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Sound and motion caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, and S'kagi glanced toward the two candidates, he thought one was a boy, but then again, it was hard to tell at a second glance, the other, nearly as rail straight, showed more hints of a womanish shape that hinted that they might turn her from 'pretty' to 'beautiful' if you looked away for just long enough. He wasn't looking, per see, though it didn't mean he couldn't observe. Definitely far to young for him, but someone would consider themselves very lucky someday. He forgot himself enough to grin slightly at the dodge. Good reflexes.
Were they candidates? The one looked vaguely familiar, but he hadn't had as much time as he would have liked to see who would be standing. He hoped he'd be impressed by the ones that bonded too, but there would be time to make most of them into decent riders, he thought.

Lanakirene pulled up short when the other girl nearly bumped her, jerking her head up in surprise. "And excuse me! Begging your pardon for getting in your way," she answered, smiling and stepping aside at the same time as the other girl, and in the same direction. "Oh, shards," she said, tossing up her hands in exasperation and then shaking her head. "I seem to be getting in everyone's way recently." Running a hand through her hair and grinning, she took quick stock of the other girl. She had striking eyes, and seemed vaguely familiar.

La had definitely seen her before at some point, but she wouldn't have been able to place her if her life depended on it. Maybe someone at the Weyr, or someone at the Hold from a long time ago. Definitely nobody she knew by name. Of course, at the moment it wasn't particularly important, but she knew it would bother her if she didn't get the girl's name eventually.

They were going in opposite directions, but she was in no hurry and the girl really didn't seem to be either. Giving Emori a quick once-over and casting about for a conversation starter so she could figure out how she knew her, La noticed the remains pastry and gestured to it. "Are they any good?" she asked lightly. "I tend to be suspicious about my food."

It was good to see that Ennrik hadn’t completely lost his sense of humor. The two boys had been right little terrors back in Harper Hall, as Mal recalled, feeling almost nostalgic for those days. Ah, to be young and foolish again… or at least without too much responsibility. Which reminded him, he really ought to tell Ennrik the truth about his disappearance and where he had really gone. But that really wasn’t a conversation for such a public place; Ennrik would just have to be satisfied with explosive orphans and Harper magic. Judging by the smile on his face, the other male was at least amused by the improbable tale and probably got the message that Mal didn’t want to go into the truth for now.

His grin grew wider at the news of his old friend’s candidacy, wide enough to show those crooked teeth of his. It ended quickly though, going back into his usual closed-mouth grin. As a performer, he couldn’t exactly afford to be sensitive about his appearance, but those teeth were a bit of a sore spot for him. “A Candidate? Really? I always thought you’d be a Journeyman Harper by now, enthralling Lord and Lady Holders all across Pern! When you snuck up on me here, I figured you’d come with these ones,” he said, jerking a thumb back at the Harpers.

“But, then again, that was pretty stupid of me. You’re better than them.” Provided that Ennrik could get over his stage-fright, of course, which Mal figured he had done already. It was a confident announcement, as if Mal knew for a fact that his friend was better than the other players, despite not having contact with him for almost a year. “Yeah, I’m really a Candidate. I swear by the First Egg,” he said, holding out a hand as if that would somehow prove his truthiness. “Like I said, they’re desperate. Lots of eggs out there right now and it looks like they don’t want to risk losing even one. We’re both pretty close to the age limit, right? Me, I’m not too worried about it. This place is a free meal and place to stay until the Hatching is over, then I’ll move on, I guess.”

He didn’t give much thought to what would happen if he should actually Impress; it seemed pretty vague at this point. Now Ennrik! Now there was a man who was pretty much destined to Impress. “When did you get in? I only got here a few days ago.”

Ennrik had forgotten about Mal's teeth. It had taken him months to condition himself to not recoil when he saw them, even in brief flashes. Fortunately, the conditioning either held or he had at some unnoticed point in his life become immune to the usually stomach-turning sight of poor dental health. He remembered quickly that the breath usually accompanying teeth like that was unpleasant, and decided not to lean in too close.

"Really. A Candidate. Personally, I think it unlikely that those who have incurable stage-fright will suddenly overcome it on the day of a Hatching, with half of Pern staring at them, and I am given to wonder about that. And then I feel like I might faint or die and direct my mind elsewhere." He grinned to make his statement sound less whiny than it felt. His tone hadn't been a whine, but he was extremely sensitive to that sort of thing.

He glanced toward the Harpers on the stage. "But if I was a journeyman, I would not be part of that troupe. It's sometimes distressing to see the variation in skill levels among those Harper Hall turns out."

His mind followed the thread of the conversation back to the topic of the Weyr and Impressions. He didn't know if the Weyr was desperate, honestly, but with two clutches on the sands he could believe that it was important to have a wide range of Candidates available for the dragonets to choose from. He thought the Weyr could do a lot worse than Mal, really. Mal could be flighty at times, but he was pretty good in a pinch - if he could be found - and it seemed to Ennrik that fighting Thread was all about pinches and near-misses. At least he could hazard some sort of guess on why they were so old.

"They're probably taking older Candidates because Fall's going to start soon, and they can't afford to wait for their riders to grow up. I guess the downside is they'll have to break all your bad habits. And like you said, a place to stay with free meals until the Hatching is over." He shrugged.

It had already occurred to him that he was very close to the upper age limit, and he'd been thinking about what he would do when he didn't Impress. So far going back to Harper Hall and asking contritely to be re-admitted topped his list of ideas. Anything was better than returning to his hold and his father and the passive-aggressive exchanges they had that quickly turned into his father shouting and him walking out.

"I only got in a few days ago, myself, but I've spent most of my time poking about the Weyr and avoiding work."

The thought of Threadfall was enough to send a chill into Ennrik's bones. Like everyone else in their generation, he had no idea what Fall was really like, but he knew the songs and the stories. How Thread burned any organic matter, and how it could sear to the bone, leaving twisting scars unlike any other. If he Impressed, he wouldn't be able to hide behind metal doors and shutters and wait for the klaxon to cease, giving the signal that the skies were safe, thanks to the dragonriders. He'd be one of those people in the air, risking their skin in a distressingly literal fashion. His shoulders twitched.

The question about how he had arrived at Ista was an easier topic. "I did. L'mel and Blue Dimeth." It had taken him a bit to remember the pair's names in the initial excitement of settling in, but the names had come back to him once he adjusted more to his new setting.

"Between was...." He, too, was at a loss for words, and he shook his head. Finally he fell back on someone else's lyrics, suggesting, "'Black, blacker, blackest, and cold beyond frozen things'? I was worried my guitar might've taken some damage, but it came though all right."

"And to which knack are you referring? The one for avoiding work? I studied under a master of the craft." He cast a very pointed glance at Mal. "Besides, a Weyr is huge, and it's not likely I'm ever going to have another chance to explore one after I leave."

He remembered what a monstrous duo they'd been in Harper Hall. It was actually how he had figured out that they were both more talented than the masters had been willing to admit: they got away with things they should never have gotten away with. Only pets and star pupils got that sort of treatment, and while Ennrik had been aware from the start that he was a pet of the voice master, it had taken him several years to realize that the master didn't demand the same exacting standards from everyone that she did from him. The memories of the terrors they had been made him smile with something resembling nostalgia.

Gambling! It was one thing Ennrik had never found a fondness for. He couldn't control the outcome, and he didn't like to leave things so much to chance. When he learned that there were ways to cheat, it had only disgusted him further with the practice. Not that he thought those who gambled, or even those who cheated when gambling were disgusting people. He just didn't care for the activity himself, even after learning tricks from Corbin, which had been a result of being cheated one too many times by Mal, and subsequently having been on kitchen duty for nearly an entire season, and also insisting that if Mal was going to cheat he, Ennrik, should at least be afforded the same opportunity. He'd been amazed when Mal had agreed.

"You won...an ugly pot of sand. Congratulations?"

As Emori moved over, so did the boy she’d almost walked into. The two sidestepped like a mirror image, and she felt a twinge of irritation at having her path blocked. She realized the humor of the situation a moment later and smiled up at the boy. He was tall, but his voice obviously hadn’t broken yet, judging by how high it was. He was from the Weyr and not one of those dragonriders. She remembered that much, but nothing else.

She glanced down at her pastry when he called attention to it. “These?” She lifted it, still warm, high enough that its smell would waft upward for sampling. “They’re pretty tasty, but fall apart easily if you’re not careful.” Shifting her feet apart into a more relaxed stance, Emori continued with, “You’re from Ista Weyr, right?”

All right, so she did know her from the Weyr. That made more sense. Lanakirene nodded slowly at the girl's response to her question about the pastry and linked her hands behind her back, easing her own stance a bit after Emori did. She nodded again at the girl's question, flashing a smile.

"Yep. My name's Lanakirene," she said, and inclined her head. "I'm a Candidate, but I spend a lot of time with the Dragonhealers." She paused, looked at the girl, and then gave the shortest of nods, indicating her own satisfaction rather than anything else. "And I think....you're a Candidate, too?" She flashed another smile, glancing around and noticing that she was being watched. Her expression never faded; she simply inclined her head toward the man, she was pretty sure he was a dragonrider, and looked back at Emori.

Conomor shifted the pot under his arm again and nodded, turning to look in the direction of Ista Weyr. One day he would fly above it on his dragon, and together they would fight the Thread. It would happen, he was sure of it. "Indeed there will," he said as he turned back to his new friend with a slight smile, "indeed there will."