[That’s the one,] he says dryly, as if he’d heard it a million times before. [At least I’m not fuckin’ Leavenworth. As for how fitting it is-] He shrugs lazily, not really seeming to care. He seems like the kind of person that’s really seen everything, but how much ”everything” is for him is still up for debate.
At least he’s answering questions and keeping things blunt.
She couldn’t show it, neither portray it in a tone in her voice, as it sounded the same mechanical voice it had been for the last few decades, but she was very grateful to have someone be so blunt and ‘friendly’ with her.
“Ah, seems like you haeard that a lot of time. Wish I had a namesake like that, but I do like hanging onto the name of Rubelia. It reminds me of my origin name, but shows that I changed….May I ask what your real name is?”
[I go by Alcatraz in all the official records anymore, but on… my birth certificate, it says James Rodriguez.] He sounded conflicted–at least, as much as that harsh synthesized voice could sound. Seemed like he wanted to draw a line between the past and present, as well.
[If you ask others, though, I’ll answer to ‘dead guy’, ‘suit thing’, and ‘bastard hybrid’, among others.] That hits a nerve; he looks away from her, staring firmly at a pebble on a nearby waist-height wall.
Time's Vengeance 