Welcome to Gaia! ::

He was an older candidate, at nineteen turns, and one that had transferred, curiously, from Ista, another curious hop for a boy who, if rumor held any truth, had been searched at the craft halls. There was likely some debate in the rumor mills however if he'd actually been searched from the weavers as he claimed, since the only thing he seemed to be able to make with a string was an rather incredible series of knots.

He was moderate in height, a little lanky still, like he was still trying to grow to fit a slightly more adult body, and trying his best to make it look smaller, hunched down over his meal and doing a somewhat poor job of using his black hair to cover the largely healed but still painful looking cuts on one side of his face.

Saekagi stopped what he was doing to blink at her, owlishly, which looked even more lopsided with one eye mostly obscured by thick black, somewhat poorly combed hair... though the look stopped when he stopped boggling over the spy rumor and caught up to the fact that he was holding damned hot Klah to his lips.

Well... not really so hot. It just felt that way on the still tender scar, and he clunked the cup down somewhat hastily, turning a healthy shade of red ((from embarrassment as much as anything else)) and flapping a hand at his smarting mouth, trying not to let his eyes water slightly.

Although he was older, and larger than her, he seemed readily cowed by her direct approach, and seemed to be fighting to look at anything but her direct stare.

"I'm not a spy." He answered, sullenly. "Why would Ista need to spy?" He followed, uncertainly, feeling like the densest most inbred wherry for asking. Maybe it was because he'd been born to craft-hall parents, but he had trouble picturing why it would be needed. It wasn't exactly a secret that Trine, (or for that mater Malvren) went through greater lengths with their clutches, allowing Atypical dragons to be hatched. He'd only seen them at a distance so far, the 'Runts', not up close like he'd seen the dragons that had flown him first to Ista, and then here. They'd stood out like brands, and he still wasn't sure how he should treat them. More special than 'normal' dragons? Less? More or less the same?

Apparently Gabriel wasn't the only one who was caught up enough in questions to have to add an after thought as he added an somewhat meek. "Hi." To things, tugging on the end of a strand of hair to better arrange it in front of the side of his face. No wonder it looked so poorly combed right now. He clearly hadn't been growing it to this length for long, and he was impatient for it to do what he wanted.

"I uh..." He looked flustered and then clapped a hand over the scared side of his face, looking ashamed. "I hate it." He confessed.
He almost imagined that everyone would have heard all about it by now, but it was almost worse that she hadn't, because then he had to explain it.
He shoved his hand through his bangs, briefly displaying the array of other scars that were partially hidden.
He needed his hair to grow out more, he really did.

He let his hair fall back again and picked up his cup, doing his best to shrink back into himself and his seat. He was grateful for the company, but she was going to hate him as soon as she knew about it. Just like everyone else would.

"...It definitely wasn't a flitter." He grimaced, raising his eyebrows slightly in surprise. She wasn't reacting anything like the other candidates at Ista. She wasn't even curious, though 'distinguished' seemed like a stretch.

"...You're pretty different." He noted slowly, taking another sip of the Klah slowly, and grimacing again. "Sorry. Hot Klah." He finger combed most of the hair back in place with a shrug. "Still smarts."

He poked at his breakfast with a faintly increased level of interest and added. "...Is it strange living in a Weyr with atypical dragons?"

"...They just don't do it at many other Weyr's." He noted, shruging faintly. "...I didn't know if I should treat them differently..." He was already good enough at making a fool of himself apparently. "I've never seen one up close. Just from a distance."

He flashed the faintest ghost of a smile, one that might actually be pleasant if he matched it by not trying to visually crawl out of everyone's sight.

"...I was there a couple years. ... They didn't tell me anything -bad- about Atypes... it just never really came up..."

Or more likely he just didn't remember it if they had. Shards had he been dumb.

"...No, I've ridden on the back of a blue though, and a brown...but that was all... and it was just to go from home to Ista, and then from Ista to here." He poked at his breakfast and ate a few more bites, wondering if he was really cut out to ride a dragon, but then maybe the dragons would think more of him than he did, or for that mater, the others from Ista.
"Well, it would be an improvement over being a worse weaver than any other apprentice." He noted, with that ghost of a smile again.

"Ista is an Island Weyr, and it was the fastest way to travel when I was searched." He explained. The ghost smile got a little wider, if lopsided. "It was very..." he thought back to the brief blinks of 'Between'. "Cold."

Maybe it was different when you were actually bonded to the dragon, but he wasn't sure he wouldn't have rather risked a boat instead.

"...I'm a horrible weaver. My mother is incredibly skilled, but I have the nimble fingers of a watchwher at the loom." He sighed. "I can -describe- it. I just can't do it. I thought maybe that meant it was destiny when I was searched but... "

Instead he'd just made a mess. He gestured vaguely at himself again but didn't elaborate. "Well. I'm not 21 yet." He added, in a vague display of optimism. "...It'll have to be a very energetic dragon to keep up with you. I'll watch for a bouncing egg." He added.

An actual joke yet. Amazing.

He wavered on the question, teetering back and forth visibly between the tentative cheerfulness and the withdrawn blackness he'd started out in, and he looked back down at his plate again, possibly trying to hide his otherwise very readable eyes.

"...The one that looks most forgiving."