(Untitled)

[oneman_onevote]

Havelock, in an effort to keep his mind of various things, is writing letters in the library, secluded at a desk and left alone by librarians, possibly out of recognition of a kindred spirit, possibly just out of self-preservation

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[puckishly]

Havelock is not in their room.

He's not outside, which perhaps he could have been if he wanted to practice his throwing aim under nocturnal conditions.

He's not in the bar (Puck checked the rafters).

That leaves ... well, a few likely places, but of all of them Puck finds the likeliest to be that room with all the books in.

A silent shape, with tousled hair and bright curious eyes, appears abruptly in the doorway and casts about searchingly.

[oneman_onevote]

It's a solid deduction!

Havelock is not actually in the shadows here, as that is counterproductive for both reading and writing, but in a warmly lamp-lit corner. He peruses a page thoughtfully, pen held poised in ink-stained fingers, but only taps the end against the desk in faint irritation rather than writing any more.

He just remembered what he was trying not to think about. This won't do at all.

(It isn't helping with the letter-writing either.)

[puckishly]

There is some academic or other who says that we begin looking where we can cast light, however inaccurate that light may be.

Fortunately for Puck, Havelock is a precise sort of person.

He disappears again, flickering into view (prudently) not behind him or otherwise out of view, but leaning against the desk.

"Do I disturb your work?"

[oneman_onevote]

"No more than I keep doing myself," Havelock says ruefully, pushing the page away.

(He leaves black fingerprints, without caring much - he will have to rewrite a copy in any case.)