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To be honest, Kypak preferred the beach to the lake. On the rare occasions that he had neither chores nor studying to attend to, the lake was almost always occupied by large packs of people -- Candidates, and now the new weyrlings, busily chatting and splashing and generally enjoying their moments of freedom. That was only to be expected -- he joined them often enough, when the mood struck -- but the beach always seemed a little less crowded. Perhaps it was just the expanse of sand and sea making it seem that way, giving him room to move where he pleased and thus be more selective in his company, but he liked it nonetheless.

He strolled barefoot down the edge just where wet sand met dry, shoes dangling from one hand in a loose hold; his free hand came up every few minutes to brush a few wayward strands back behind one ear, a futile exercise as the wind only freed them again. The famous Ista weather had not disappointed today, the breeze warm and wet and laden with the salt smell of the ocean. After the bustle of the past few sevendays, it was a relief to slow down and simply be for a while.

Given the distance and his cursory glance in the direction of the sound, perhaps Kypak could be forgiven for initially assuming that the figure on the stones was one of the Harper apprentices often seen around the Weyr. Granted, when the humming changed to song, the quality was considerably better than that usually associated with apprentice Harpers... But to the almost-tone-deaf (not completely, he would protest vehemently!) Ky, most singers came in various shades of "better than me."

Carefully making his way out into the surf to get a better look -- and listen -- at the other beachgoer, he made his way to a respectable distance before addressing the man. Yelling from halfway across the beach just made you look silly or overeager, anyway, and he was headed that direction... He was approaching from an angle, so he couldn't see the Harper's (he assumed, usually random singers were Harpers of some description) face properly. Until he could tell if the other was someone he knew, he stuck with a politely neutral greeting. "Nice tune," he called, one corner of his mouth quirking up into a small, crooked smile.

Kypak suppressed a chuckle at the awkward way the stranger got up, hair half-braided, but mirth faded rapidly when he realized his error. Most definitely not a Candidate. At all. The man had to be, what, twice his age -- and on top of that, another fact presented itself. As the Harper switched to a stone closer to shore, and Kypak approached, the Candidate looked up to maintain eye contact... and kept looking up.

Faranth, he must beat least a foot taller than me, said a quiet little voice in the back of Ky's mind in dismay. His small stature usually didn't trouble him all that much, at least around fellow Candidates; it didn't matter to him if some of the taller ones loomed over him. But this was a bit beyond the norm. To his credit, he kept his expression as neutral as possible, given the circumstances.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but... Visiting Harper, I take it?" It seemed a logical conclusion. The flute comment had confirmed his initial suspicion about Harper, and journeymen did sometimes visit the Weyr. If the man had been in residence for any length of time, he would have at least been vaguely familiar to Ky. Harpers... tended to stand out in a crowd, especially ones that would literally be head and shoulders over most of the younger Candidates that seemed to crowd the place. He kept his tone casual; Faranth forbid he be mistaken for one of the Nose's cronies, he thought with an internal shudder.

Brilliant. He'd entirely set himself up for that one. The question was innocent enough, and only struck a nerve due to the timing of it, what with Weyr current events. He brushed it off with an attempt at dry humor. "Been Standing on and off for five Turns -- guess you could say I'm an expert." Did it rankle a little? Well, yes, okay. Maybe it did. Not that he was about to make a hypocrite of himself by complaining.

He did not like the other man's expression. Ky was perfectly aware of the swarm of Candidates; he didn't need some visiting Harper's disapproval. "I'm no Weyrbrat, though -- I know my chances. I'm as much an apprentice Healer as anything." It sounded a little defensive even to his own ears, and Kypak immediately regretted saying it... even if it was true. He was nineteen Turns old, and he could feel the weight of days irrevocably slipping towards that twenty-first Turn mark. There were plenty of Candidates who never Impressed. Plenty of former Weyr residents who went into a craft a little late -- in ten Turns he would be a Journeyman either way. Who would fault him for wasted time?

In an attempt to forestall further treading onto already unstable ground, Ky extended a hand in the Harper's direction, in what he hoped was a reasonably friendly manner. "Name's Kypak," he offered. "You?"

((gaaah, sorry for such late tag! @_@ Writer's block like whoa.))

...well, he was a Harper, all right, Kypak reflected, his good humor returning. It seemed, at times, that the tact and grace that were the Harper's art were in short supply in the Weyr... ironic, since they had so many Candidates with some Harper Hall training. (Was there something going on with that? Well, whatever. Harpers' business was their own.) Regardless, mollified, he allowed the subject to drop easily.

"Marko," he repeated the name, just to cement it. Not that he was in any danger of mistaking the man for someone else... "Nice to meet you." The attempt at conversation caught him somewhat off-guard; the subject was innocuous enough, but Ky would not have described Ista weather as oppressive under any circumstance. "I... suppose?" A small, pensive frown, as he thought of what he'd heard about the conditions elsewhere. "It's wet all the time, yes, but I guess I'm used to it." Casting a speculative glance sideways and up at Marko, he hesitated, then asked, "What's it like back at the Harper Hall? I've... never been away from Ista, actually." That was him, a Weyr-boy born and raised. There had simply never been a need; presumably if he'd made it to Journeyman he would have visited the Healercraft Halls, but... well. He hadn't.