Puck glances at it a moment; it seems to hold well enough, but the repeated thumps against the door still make it shake.

Irked, he strains a moment and turns the bed on its side, legs facing inwards towards them. Then Puck slumps down, back to the door, and shuts his eyes.

"One of the bottles, if you would?" he mutters.

He has left them, along with the lockpick ring, somewhere in the middle of the floor. At least one of the bottles appears to contain whiskey, but the other is a bright magenta and anyone's guess.