He sucks in a big lungful of air, which is a sign of things to come; the loudest and most dramatically exaggerated sigh imaginable. "Fiiiine. I'll keep the infernal concoction for another time." In a quieter voice, as he put the flask away some place hidden, he added "Alas, poor infernal concoction. I knew it, Marty, a drink of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy." Totally spoofing Hamlet's 'Alas, poor Yorick'.<br/><br/>Once that was away, DVDs had to be sorted. He only had a handful of them, and it's... interesting, as apparently there are only three things in his collection; Romero's classic 'Of the Dead' series, both the old ones and the remakes, all sorts of Monty Python stuff, and... Spaghetti Westerns. "Ahh, they got Woo, too? I thought he'd given them the slip."  Puck had totally tried to run interference, but campus security was on to his shenanigans. He'd been complacent that day; but it also made him re-write his 'play book' for escapades and shenanigans.<br/><br/>A quiet pause. "I can neither confirm nor deny that she knows of my long and varied acts of mayhem, atrocity, shenanigans, wacky hijinxs, and tom-foolery." Which is Puck speak for 'I forget what I have and haven't told her', which frequently happened, because he just had such a crazy life; too many stories to tell, not enough days in the week, and hours in the day to tell 'em all. "I still have it, somewhere. It's still gonna take me another day or two to get everything settled. Rome wasn't burnt in a day, after all." Most people said built. He said burnt; probably an allusion to his 'chaotic' organizational style, and the chaos that would come with a burning city. But of course, the comic being such a small, yet strangely important part of their relationship, wherever it is, it was in good condition. Protected with dust covers and everything.<br/><br/>"Methinks the women-folk have not been cautious with the wine." He went to his mask collection, and found one that resembled the Cheshire Cat (https://i.etsystatic.com/17672149/r/il/eadbc0/1670908463/il_570xN.1670908463_1zbp.jpg). It was one he'd picked up for Halloween a long time ago, and sure it was cheap and starting to show its age, but he was always attached to every single mask he'd acquired... and while he might always go by the nom de guerre of Puck, one could probably find many ways to relate him to that damnably grinning cat.<br/><br/>He lets out a low, lilting, hissing laughter at his friend, and moves to slink right by him; foot steps smooth, quiet, calculated. Sneaky as a freakin' cat; as he liked to joke with Scar,<em>sometimes, people don't know I'm there until I'm rubbing up against their leg.</em>He was en route to the kitchen, and would slowly peek just his head in, so that only the mask could be glimpsed... for all of a moment, blink and you'll miss it. He just sees the two together, and having a moment, and just as stealthily as he had snuck up on them, he retreated to the living room, and sprawled out on the floor, in front of the fire place.<br/><br/>And yes, he keeps the mask on. Staring down the hallway. He's even folded his hands, and rested his chin on them, as a cat might do; belly to the ground, legs slightly sprawled apart.