That's not his name, he reads in his own writing. Jacob Frye, age 21, occupation gang leader, don't turn your back to him, that's not his name.
"I..." He's distracted and it's obvious as hell, but Marty shakes his head as he picks the tablet up. He might as well show it to Jacob himself, because surely this has to be some kind of trick. "I like to think I got my own style. But bright colours? Yeah. And my pants? Double."
A beat.
"Did you find any stones with--"
But the moment Marty holds the offending tablet out, he notices its contents seem to have changed. It isn't Jacob's name and details on there, and what might have been his handwriting is replaced with something far more fanciful: Elizabeth Corduroy, it reads, age 43, and the contents are so different he blinks profusely as he turns the tablet around. Marty tilts his head like a new angle might change it, like it might be a trick of the light, but...
"...with your name-- this had your name on it." He looks up, meeting Jacob's gaze with furrowed brows. "I could'a sworn it did."
no subject
"I..." He's distracted and it's obvious as hell, but Marty shakes his head as he picks the tablet up. He might as well show it to Jacob himself, because surely this has to be some kind of trick. "I like to think I got my own style. But bright colours? Yeah. And my pants? Double."
A beat.
"Did you find any stones with--"
But the moment Marty holds the offending tablet out, he notices its contents seem to have changed. It isn't Jacob's name and details on there, and what might have been his handwriting is replaced with something far more fanciful: Elizabeth Corduroy, it reads, age 43, and the contents are so different he blinks profusely as he turns the tablet around. Marty tilts his head like a new angle might change it, like it might be a trick of the light, but...
"...with your name-- this had your name on it." He looks up, meeting Jacob's gaze with furrowed brows. "I could'a sworn it did."