[The look Stiles throws at Lea when he offers his tablet is equal parts hopeful and resigned, but he takes a look anyway. A few seconds pass, and he stares as hard as he can-- the letters seem to form words, but he can't for the life of him figure out what they say, until even the words just dissolve into a mess of letters and figures and, no, no this isn't any better.]
They're still doing it. The letters, moving around. I can't make any sense of them. [And obviously this red-head has no trouble reading them, so that means it's all him. Again.]
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They're still doing it. The letters, moving around. I can't make any sense of them. [And obviously this red-head has no trouble reading them, so that means it's all him. Again.]