(Untitled)

[puckishly]

As it turns out, Puck was not lying when he said that his hospitality would pale in comparison to Milliways.

This is because in order to be hospitable, it is traditional for one to first have a place of residence-- which, outside of Milliways, Puck does not. However, in the interest of keeping up appearances, he spent the day before yesterday

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[weeper_of_blood]

There was a warning, he remembers that much.

It's the only thing that keeps Le Chiffre from sneer at the place. But he's behaving, just giving a very slow arch of a brow as he peers about the place curiously.

"No matter. Everything serves it's purpose."

[puckishly]

Puck smiles at that, as if he were enjoying a private joke (which he is).

"That it does."

Out the window the sun has nearly set, and the sight of it over the rooftops is, at least, rather pretty.

[weeper_of_blood]

The smile gets replied with a smirk, not quite his own private joke, but amused enough by the situation at hand.

"And just so we're straight, any double crossing between the two of us should be put to a minimum for now. As amusing as it may be, I can't see either of us benefiting from such an action."

[puckishly]

"Oh, perish the thought, sir." Puck looks wounded. "I quite agree that such treachery should be in neither of our interests."

Unless he thought it was funny. That would be interesting.

"Now," he goes on, businesslike, "'tis nearly that time of night when I believe we shall have our best luck-- or at least it shall be in the span of some few hours. In the meantime, I've all the necessary cutlery for our endeavor, if you care to peruse it."

He tugs irritably at the collar of his shirt; it may be winter, but Puck's been just a little warm all day. Not to mention that McDaitengu's food is still acting up. He's never eating in Underhill again.