Pudding, as she told Jason, is happy to help others make boats and lanterns. Funerary ceremony is not something she's actually done herself before now, but origami, origami she knows. How many of her treats are decorated with sugary replicas, or real origami done with delicate layers of edible rice paper? So it's simple, easy, to teach, or to outright make a few for those who can't get it down or whose hands are too shaky to try. She's also folding up some little flames in red paper, if anyone wants to add one into their lantern, or atop their boat.
Once the first boats begin to settle on the water, she pauses a moment to watch. There's nothing for her, really - she didn't know anyone well enough to quite feel right making something, and she feels little to celebrate -
She blinks, pauses. Turns back to the table while no one's eyes are on it and begins to fold. The early folds are simple, just to crease the paper, and when that's done... She takes several looks around while she pulls up a brush and dark paint, and only when she's certain no one can see, writes a name down the length of it.
シ ャ ｜ ロ ッ ト
プ リ ン
She folds it shut immediately. It's fine if the paint smears. She knows what it says, and it's important that no one else does.
Instead of a boat or lantern, she folds it into a paper crane. As the boats are launched, she steps up to the shore and blows it into the water from her fingertips.
Maybe it's okay like this, after weeks of doing her best to help and protect instead of lure and harm, to mourn and celebrate that the old her is dead.
2.
Like at the shore, Pudding doesn't say much. It's not her place. One thing she has done, with - well, she thinks, at least? - the "permission" of the cafeteria spirit, is make her good cocoa. For the warmth, for the sweetness, for the comfort. She has plenty for everyone, with two crock pots full, and she'll gladly ladle some into an old (clean) cafeteria mug for anyone who comes up.
Pudding | OTA
Pudding, as she told Jason, is happy to help others make boats and lanterns. Funerary ceremony is not something she's actually done herself before now, but origami, origami she knows. How many of her treats are decorated with sugary replicas, or real origami done with delicate layers of edible rice paper? So it's simple, easy, to teach, or to outright make a few for those who can't get it down or whose hands are too shaky to try. She's also folding up some little flames in red paper, if anyone wants to add one into their lantern, or atop their boat.
Once the first boats begin to settle on the water, she pauses a moment to watch. There's nothing for her, really - she didn't know anyone well enough to quite feel right making something, and she feels little to celebrate -
She blinks, pauses. Turns back to the table while no one's eyes are on it and begins to fold. The early folds are simple, just to crease the paper, and when that's done... She takes several looks around while she pulls up a brush and dark paint, and only when she's certain no one can see, writes a name down the length of it.
シ
ャ
｜
ロ
ッ
ト
プ
リ
ン
She folds it shut immediately. It's fine if the paint smears. She knows what it says, and it's important that no one else does.
Instead of a boat or lantern, she folds it into a paper crane. As the boats are launched, she steps up to the shore and blows it into the water from her fingertips.
Maybe it's okay like this, after weeks of doing her best to help and protect instead of lure and harm, to mourn and celebrate that the old her is dead.
2.
Like at the shore, Pudding doesn't say much. It's not her place. One thing she has done, with - well, she thinks, at least? - the "permission" of the cafeteria spirit, is make her good cocoa. For the warmth, for the sweetness, for the comfort. She has plenty for everyone, with two crock pots full, and she'll gladly ladle some into an old (clean) cafeteria mug for anyone who comes up.