.” Another quiet laugh bubbled up.

“Wouldn’t want to spoil tea, now would I?”