January 7th, 1894 - Spare classroom space

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Violetta had been thinking about this for a little time, she had exquisite penmanship having the skills instilled into her from a very young age but it had only this year dawned on her the true disparity between her and some of her peers. Her roommate thought her a subpar witch, and her mother thought her a subpar daughter but she was neither of those things, she couldn't have been picked a prefect just because her family was rich... could she? By trying to help her peers she could tell herself that she was good, and why shouldn't she?

She had asked for this small room to test the waters, she hoped to submit to the faculty a new club, a penmanship club, but she wanted to see how it went and whether she was even capable of helping someone like this. There was only one student here today, personally invited by Violetta who also offered her discretion and an agreement that this was a private session.

She turned to the student, she stood in front of a board on which she had written a poem in English and then below in French. The content of the poem was unimportant but the structure of the words showed her talents, and she thought it looked pretty.

"Thank you for coming, mon ami, I won't pretend to be a professor but I would like to say a few words, oui?" She gave a beaming smile, she had told him of her intention and that she was practising something herself.

"Penmanship or calligraphie is an art form, it is considered a hobby of the wealthy and the aristocrat but I tell you that it can benefit anyone. A letter, penned beautifully can open many doors that may otherwise have remained closed. I also suggest that there is nothing about your house, class or blood that makes you more or less able to learn this talent. It is like dancing, with talent, anyone can do it beautifully. Do you have any questions?" There was a grin on her face, she hoped she had come across well.

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Leonard Blank

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Leonard slunk into the empty classroom and settled behind one of the desks. Violetta DeCroix had invited him to this test run for, he supposed, a sort of group about writing pretty letters. After their last run-in, he couldn't have said no to her. He owed her, and he knew it. Still, now when he looked at the poem on the blackboard, he felt a bit desperate. Did she understand that he struggled to even read that?
"It's awful pretty, Violetta," he said, resigned to his fate.
"What do you say we do? Should I try to copy it?"
He could, he supposed, try to draw it and recreate the lines, like drawing linework for a nice landscape picture. That would tell him little about the contents, but perhaps it would please her.

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Violetta DeCroix

  

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Violetta raised an eyebrow, "My introduction or your handwriting?" she laughed and waved her hands dismissively. "We can fix both mon ami." she stepped over and nodded to his question before pulling out a small piece of paper that she had had printed with the structures of various letters on it.

"Before I learned the shapes, my governess had me place these beneath my paper and trace them. The content is less important than learning the soft muscle memory for now."

She thought for a few moments as he began.

"Perhaps... do you have a favourite book or piece of text you enjoy, perhaps I can seek it out and copy it for you to then copy me, oui?" her eyes sparkled as she had this idea to use work that her "students" already knew to help them learn.

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Leonard Blank

  

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He took the piece of paper and stared at it. "That's all fine," he said. "But how do I start to learn how those make up—" he struggled to grasp the concept, "the meaning?"

So far his way of writing and reading was relegated to recognizing the shapes of words by their first and last letters and vaguely their length. He knew what an 'and' looked like in most styles of writing, as did he recognize a number of words by memory. As soon as he was met with something new it was no use, and he had no idea how to get around that. He could not possibly memorize all the words there were in this language?

He looked hopelessly at Violetta's enthusiastic face.

Leonard took the practice sheet and started tracing the first letter.

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Violetta furrowed her brow slightly at his question, their meaning was clear, to her at least. She watched as he began to trace the words more like her was drawing a picture than writing there was a strange disconnect that she didn't recognise until something popped into her head. "Mon Ami? Can I ask you, and it goes no further, I do not gossip, oui?

You have problems reading Oui? How much can you read?" She meant no offence and her demeanour made that clear, but it was the only explanation she could find right now. But then how had he survived his first three years in school. The reading was incessant. "English is not my first language and my first couple of terms were... tough, let's say that. I was lucky Miss Bonnacort helped me so.". She hoped that her shared experience would both relax but also inspire him.

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Leonard Blank

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