Black-brown hair, glossy in nature, drops to her shoulders when not held back in a loose runnertail. Fine bones are balanced by wide angles along her face; a flattish nose resting in the midst of pink-tinged cheeks. Wide-set eyes are almond-shaped, giving all of Pern a calm regard from beneath elegant brows. Her skin is clear and golden, caught between dusky and smooth with the faint sheen of good health.

Deepest of browns is the modest, slim-fitting bathing suit. Her towel is woven through with threads of red as well, creating a lovely mulberry shade from afar. Her feet are bare.

Black, curly hair bounces around rosy cheeks. Scylla is fairly tall, but not too muh so. Her eyes are a pale blue, and seem to watch everything at once. Her lips are a bright red, and go swell with her hair and cheeks. Skin is fair and is all over her.he wears a tunic that seems a tad too large for her and is simply shaded a bluish. Her trousers are cut to right below her knees. Her shoes are sandles that lace up her legs. She wears a necklace and bracelet that match around her neck and wrist.

A young man of just under two meters in height, with a mane of touseled blond hair falling about his shoulders and tied back only semi-effectively with a length of hide strap. His bearing is catlike to match; he balances perpetually on the balls of his feet and seems to feel out each step before committing his weight to movement. His build is fairly rugged and his skin is tanned, bespeaking a likelihood of much outdoor work. His most unusual feature, however, is the black cloth band he wears tied about his head, obscuring both eyes from view. On second glance, one may note the lithe nature of his hands, forever acting as a guide where his slighted vision fails.

Molasses ripples spill over a high forehead and swish across the tops of rounded ears, darkness contrasting with the pale beneath; his skin is fair, even with Rukbat's desert-bright touch. Sea-green eyes settle above a slightly crooked nose which, in turn, rests over his thin, ever-twisting lips. Of just above average height, his frame is thin and wiry: tightly packed muscles cling to his lank skelature. Latent energy is noticible with each twitch and movement made; Azalan is rarely still.

Trim trous of a soft, tan material hang from narrow hips, help up only by a tightly-cinched belt there. Calf-high boots -- obviously long-worn -- provide a place for those trous to tuck away crookedly. His tunic, like the trous, is tucked rather haphazardly beneath his thin belt into said tan-hued trous. Midnight fades into a paler sea-blue shade at the cuffs of the shirt; the sleeves are almost a tad too long.

Loralith gives a warble to greet the passing brown -- /man/! /man/! /man/! -- then returns attention to her beloved and the victim. A green-hued muzzle is lowered. Giant eyes stare. She turns back to her lifemate after a moment and a mental exchange is had. "Why not?" Eilish sniffs, a bit displeased with whatever she is hearing. "Oh." A pause, and her dark eyes dance out over the small crowd gathered in the moonlight.

A longish plait of dark black falls unevenly to her waist as thick as her wrist, the uneven tips just-just above the curve of her behind. It serves to keep the abundant black strands away from a face ever so slightly oval, contrasting darkly against pale skin. Darkest brown eyes shine underneath perfectly curved eyebrows, shadows deepening them to black. They're placed an even distance away from a thinnish nose that arrows down to a smiling mouth, botton lip too full for perfection. She walks proudly upright, body tall and somewhat gangly with teenage growth. Still, enough curves persist to give her a slightly vulpine look. Fingers are long and thin-boned, callouses showing at the base of each.

Her tunic is a marvel of embroidery that curls and darts black-on-red o'er the whole length of it, the ties in front barely concealing a black vest underneath. Loose trous fit her lanky frame best, sheathing toned legs in shades of scarlet and heart-rich burgundy. Her boots match the redness with a darker shade of carmine, stretching to ankle.

Dark skin marks a youthful form, a near-ebony complexion setting off an almost constant showing of brilliant white teeth. Close-cropped dark hair frizzes out along her head, a near-unmanageable bristle of dull black near the base of her neck. Her features are rounded, with what if she were younger would be mistaken for baby fat. However, it's all-too obvious that she's outgrown that stage of life, instead simply plump, merry, and rounded in an eternally good-natured way. A way, however, that speaks of too much food, rather than too little exercise. Indeed, for her build, energy fairly seems to glow from her, and she never seems to tire of her near-constant bouts of activity.

Fit around her somewhat rotund form, her clothing is only slightly short of plain, and rather unflattering to her. Loose pants of a light weave are pulled to her hips, the ties at her waist bound into a tight bow to keep them in place. Their bleached-white color might clash somewhat with her skin, but it's apparent that she has a fondness for them, as the knees show much sign of use and staining. The right one, in fact, is patched twice-over with slightly off-color pieces of cloth. Her top, at least, is more visually-decorated, with twining knotworks of white embroidery running over a green background. The sisal weave, once emerald-vibrant, now hovers somewhere between off-white and pastel lime, due to the bleaching of the sun. Hand-me-downs from the other children, perhaps.

A single loop of yellow blends merrily with the green of her shirt, the single-cord knot indicating that she's one of the 'lower-folk' of the weyr. A drudge, maybe. Or a simple holdbrat.

Usually messy masses of nutshell brown curls frame Eilish's round face, falling in twisted spirals and haphazard sproings just past her shoulders where they bounce ever so slightly with each movement made. Dark eyes that seem almost black gaze out from beneath arches brows. Face fine boned, yet not beautiful, she remains quirkily cute in her own way. The rider's spritely stature does not take away from her femininity, however. Generous curves to hip and chest mark her as most definitely woman, though most striking are her lips, oft times arranged into the oddest of smiles.

A generic pair of almost, but not quite, too tight leathers hug Eilish's slight frame. An unremarkable tan mostly, the only hint of color is the green stripe of satin that runs down the outsides of the legs from waist to ankle. Scuffed boots on her feet and a green band in her hair, this is just normal rider fare.

She catches your glance and gives a brief smile with her ruby toned lips. Vibrant Harper blue eyes star out as a lush array of dark eyelashes surround the almond shaped blue eyes. Her slender eyebrows arch quizzically as if pondering your stare. She is fair skinned, but now shown a darker tan from days on the beach about her sun-toned face. Her shiny honey blonde hair is layered, giving it a slight curl under, flowing to about mid-back. She is caring to all but fairly timid. She has on one particular necklace that catches your eye, it is a thin black ribbon with a dragon charm dangling from it wrapped tightly around her neck like a choker.

She wears a V-necked white 3/4 sleeved shirt, that shapes around her body with brace. Around her waist she wears a black skirt that flows about five inches above her knees. Her outfit is very well matched with a pair of wher-hide boots that lace up from her arch to her calve with hersbeast leather strips. The boots have been dyed black to match her skirt, and show no signs of wearing, yet. SHe has a small dagger tied 'round her waist, but 'tis barely noticable.

Sand stretches from bowl's floor to water smoothly, leaving a mere lapping of slight waves to slap against the shoreline. The sand is left less packed here than it is in the bowl, the soft sand underfoot opening onto the Weyr's oasis. Mirror-like water can reflect merciless sun into the eyes of the unwary, but the bold colors of a sunset casting colors against the lake makes this a much-favored spot. Far to the northwest, the hurry of the living cavern area is left behind and the warmth that penetrates through a weary body on the unshaded shore rivals that of the hatching grounds to the northeast.

Amber was sort of afraid of that. Eheh. "Amber." she says, rubbing a hand briefly at her hair nervously, then extending her other one in an indroductory gesture. "I'm Amber, Igen Weyr." She smiles at the girl brilliantly. No need to get Mother upset, right? "Your mother told me about you."

"Yes she is," Eilish absently assures her daughter before returning attention to Azalan. She sways on over to him, managing to be imposing as both greenrider and Weyrsecond; fear. She peers down her nose at Azalan, lips twisted into a smirk. "You're from the Hold, aren't you?" she asks, rather smug about her observation that is so /obviously/ right.

Jeriko trudges in from the feeding grounds area, sticking carefully to the packed walking path and out of the soft sand, as he's pushing a small barrow before him that could become easily stuck. In fact, he inadvertantly wheels it off the side of the path several times before correcting his course, biting his lip in apparent concentration. Several empty buckets reside in the cart. On hearing the sound of voices up ahead, he perks up somewhat; must mean he's getting close to the lake.

Azalan winces at Eilish's accurate assumption. "Yes." Does it make him a bad person? He manages to stand up from his previous sitting-in-the-sand position, cheeks now pale in the moons' light. "...I'm sorry."

Scylla blinks at Amber's hand, keeping her arms crossed. "My mother didn't tell me about /you/!" A glance goes to Eilish, "You didn't tell me I had a /friend/... I don't need a friend, I'm gonna ride a gold dragon, then everybody'll have to like me." Yep, that's Scylla, so sure of herself. Poor thing?

Cymri steps towards the sands clad in little other than a scrap of a brown bathing suit -- a modest one, but still.. As she sees the group of people, her steps pause, hesitate, before she finally clutches burgundy towel tighter around her body and continues, head tilted unnaturally upright.

Jeriko detects tension in the air? Imagine that. "Uhm... good evening," he ventures hesitantly in the direction of those gathered already at the lake shore, as he sets down the wheelbarrow handles and lifts out two buckets, pausing a moment to listen to the gentle lapping of the water before walking toward it.

Eilish ignores Scylla for a moment -- such a good mother, eh? -- as she focusses on Azalan, victim du jour. "Eh, doesn't matter." And she laughs again, quite content to play her game. Turns of hard work causes otherwise profession women to have off nights. Enjoy. "But... come here," she beckons, sidling over closer to her ivy-green mount.

Amber blinks at that reaction. Well ex-CUSE me. "I'm not that bad." she says, defensively, then pushes her lips forward in a pout. "Besides, I'm a Candidate this time around." Does that make it better? No, but more sure. "Anyhow, why don't you need a friend?" She's resisting the urge to stick her tongue out.

Astar carefully sidesteps the gathering on the beach, heading with silent steps to an open spot a few paces away. She makes herself at home on the and and begins to tug wherhide boots off. They're settled in the sand beside her and toes are wriggled through sand. Overtunic goes as well, acting as an impromptu towel. She lies down and turns sideways, eyes resting on Amber, Scylla, Eilish and Azalan. Poor guy.

Scylla rolls her eyes, "So? There's lots of people who're candidates, an' I'm gonna be one, I'm just not thirteen yet." She pauses to think a bit - yes, she does think - and looks back at Amber. "I need friends who are perfect, like me."

Azalan is wary of the green dragon and displays it through his hesitance to near her. "Um," he starts to stammer slightly, eyes large as saucers. "Um..." He takes a single step forward.

Cymri stops again as she draws near enough to understand the words. This time it is curiosity, rather than embarassment, which gives her pause. An uncertain glance goes towards Jeriko, who looked as newly arrived, and she gives her own sedate greeting: "Heyla."

Amber blinks again. Her arms cross as she eyes Scylla, then a slight smiiile comes over her features. Oh _no_. Out of Amber, that is _not_ a good thing to be seeing. "Fine." she declares, heading for the waterside to finish her wash. Laundry might be annoying, but it's something that needs to be done. 'Sides, it's not as annoying as.... let's not go any further with that thought. The dragon might hear it, and relay it to the mother.

Jeriko stoops in the shallows to fill the first of the buckets; he appears not to notice Cymri's glance, but as the voice appears to be directed at him, he lifts his head to turn toward the general source and nod. "Is this a... err... bad time for me to be here?" he wonders.

Azalan gives a quick, ragged sigh of relief and high-tails it away from the dragon and across the sand toward the water. He stops at the water's edge and gives a furtive glance back in Eilish's direction. He's scarred for life.

Cymri glances at the candidates, then again at the others, and quirks a faint grin, "That's just what I was wondering." This last directed most definitely towards Jeriko, as Cymri again adjusts the towel around her.

Eilish stands on tip-toes, holder ignored -- for now. "Her?" A draconic snort. "Fine. I thought you weren't a search dragon, love?" she mumbles briefly. A pause to peer at Scylla: "You don't like your friend?" Then, back to tip-toe-top peering. "Must ... oddy." Words aren't loud enough to be heard completely. Still muttering under her breath, the Weyrsecond stalks directly up to a young woman clad in very little. "What's your name?" she demands of she-of-the-brown-swimsuit, completely ignoring the fact that she might be in another conversation.

A small smile forms on Astar's lips at the exchange between Weyrsecond and Holder. Stomach slowly pulling herself upright, she brace her chin on a kneecap for ease of observation. Eyes flit curiously to Jeriko and Cymri before they flash back, expression wry.

Amber works on scrubbing at the clothing, attention on the lake as much as on the clothing she works on. Sweetsand is employed, as well as some cleaning clays. And maybe, if she reaches for the water for a moment and makes a brief grab, it wasn't noticed? Whatever it is, she just keeps washing her clothes, watching the goings-on with what could only be a shrewd expression.

Cymri glances back at the sound of a familiar voice, frowning as she tries to summon a name for Mahlia, and opens a mouth to speak, just as Weyrsecond does so. And so it is that Cymri misses the question, entirely. "Yes, it is a lovely evening, isn't it?" It's not that she's ignoring the Weyrsecond, just that she doesn't seem to have heard.

Azalan continues to pace around the water's edge, accompanied by a blue firelizard who occasionally chirps helpfully. The holdbred boy tugs nervously on his wrinkled tunic. Maybe he'll just go back hom.

Jeriko sets the now-full bucket aside and rises, pausing to brush some sand off his knees before he fills the second, trying to follow the course of the conversation with a rather puzzled look on his face.

Scylla follows her mother, "I don't like her. She's... not good enough to be my friend." No, Scylla isn't of some higher breed or anything, she just /thinks/ she is. She pouts, then glances to her mother's dragon. "You tell her? Pwease? I don't like Amber."

Eilish waves her hand in the vague direction of her oldest daughter. "Mommy will be there in a moment... Mommy's busy... Mommy's lifemate is being a..." She trails off, finishing that thought silently.

Amber is a perfectly good friend! Just ask Kirah. Or Siobhan! Or Saine! See? She's just fine. Har-umph. However, she does a good job of not hearing this goings-on, still working away at the clothing idly, just glancing up now and again with a half-grin at the dragon. That looks familiar, somehow.

And Cymri's smile, cast towards Mahlia, fades quickly into a frown. Turning to see who said that, she brushes back a strand of hair with her free hand. Eilish located, she offers a cool, "It's Cymri ... m'am."

Astar shifts slightly on the tunic to observe Amber. "Laundry?" she calls out softly. "Thought you were holed up in the barracks." Legs straighten out comfortably, a small smile given to Mahlia. "Hello." is muttered softly.

"Fine." Eilish takes the name and relays it to Miss Annoying Green dutifully. "Cymri. Come on, then. Just follow me." The Weyrsecond tosses her curls over one shoulder and stops tugging at her jacket to begin to lead the WeyrTrader away.

Jeriko silently files Scylla's voice under "wherry" in his private mental folder, and decides that whatever the argument is, it doesn't concern him. He quickly fills the second bucket and hefts both, turning to carry them back to his cart. Don't mind him, he's just a drudge....

Scylla tries to follow her mother, still whining, now off the subject of friends. Giving up, she sits down on the sand to pout, yelling back at her mother, "Mommy's always busy, isn't she?" See, she's intelligent...

Cymri lifts one brow, frown not altogether disappearing, but does take heed of the knot. Stepping after Eilish, she softly asks, "Would you mind telling me what this is about?" She knows she hasn't done anything wrong...

"Oh, my dragon Searched you," Eilish informs the woman absently as if that was a commonly known fact. "I'm taking you to the barracks so you can get settled." She blinks once, twice, somewhat calmer. Mood swing here, mood swing there.

Amber seems to decide to give Scylla a second chance. She looks at the girl measuringly, slowing down in the clothing-scrubbing. "She's busy with the hatching, though." she declares, pressing her lips forward. "There's other things to do, and you can tell her later." Scrub scrub scrub. C'mon, Scylla. Dare you to come over here and say something.

Cymri coughs, the only thing she can think to do to hide the surprise etched across her face. "Just like that, hmm?" she murmurs, mostly to herself. Catching up the stride she's missed, she shares a little information of her own, "But... I already Stood once, and nothing happened. Why would she want me to do so again?" Mahlia's congratulations gets a distracted smile. She's not sure yet if it's anything to congratulate.

Amber keeps her lips pressed in a pout. "You don't _have_ to be my friend." she says, a little sullenly. "Just pretend. Or something." Shrug. "I don't really care. I have other friends." So there. Harumph.

Jeriko is just minding his own business. Please don't hurt him. He's just an innocent young man and... ack! Mahlia's utterance reaches his ears just as he's about to stumble right into her - he hadn't heard her arrive. With a slight yelp of surprise, he arrests his forward momentum, water buckets bobbling precariously in his grip. "Look out!" as some of the water splashes over the side...

"Just like that," Eilish repeats, actually quite nice about the whole thing. "And since you've stood before, it just means that this is what should happen. You're /more/ likely to impress this time, you know. Dragons like you," she informs Cymri, tone mildly condescending. "You ready?"

"Oof. Stop showing off," K'mra berates her lifemate, rolling her eyes at his show of so-called manliness. Eilish is spied, and the brownrider makes her way over, nodding to the gathered crowd as well.

Cymri straightens her shoulders at the way in which she's informed, but nods, briefly, "Yes, then. And it shouldn't take much time to move a few things over to the barracks again."

Amber looks up, nodding to K'mra. Then, she returns her attention to Scylla. "I've got friends because I'm nice to people." she declares, without any hesitation. "And even if you _did_ get gold, I wouldn't like you. Besides, mean people never get to ride dragons! Especially not golds!"

Jeriko wobbles his balance back and sets the buckets down quickly. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you there," he stammers quickly. "Did you get any on you? I'm sorry, I don't have a towel on me..."

Eilish actually smiles as she nods to Cymri. "No, you don't need to much as a can-- K'mra!" she cuts off to greet the brownrider enthusiastically. "K'mra, would you believe that Loralith is Searching? This makes the /seventh/ person in the Weyr she's chosen." The Weyrsecond shakes her head in disbelief.

Nest hesitates when she sees how many people are crowded on the shores. She falters, deciding whether to keep going or to return from where she came, but this was where she was told to come.

Cymri would give Amber a most distinctly amused look if she'd overheard /that/ comment, 'if' being the key word. Just now, all Cymri notes is Eilish. And, through Eilish, K'mra. She nods politely to the brownrider.

"I'm not mean. You are." Scylla answers Amber. "Plus, if the gold likes me, she'll choose me. I'm perfect!" She turns to call to Eilish, "Aren't I mommy? Aren't I perfect?"

K'mra peers at Cymri thoughtfully. "Well, she's certainly been busy," the Wingleader comments. "Tyranoth only found a couple -- and he /stole/ my nanny." She moues a pout. "He always chooses the worst possible people. It's just to vex me, I'm sure."

"Yes, dearling," comes Eilish's appropriate reply. Nodding to K'mra, she shrugs slightly. "I think she's about to be proddy, so I guess it's just a quirky behavior. I'm going to get this one put away then I'll be back." She tosses a glance over her shoulder at the dragons. "Keep an eye on them."

Woohoo! Bared back! Bared back! It's just too much for Amber to resist! Standing up from her place by the laundry, she produces a little whiptail from her palm. With a quick, practiced motion, she hooks Scylla's collar, opening it up, and *PLOP*, dropping the very alive, very wet, and very wriggly fish down her back.

Cymri smiles at K'mra, "I hope that by 'worst' you merely mean the most inconvenient. It would be a shame to spend candidacy among truly 'bad' people." But, inclinging her head in acknowledgement, she quickly follows Eilish out without waiting for any response.

Stone platforms hewn from the volcanic rock line the perimeter of the room, each one covered with a cot's mattress for young bones, and a few coverlets according to choice. The bedstuffs appear to be sinking into the stone, the platforms going gradually hollow from generations of anxious bodies resting on them. The walls of the chamber are shot through with obsidian streaks from long-ago volcanic activity that writhe over the surfaces like striations on an egg. Natural darkness is lifted from the cavern with glowbaskets everywhere that provide a cheerful light to welcome weary bodies to bed.

You see a large basket, Basket of Sand, Snuggly-soft Baby Blanket, Alianne's Cot with Alianne occupying it, and Shahna's Tent of Terror with Shahna occupying it here.

K'mra leads the Candidate in and instructs, "Find a cot." A nod goes for the girls present, and she introduces the holder with a few brief words: "His name's...Azer-something. Be nice to him." And she leaves.