oneman_onevote

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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"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.

Believe me, Havelock knows.

Um.

He raises a wholly innocent eyebrow back.

"Couldn't do it?"

Puck shoves him.

Havelock laughs softly and doesn't resist the shoving, which means he slumps back a little against the pillows, still cross-legged and mostly upright.

All in all, it hasn't achieved that much.

Puck gives him his very best sad pouting face.

Have some pity, Havelock!

He can't even speak.

Sorry, Puck.

Havelock is a cruel heartless cad of a man.

But surely you knew that?

In tones of deeply unconvincing sincerity;

"I know, I wrong you deeply, of course you could. Anything you set your mind to."

Grrrrowl.

Havelock just grins at him for a moment.

It's probably not right to find mocking your poor, speechless boyfriend quite this entertaining.

(Then again, neither is killing people for a living.)

Puck sulks.

He already knows he can't withhold sex, because that would be punishing himself. And he knows Havelock knows this.

Havelock looks mostly unrepentant.

"You can retaliate in a week," he reminds him.

There's something to look forward to!

Or he can retaliate right this second.

Puck regards Havelock murderously for a moment, before a canny expression crosses his face.

And he lunges forward to tickle him.

"...Oh, or that-"

Havelock has frequently had cause to curse being born ticklish, but at least he's fully dressed at the moment - and accordingly wearing several layers of clothing, because Ankh-Morpork fashions tend heavily towards the buttoned-up.

He grits his teeth against laughing and gamely makes a grab at Puck's wrists to try and stop him.