anthropomorfic | jure/facto
Anthropomorfic | Math/Law + Theatre | 1100 words | unbeta'd.
raihu: MATH/LAW, THE ANTI-OTP. D: Hopefully, they will get into a huge fight over money (and that brazen hussy, Theatre) and be completely unable to resist a mighty bitch-slapping.
...so, you know, that was that. Dedicated to my curriculum and its cunning perpetrator. Contra legem. ♥
Jure/Facto
"When discussing a legal situation, de jure designates what the law says, while de facto designates action of what happens in practice, often in complete opposition to the written standard."
“Because,” said Law with open contempt, “you know nothing about right and wrong, that's why.”
“Is that so?” said Math with an unpleasant sneer, clasping one of his many textbooks to his chest. “Is that so really? Because last time I checked, algebra was the perfect paradigm of definitive principles, while you couldn't even make up your mind about civil marriage.”
“Definitive principles, well.” Law sniffed. “Axioms are quite amusing, sir, but I am referring to morality. Ethics. With all due respect to the right-angle hypotenuse,” and his tone implied no great amount of such, “I, sir, deal with justice.”
“Justice is nothing without mathematical precision and the sort of integrity found purely in numbers,” Math said, as if this dismissed Law's argument and settled the matter indubitably. Law snorted.
“I hardly recall using parabolas in my recent pursuit of the truth.”
“Yes, well, when was the last time you pursued anything of the kind?” Math said sweetly.
Law coloured beneath his starched collar. “I'll have you know, justice-”
“-is only half of your jurisdiction. The rest is dress codes and seating orders.”
“At least I have a dress code!”
“You speak nothing but Latin!”
“You possess no human interest!”
“You-!”
But they were interrupted by a crash and a trill, as Theatre entered stage left.
(There hadn't been a stage there beforehand. But wherever Theatre went, he brought the stage with him, and wherever he entered, he entered stage left.)
“Augh!” he cried out non sequitur, but with admittedly immaculate diction. “Oh, just-augh. I'm dead, ruined, wrecked and trounced, undone, surmounted, doomed!”
“What?” said Law, who had gone quite pink around the ears at the mention of 'surmounted'. “What? What's the matter?”
“It's my conception.” Theatre sighed; a sigh of endless, unspeakable grief. “It's no good.”
“What's a conception?” asked Math, who could be quite ignorant about all things not directly related to triangles.
“It's an idea,” replied Theatre. “A given interpretation, cognition, or design. A sort of leitmotif, if you will.” He heaved another endless sigh. “And mine’s quite thoroughly marooned.”
“Now, now,” said Law soothingly, “surely you're exaggerating. It can't be as bad as all that.”
“Pfft!” said Theatre, somehow managing to convey a world of contempt in the gesture. He then turned away and said no more, which was somehow even worse.
“I, I mean-” Law did a mental backtracking, trying not to pay overt attention to Theatre's very nice backside, accentuated by the fact that he wore all-black, tight clothes offset by a large colourful scarf. “I mean what's the problem, exactly?”
“Oh, it's unbelievable,” Theatre whirled around almost before Law finished asking, wearing his martyrdom like a Shakespearian cloak. “I thought I had this fabulous idea, really top-notch stuff, but one of my actors, who's a total cow by the way, went and blabbed about it to her best friend's boyfriend who just happens to be a director and now he's gone and adapted it to a modern rendition of some commedia dell'arte and everyone will totally think I stole it from him and it's not fair, because it was mine, even if there's no copyright on ideas but I had a whole thing worked out with the set design and the symbolic lighting and it would have been amazing but for that utter raging whore!”
“Oh.” Law blinked. “My, uh, condolences?”
“These things happen,” Math shrugged. “At least you know that you possess the originality to begin with. It is a very highly-prized quality in the theoretical mathematics,” he added slyly, and Law noticed with sudden affront that he wasn't the only one observing Theatre's shapely couture.
“A very solitary subject,” Law interjected loudly, shooting Math a sharp glance, “no collaborative work whatsoever.”
“Oh?” Theatre perked up slightly. “You know, after this episode a little solo work seems quite the thing.”
“I mean,” said Law, “that is it the gathering place for dour misanthropes with no moral compass and a tragically defunct sense of humour. Mathematicians are not charismatic by nature. Quite the opposite. Lawyers, on the other hand-”
“Oh?” Math narrowed his eyes, which were actually quite an attractive shade of green behind his spectacles. “If memory serves, lawyers are thieving, treacherous hypocrites, preaching justice while they themselves sell their tongue and their dignity for whichever side of the court bar's paying-”
“Slander!” cried Law. “And I will have you tried for this, sir!”
“I'd like to see you try!” Math shouted back. “It's your kind of people who ruin this world, obfuscating simple problems with your ambiguous nonsense-why, if mathematicians were given the run of the place-”
“Mathematicians invented the atomic bomb!”
“Lawyers authorized its use!”
“Mathematicians defame the scientific professions!”
“Law studies couldn't be scientific if they posed in a lab coat and recited formulas!”
“You work with irrational numbers!”
“You work with irrational cases!”
“My goodness, you two are impressive,” said Theatre mildly. Law and Math turned to look at him, both quite red in the face.
“Pardon? ” said Law. Next to him, Math adjusted his spectacles, which had tilted askew during the argument.
“Let me put it bluntly,” Theatre said. “I know sexual chemistry spotted from miles away. You two couldn't be missed by a blind retard with earmuffs. I think I'd better get on before one of you spontaneously combusts.”
“Ssdkj?!” Math said, or perhaps choked. Law would have agreed, except he was feeling rather stifled at the moment as well. He could feel his face, burning like the lighting in a particularly tasteless neon-furnished courtroom. It was unbecoming.
“Well.” Theatre, by contrast, looked attractive with his unruly hair and powdered face, wearing a faintly bemused smile. “I see you've got some things to think about. Meanwhile, myself and Literature are off to work further conceptional wonders, this time on the ancient Greeks, bless them.” He arched an eyebrow at Math. “You're right, Math, it is the originality that counts. Toodle-pip!” And with a brilliant smile, he flounced off to a side-exit.
There was a long, incredibly awkward, incredibly untheatrical silence.
Eventually Math coughed. “I don't like the ancient Greeks,” he said.
“Oh, mm,” said Law. “You know, neither do I very much. ”
“So, uh.”
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
“Quite.”
“Rather.”
They exchanged a long, speculative look. Math's eyes, Law noted with faint surprise, really were quite attractive.
“Your theorems are still abstruse,” he said, perhaps as a defiant compensation for that last thought.
Math looked unruffled, but didn't bother denying the claim. “You wear stupid coats.”
It was true. “Fair enough.”
They nodded minutely at each other. Math ventured a hesitant smile.
And the court was dismissed.
Q.E.D.
All characters © their respective owners; I claim no right nor profit.
raihu: MATH/LAW, THE ANTI-OTP. D: Hopefully, they will get into a huge fight over money (and that brazen hussy, Theatre) and be completely unable to resist a mighty bitch-slapping.
...so, you know, that was that. Dedicated to my curriculum and its cunning perpetrator. Contra legem. ♥
Jure/Facto
"When discussing a legal situation, de jure designates what the law says, while de facto designates action of what happens in practice, often in complete opposition to the written standard."
“Because,” said Law with open contempt, “you know nothing about right and wrong, that's why.”
“Is that so?” said Math with an unpleasant sneer, clasping one of his many textbooks to his chest. “Is that so really? Because last time I checked, algebra was the perfect paradigm of definitive principles, while you couldn't even make up your mind about civil marriage.”
“Definitive principles, well.” Law sniffed. “Axioms are quite amusing, sir, but I am referring to morality. Ethics. With all due respect to the right-angle hypotenuse,” and his tone implied no great amount of such, “I, sir, deal with justice.”
“Justice is nothing without mathematical precision and the sort of integrity found purely in numbers,” Math said, as if this dismissed Law's argument and settled the matter indubitably. Law snorted.
“I hardly recall using parabolas in my recent pursuit of the truth.”
“Yes, well, when was the last time you pursued anything of the kind?” Math said sweetly.
Law coloured beneath his starched collar. “I'll have you know, justice-”
“-is only half of your jurisdiction. The rest is dress codes and seating orders.”
“At least I have a dress code!”
“You speak nothing but Latin!”
“You possess no human interest!”
“You-!”
But they were interrupted by a crash and a trill, as Theatre entered stage left.
(There hadn't been a stage there beforehand. But wherever Theatre went, he brought the stage with him, and wherever he entered, he entered stage left.)
“Augh!” he cried out non sequitur, but with admittedly immaculate diction. “Oh, just-augh. I'm dead, ruined, wrecked and trounced, undone, surmounted, doomed!”
“What?” said Law, who had gone quite pink around the ears at the mention of 'surmounted'. “What? What's the matter?”
“It's my conception.” Theatre sighed; a sigh of endless, unspeakable grief. “It's no good.”
“What's a conception?” asked Math, who could be quite ignorant about all things not directly related to triangles.
“It's an idea,” replied Theatre. “A given interpretation, cognition, or design. A sort of leitmotif, if you will.” He heaved another endless sigh. “And mine’s quite thoroughly marooned.”
“Now, now,” said Law soothingly, “surely you're exaggerating. It can't be as bad as all that.”
“Pfft!” said Theatre, somehow managing to convey a world of contempt in the gesture. He then turned away and said no more, which was somehow even worse.
“I, I mean-” Law did a mental backtracking, trying not to pay overt attention to Theatre's very nice backside, accentuated by the fact that he wore all-black, tight clothes offset by a large colourful scarf. “I mean what's the problem, exactly?”
“Oh, it's unbelievable,” Theatre whirled around almost before Law finished asking, wearing his martyrdom like a Shakespearian cloak. “I thought I had this fabulous idea, really top-notch stuff, but one of my actors, who's a total cow by the way, went and blabbed about it to her best friend's boyfriend who just happens to be a director and now he's gone and adapted it to a modern rendition of some commedia dell'arte and everyone will totally think I stole it from him and it's not fair, because it was mine, even if there's no copyright on ideas but I had a whole thing worked out with the set design and the symbolic lighting and it would have been amazing but for that utter raging whore!”
“Oh.” Law blinked. “My, uh, condolences?”
“These things happen,” Math shrugged. “At least you know that you possess the originality to begin with. It is a very highly-prized quality in the theoretical mathematics,” he added slyly, and Law noticed with sudden affront that he wasn't the only one observing Theatre's shapely couture.
“A very solitary subject,” Law interjected loudly, shooting Math a sharp glance, “no collaborative work whatsoever.”
“Oh?” Theatre perked up slightly. “You know, after this episode a little solo work seems quite the thing.”
“I mean,” said Law, “that is it the gathering place for dour misanthropes with no moral compass and a tragically defunct sense of humour. Mathematicians are not charismatic by nature. Quite the opposite. Lawyers, on the other hand-”
“Oh?” Math narrowed his eyes, which were actually quite an attractive shade of green behind his spectacles. “If memory serves, lawyers are thieving, treacherous hypocrites, preaching justice while they themselves sell their tongue and their dignity for whichever side of the court bar's paying-”
“Slander!” cried Law. “And I will have you tried for this, sir!”
“I'd like to see you try!” Math shouted back. “It's your kind of people who ruin this world, obfuscating simple problems with your ambiguous nonsense-why, if mathematicians were given the run of the place-”
“Mathematicians invented the atomic bomb!”
“Lawyers authorized its use!”
“Mathematicians defame the scientific professions!”
“Law studies couldn't be scientific if they posed in a lab coat and recited formulas!”
“You work with irrational numbers!”
“You work with irrational cases!”
“My goodness, you two are impressive,” said Theatre mildly. Law and Math turned to look at him, both quite red in the face.
“Pardon? ” said Law. Next to him, Math adjusted his spectacles, which had tilted askew during the argument.
“Let me put it bluntly,” Theatre said. “I know sexual chemistry spotted from miles away. You two couldn't be missed by a blind retard with earmuffs. I think I'd better get on before one of you spontaneously combusts.”
“Ssdkj?!” Math said, or perhaps choked. Law would have agreed, except he was feeling rather stifled at the moment as well. He could feel his face, burning like the lighting in a particularly tasteless neon-furnished courtroom. It was unbecoming.
“Well.” Theatre, by contrast, looked attractive with his unruly hair and powdered face, wearing a faintly bemused smile. “I see you've got some things to think about. Meanwhile, myself and Literature are off to work further conceptional wonders, this time on the ancient Greeks, bless them.” He arched an eyebrow at Math. “You're right, Math, it is the originality that counts. Toodle-pip!” And with a brilliant smile, he flounced off to a side-exit.
There was a long, incredibly awkward, incredibly untheatrical silence.
Eventually Math coughed. “I don't like the ancient Greeks,” he said.
“Oh, mm,” said Law. “You know, neither do I very much. ”
“So, uh.”
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
“Quite.”
“Rather.”
They exchanged a long, speculative look. Math's eyes, Law noted with faint surprise, really were quite attractive.
“Your theorems are still abstruse,” he said, perhaps as a defiant compensation for that last thought.
Math looked unruffled, but didn't bother denying the claim. “You wear stupid coats.”
It was true. “Fair enough.”
They nodded minutely at each other. Math ventured a hesitant smile.
And the court was dismissed.
Q.E.D.
All characters © their respective owners; I claim no right nor profit.