Caleb's acknowledgement of Alan's dubiousness is to at least be conscientiously considerate about the way he examines his arm. Still holding the pitcher (now resting on his thigh) with one hand, he could hardly be very demanding about it anyway. He slips his free hand beneath Alan's forearm, lifting it as he leans down to take a closer look.

"Ja," he confirms, already slightly distracted, but still listening. The Nein's constant distracting chatter while he ritual casts has made him good at multitasking. "An arcanist, specifically."

The golden designs covering Alan's skin are not just swirling lines, but images; they remind him in some ways of the magically-infused gemstone tattoos several of his friends have. They're intricate and beautiful, just as most of the suit marks he's seen tend to be. His own, simple and ugly, still seems to be the exception. Where they curl loosely around Alan's arm, Caleb's fingers are long, square, slightly rough, and calloused--especially where one might hold a pen. But there is a certain understated grace and control in the way he moves them that someone familiar with people who use their hands to cast spells might recognize.

"Are you?" The mention of runes means Alan must be at least somewhat familiar with magic, but it's worth knowing what "magician" might mean to him.