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Room 37 looks deceptively the same as it always has.

(This does not mean that it's safe to assume the wardrobe portal leads anywhere predictable.

Also, there is a new and strangely impossible-to-remove painting adorning one wall. It doesn't just look like the eyes follow people in the room - they do.)

Still, after eyeing the painting for some time, Havelock has grown bored; as he mainly assumes that if it was dangerous it would have done something already.

So saying, he has availed himself of a shower (Ankh-Morpork is his home, but it is lacking in some areas) and settled down with a book, impervious to any sort of sinister atmosphere.

If the portrait had the ability, it would be pouting.

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Puck doesn't really like to leave Havelock alone with the painting for too long-- at least not before they find something entertaining to hang over it.

Like a plank of wood!

At any rate, there's an almost tangible pause outside the door before Puck appears on the bed.

He can't tell whether this will be hilarious or a disaster.

There's the other reason Havelock can't get too wary about a vaguely sinister picture.

Puck would just set the thing on fire if it got uppity.

Still reading, "Evening."

Puck ...

Waves.

There's a beat or two before Havelock look up, mildly curious.

Then his eyes narrow slightly, graduating up to puzzled.

Puck can't help it.

He starts to giggle.

(As he's still keeping his mouth closed, it comes out somewhat snickery.)

...Well, it doesn't seem too serious.

He's not ruling out drugs or Atlantean just yet, mind you.

"Is everything quite all right?"

Puck considers.

And nods!

Around more giggles.

...Good?

"Why aren't you speaking?"

The narration would love to say that he thinks to say this because of Puck and Havelock's deep and spiritual soulbond omg, but actually it's just that Puck has basically never been wordless quite this long before.

Havelock is the creepy, silent one.

... This one is a little more complicated.

Puck sobers up, casting around the bed. He liberates a pillow from its place and promptly turns it into a miniature coyote, which sits on the mattress before throwing back its head and kind of howl-cackling.

Ta-daaaaa??

Havelock watches this little performance in silence.

Then,

"I see."

Sadly, this makes perfect sense considering the nature of most of their in-bar acquaintances.

"Binding or bet?"

As the coyote reverts to a pillow, Puck tries to figure out how one wordlessly answers either/or questions.

He decides to give Havelock a look.

"Binding," Havelock repeats patiently, holding up one finger; then holds up two and continues, "or bet?"

Puck promptly holds up two fingers.

He does not look even remotely sheepish.

Havelock shrugs philosophically.

"Oh, that could be worse. How long? Days, weeks, months?"

He holds up one, two, then three fingers for the respective options.

Puck raises two fingers again, pauses, and holds up one finger on his other hand.

A week! That's totally doable, right?

Totally!

...Without cheating at all?

Well, he has stubbornness going for him.

"A week. Should we stay here for the duration?"

Puck makes a face-- it wouldn't be sporting to stay in.

But then he pauses.

And blows Havelock a kiss.

Havelock eyes him.

"If that was a cryptic message, you'll have to try again."

If not, business as usual.

Puck laughs again, in that barely-contained snicker.

He disappears from view and reappears hopefully in Havelock's lap.

LOOK OUT, BOOK OR WHATEVER HE'S HOLDING.

Havelock's books are sadly resigned to getting broken spines, crushed pages, dirty covers, and occasionally submerged in the lake.

But as messages go, cryptic or not, this one will do.

He raises his eyebrows down at the sudden armful of faerie.

"Hello."

Puck beams.

And waves.

Wow, this could get repetitive.

Still.

Havelock smiles back at him, small and solicitous.

"So, how much sound are you permitted? Only speech forbidden? Any vocalisation?"

Puck shrugs, making an enh! sort of sound without parting his lips.

"I suppose that's rather easier than nothing at all," he says thoughtfully.

He's never really thought about the limitations of never being able to speak.

...He's done it, several times, but only out of natural inclination.

Puck makes a face.

It would be ridiculous to demand he make no sound.

He's a rather good imitator, but he can never manage to reproduce perfect silence.