Notes: Jukeboxhound asked me about My Thoughts on Penmanship. And then this happened. I wanted some sort of "lol wut Genesis is a gold plated effete bastard" fic, but this came out
Genesis had borne the relocation to Midgar rather gracefully, if he did say so himself. True, it was only so tolerable because Angeal was with him. Genesis would be, honestly, more inclined to do things if he knew Angeal would be with him.
The testing was laughably simple, the food and board adequate. (Still, he missed the orchards and the taste of dumbapple wood smoke in everything he ate.) They didn't want for attention, good or ill.
The only truly frustrating thing about this new life was the human automaton more commonly known as Sephiroth. The automaton was annoyingly competent-competent, Genesis had to remind himself, and not superior. Never superior-in all things. The only faculty where Sephiroth was lacking was in his script: it was non-existent. The automaton favored a steady, sterile print that might only be successfully reproduced by another machine. To suffer temporary setbacks because of a machine was one thing. To suffer temporary setbacks because of a human playing at machine was quite another.
In this spirit, Project Expose Automaton to Personality was launched. Sephiroth would, of course, take to Genesis as a mentor; then admit that he, Sephiroth, was wanting; and at last the rightful order of things would be restored. Angeal had asked that they all get along.
The first approach was exposure. Genesis began writing in longhand more often and in front of Angeal and Sephiroth. Genesis had always prided himself on his script, and knew that it would draw attention. He started keeping a notebook and pen on him at all times. Sure enough, Sephiroth was drawing himself closer to Genesis and Angeal during mealtimes, a refreshing change from the usual isolation. Angeal knew better than to comment.
Sephiroth peered down at a page. "Why are you doing that to your writing? Is this a cypher?"
Angeal had the supreme grace to keep himself from laughing.
Genesis kept his head down, not giving Sephiroth the satisfaction of his full attention. "iThis/i is my iscript/i." It was a passage from Loveless-he could write all of the first act by heart by now-and the meter did provide a nice break from prose. "I've been practicing my penmanship for years."
"Isn't printing more efficient?"
Genesis fought the urge to sigh, and succeeded. "I like it, it's good for fine motor control, and I like making things look good."
"Even if you're sacrificing legibility?"
Genesis looked up to give Angeal a "laugh and I'll never be your friend again" face, and then looked at Sephiroth. "Learn how to do it."
The second approach was more subtle. Genesis left a neat pile of things near Sephiroth's door. They remained in the same neat pile in front of Sephiroth's door for a week, untouched. Genesis had to fume-a bit and only to Angeal-about the quality inks, papers, and pens he had willingly donated to this cause that were being ungratefully ignored.
The third approach was the one he hated using, and yet the very one that provided the most dividends. They were together, eating, or at least that was the activity scheduled. Genesis had his pen and paper and was working on a part of act three. Sephiroth, Genesis knew, was taking a few guarded looks in his direction once in a while. Angeal, between them, was the only one actually eating.
Genesis set his pen down and leaned over when he thought Sephiroth would be looking next. Genesis was rewarded with Sephiroth's un-Not unnatural. The shade was almost like his and he was not unnatural-unusual gaze. Caught him. "Learn script."
Sephiroth, as always unperturbed, continued to stare. "My handwriting is acceptable."
Genesis sat back and lifted his pen. "You said my writing was a cypher. This will help you learn to read it." He went back to writing.
Sephiroth was having none of it. "Have you learned print?"
Genesis stopped, but kept his face down this time. "Yes, of course."
"Then why not use it for convenience?"
It took all his will not to break the pen. "That is not the point! You need to show some damned personality! Somewhere! We're not just little machines to spit out whatever's wanted!"
The only response was Angeal's chewing.
Genesis huffed. "You are like us, aren't you?"
Sephiroth didn't answer.
A week later, Genesis found a folded piece of white paper beneath his door. He unfolded it and looked down. The message wasn't important; something about an appointment with Hojo. It was handwritten, which was a bit of a shock. Genesis knew that the writing wasn't Angeal's, and Hojo's spidery scrawl was becoming familiar enough. But this writing...
A firm, controlled italic. Legible, orderly, and Sephiroth's.
Genesis considered it a victory.