Rogue did as she'd promised, removing her gloves before first writing out the alphabets side by side, print and cursive, capital and lowercase letters, as they were learned by children in school. Then she wrote out a few words, illustrating how the letters were joined together to make the writing more fluid.

"Someone who's younger will probably have a fairly simple style of writing," she explained, "if the Earth in this dimension has progressed as mine has. Most people use this script," a finger tap on the key he'd written for her, "but the older generations tend to prefer this. And any older documents will be in some form of this script as well."

Then she showed him different styles of handwriting, how some people wrote with barely any height to their letters, or crammed them into each other so it was difficult to discern some of the more similar ones. Some were characters by extra loops and others by blocky lines. A dozen variations were easily pulled from the people in her mind, the ones who were always helpful. When she was done, her own hands were as covered with ink as his had been. She'd tried to minimize the damage, but writing with the quill had been a lot more difficult than she'd imagined.

"That one's my handwriting," she pointed out with a smirk, indicating where she'd signed her birth name, Marie D'Ancanto, the signature precisely curved because of how rarely she wrote it anymore.