He's tried, though, apparently. One crumpled, taped mess is in his hands, and a few more are at his feet. Somehow he's managed to cut himself in the process and so some of the tape and paper has gone into making a very makeshift bandage across the back of his hand and another wraps around a finger. Frustrated, he's about to give up, but instead turns to whoever is nearest. "Hey, are you any good at these? I never could get the hang of origami."
Launch
Successful or not, it doesn't much matter. As people cast their offerings out into the water, Rosinante stands at the edge where the lake just barely laps at the toes of his boots and watches them float off.
These people meant a lot to him. The first time they had lost this many was only a month or so after arrival and while he liked a number of them, he hadn't really come to know them the way he came to know these people that the little paper boats and lanterns now represent. Beacon will not be the same without them. So he breaks his customary silence and softly, just to himself, begins to sing.
((edit: yes, assume Beacon's auto-translate kicks in as always, who knows what language he'd be using tbh))
School
It's nice to see the memorial in place. He first checks to make sure the little tribute to Winters that he and Will had made sure to add has survived the flood. Most here never knew the man, which is itself a tragedy. Rosinante kneels down near where his name sits by the base of the memorial and places down a shotgun shell - hardly the bottle of booze he'd prefer to leave, but they're running low on supplies. It's still fitting in its own way, for he carries the man's shotgun across his back every time he ventures out into the woods.
He leaves other gifts by other names - some of those blue flowers Daylight planted in the greenhouse go to several of the lost, including Daylight himself but also Maes, as well as Peter and Riku. He leaves a shotglass for Ambrose - again, tragically empty, but it's the thought that counts as the dead can't exactly drink. Others get their own various tributes.
He doesn't have much to say, and won't be seeking people out. Closure is hard enough to find, he can't imagine bothering other people. But he'll stay in case anyone wants to talk. He sets up at one of the cafeteria tables with his star chart, and begins adding the names on the bulletin to several of the stars in the sky.
Rosinante | OTA
Rosinante is terrible at making boats.
He's tried, though, apparently. One crumpled, taped mess is in his hands, and a few more are at his feet. Somehow he's managed to cut himself in the process and so some of the tape and paper has gone into making a very makeshift bandage across the back of his hand and another wraps around a finger. Frustrated, he's about to give up, but instead turns to whoever is nearest. "Hey, are you any good at these? I never could get the hang of origami."
Launch
Successful or not, it doesn't much matter. As people cast their offerings out into the water, Rosinante stands at the edge where the lake just barely laps at the toes of his boots and watches them float off.
These people meant a lot to him. The first time they had lost this many was only a month or so after arrival and while he liked a number of them, he hadn't really come to know them the way he came to know these people that the little paper boats and lanterns now represent. Beacon will not be the same without them. So he breaks his customary silence and softly, just to himself, begins to sing.
((edit: yes, assume Beacon's auto-translate kicks in as always, who knows what language he'd be using tbh))
School
It's nice to see the memorial in place. He first checks to make sure the little tribute to Winters that he and Will had made sure to add has survived the flood. Most here never knew the man, which is itself a tragedy. Rosinante kneels down near where his name sits by the base of the memorial and places down a shotgun shell - hardly the bottle of booze he'd prefer to leave, but they're running low on supplies. It's still fitting in its own way, for he carries the man's shotgun across his back every time he ventures out into the woods.
He leaves other gifts by other names - some of those blue flowers Daylight planted in the greenhouse go to several of the lost, including Daylight himself but also Maes, as well as Peter and Riku. He leaves a shotglass for Ambrose - again, tragically empty, but it's the thought that counts as the dead can't exactly drink. Others get their own various tributes.
He doesn't have much to say, and won't be seeking people out. Closure is hard enough to find, he can't imagine bothering other people. But he'll stay in case anyone wants to talk. He sets up at one of the cafeteria tables with his star chart, and begins adding the names on the bulletin to several of the stars in the sky.