Hiding Through the Open Door

[Tealah]

P'neil sighed, rubbing at his face. He was reviewing reports from the wingleaders concerning the readiness of the wings - very good, all things concidered - and that was not what was irritating him.

Zis ees reedeeculous, P'neil. You are zee Weyrleader, tell zem zat zey can NOT keep me here against my will. Tell zem, P'neil!

P'neil shook his head ruefully. Artoneth was in a fine fury that the healers were still not allowing him to leave the infirmary, and the dragon had been ranting to him of the injustice for the past candlemark. Needless to say, P'neil hadn't gotten much of his reading done, let alone comprehending what it was he had managed to read. "Artoneth, ye ken full well ye are no healed yet," he growled, stamping firmly on the impatience that was leaking into him from his link to the brown.

Zee wing, she is without pain, zerefore, she is healed, no? Artoneth wasn't going to give up easily.

"It dinnae work tha' way, Artoneth, as ye well ken. It dinnae hurt from th' numbweed, nae from being healed." P'neil rubbed again at his face, unknowingly leaving yet another streak of ink amongst the others. He was definitely not the neatest scholar, P'neil. Once more he stared at the hide in his hand, trying to make some sense of the report through Artoneth's grumbling.

[Shikai]

((…Arr. Sorry, couldn’t resist using this one for someone. xDD))

Alana pushed a strand of light brown hair behind her ear as her eyes remained, as always, locked on the parchment in front of her. It was a familiar sight for the weyrfolk, no doubt, the now-Weyrwoman of Araelen stalking through the halls with paper before her and little mind for anything else. Then, however, had there been anyone watching, they would have seen an uncommon sight of the Weyrwoman – she slowed her pace as she grew conscious of her fast approaching destination.

Ahoy! Alana, ye scurvy bilge rat, ye can’t really be stoppin’ outside o’ the quarters o’ fine Artoneth’s rider! That would nay accomplish yer mishun![/color]

Yarr! Quit yer bellyachin’, Gwynevith, ye great overgrown dubloon! I be headin’ inside, shore enough!

Alana grumbled back to her gold, and tried to quash the silly misgivings niggling at her the closer she came to P’neil’s door. It was quite ridiculous of her; she was the Weyrwoman, and he the Weyrleader. Cooperation was quite necessary between them if they were to run the weyr efficiently as a pair, and Alana was quite set on doing exactly that. But…she hadn’t really spoken to him since the flight, and even though their unexpected night together had been due to the undeniable emotional effect of their dragons, it was the closest thing to intimacy Alana had had with someone. Irritating as it was, she was reminded at times that she was human, with human emotions that sometimes got in the way of doing what was most efficient, and now seemed to be one of those times.

However, she sighed, striding toward and through the door with more confidence than she felt.

“Avast, P’neil! I was hopin’ ye’d be kind enough to go o’er some of these here charts wi’ me, that is, if yer nay too busy. I fancy, they bein’ reports from the latest tithes, they could use a weather eye from the Weyrleader as well.”

[Tealah]

Distracted as he was by Artoneth's grumbling, P'neil didn't register the sound of footsteps stopping by the open door, until Artoneth suddenly went silent. The Weyrleader frowned at the document in his hand. Artoneth, what's wro -

Alana's voice cut through the silence that had fallen in his mind, and P'neil leaped to his feet nearly fast enough to upset his inkwell. "Alana! I..." An awkward silence fell. "Good morning, Weyrwoman," he finished finally, lamely, having recovered some measure of his usual stoicism by reverting to formality. "I would be happy to assist you with whatever you require."

He still wasn't quite sure how he felt about Alana, let alone how she felt about him. Artoneth's unexpected catch of Gwynevith, a lowly brown instead of the bronze her gold no doubt deserved, and then in his first Threadfall as Weyrleader he'd allowed his dragon to get so badly Threadscored the healers had been afraid he'd never fly again and it was still a legitimate concern. Even if Artoneth could fly he'd never be able to outfly bronzes again, so it really was foolish to feel anything for the Weyrwoman, and yet...

P'neil realized he'd been frowning at Alana, and quickly smoothed his expression.