With a shrug she complies, writing first with her right hand--lines wiggly and the letters of inconsistent size and spacing--then with her left.
Though it takes a bit of adjustment to figure out that with the left hand, she has to arch her wrist just so to avoid smearing the chalk, the letters scratched out are neater, less cramped. Not, by any means, perfect or well written, but definitely better.
"Holding the chalk in this hand--" The left, "--feels better, but I have to come at it from a different angle to not erase what I just wrote." Which probably means she's doing something wrong, right? She tries again with the right hand, but holding the implement feels... off.
To the left, he means, at which point Marcus stands and moves around the table. Twin touches to her shoulders steady her posture some before he moves the slate around at an angle. Keep your wrist straight and relax your fingers. "You'll be writing from below the sentence," he says, "to avoid smearing your work. And it'll feel strange until you practice.
"But you'll learn faster if you're using the better hand. Do you favour this one in combat as well?"
She expects the adjustment of her hands, of the slate, but the touch on her shoulders is unexpected enough for her to tense slightly.
"Not really," she answers, breezing past that momentary discomfort. "I use both about the same when I have my daggers." And without daggers, it's all legs and feet and kicking.
"Well," Marcus says, moving around to loom at a more comfortable distance. "Writing is as much a physical activity as it is a mental one. You'll have to train your hand. To drill you, I'd provide shapes and forms for you to copy at length, so that you can focus on mastering the basics rather than concern yourself with legibility."
He turns to his seat. "Once it becomes natural, the rest will follow."
"Shapes and forms?" Her brows knit in a frown and she looks between Marcus and the slate in her hands. "Not letters? Or--I guess letters are made of shapes and forms, aren't they..."
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But he nods his head to her hands, and asks, instead, "How does it feel, in the other hand? Try writing as you would with both, holding it that way."
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Though it takes a bit of adjustment to figure out that with the left hand, she has to arch her wrist just so to avoid smearing the chalk, the letters scratched out are neater, less cramped. Not, by any means, perfect or well written, but definitely better.
"Holding the chalk in this hand--" The left, "--feels better, but I have to come at it from a different angle to not erase what I just wrote." Which probably means she's doing something wrong, right? She tries again with the right hand, but holding the implement feels... off.
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To the left, he means, at which point Marcus stands and moves around the table. Twin touches to her shoulders steady her posture some before he moves the slate around at an angle. Keep your wrist straight and relax your fingers. "You'll be writing from below the sentence," he says, "to avoid smearing your work. And it'll feel strange until you practice.
"But you'll learn faster if you're using the better hand. Do you favour this one in combat as well?"
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"Not really," she answers, breezing past that momentary discomfort. "I use both about the same when I have my daggers." And without daggers, it's all legs and feet and kicking.
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He turns to his seat. "Once it becomes natural, the rest will follow."
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