milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There is a Noriko on the floor of the bar.

She's totally unharmed, before anyone thinks anything alarming; she's backed up to a section of wall near the fireplace, working on her Big Box O' Cranes, which has probably surpassed six hundred by now. It's not that she's planning on stopping at a thousand, but it makes a nice even number to do things with, even if those things are not the tradition senbazuru strings to be hung at shrines.

(To begin with there are no shrines near where she lives, and to end with she wouldn't go if there were. At least not with a huge streamer of shiny rainbow paper birds to get attention.) Her bottom half is covered under a kotatsu, looking kind of contrived given it's basically a low table with a blanket on top that's keeping her legs warm (courtesy the electric heater underneath it). The rest of her is uncovered and looking more or less normal, as normal as she gets, though she is singing half out loud to a song that might give away more about her than most people think at first.

Watch your feet, lest you trip over her.

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There's a lot about Noriko that confuses Autor. She's bold, for one, and fairly flirtatious--though not with him, thank god. Still, what she's doing now, and where she's sitting, and what she's singing are all sources of confusion to him. While he can understand the language of the song, the lyrics are ever so strange, and he's never seen a kotatsu before, nor does he know why she's folding so many pretty little birds.

His only problem is to what to ask about first.

"Why are you folding so many of those?" he asks, after cautiously approaching, eyeing the kotatu with bare-faced curiosity.

She really does live to be confusing for boys. Honest.

When Noriko look up at Autor she stops abruptly with both her singing and the folding--she so rarely speaks French in here that there are a fair few people who'd never believe she spoke it at all, much less with that kind of fluency. "The goal is to make a thousand. Fold a thousand cranes and the story goes you get a wish," she says. That's not why she's folding that many, but explaining the concept of spontaneous wall art just does not seem doable to this kid.

"Watch the blanket, huh?"

"Ohh," Autor says, and now he wants to know what her wish is--but if she tells him, it might not come true. He doesn't even question that you can get a wish from these, but he does wonder how big a wish she could get. "What is this blanket table that you're sitting under?"

Nori seriously doubts any wish one might express over a bunch of folded paper is at all likely to come true, no matter how prettily they're shaped like mythical magic birds.

"It's a kotatsu. It keeps your legs warm while giving you a worktable to sit at."

"Ko-tat-su," Autor repeats, cocking his head at the table. He crouches, and pinches the blanket. "And that's a Japanese thing? How is it built?"

"Yeah," she says, drawing her legs up. "It's pretty common in Japan, and pretty exclusively there. It's just a table, with an electric heater underneath, and a blanket. The table's top is usually removable so you can put it over the blanket for a hard surface. Why?"

"A heater?" Autor asks, tempted to poke his head under there. But the presence of Noriko's legs strongly deters him. "Fascinating. Because that's brilliant. You could do all sorts of things with a table like this, and your legs stay warm. Work on homework. Type. Fold birds."

He shakes his head. "That's one of the best ideas I've ever heard of. How do you fold those cranes? They look so intricate."

"Yeah," Nori repeats, wary of Autor doing exactly what he's thinking of doing. Sure, she's still got jeans on under there, but the electric heater is, y'know, hot.

"It's pretty natural evolution from a in-floor heating pit. Same idea, this is just portable."

And then she looks at the cranes, and at him. "I've done it for years. It's not hard."

"An in-floor heating pit?" Autor repeats, logging the idea away. "This version seems easy enough to put together and take apart, too. Hmm."

He blinks at her explanation of the cranes. "Would.. Would you mind showing me how it's done? I mean, you don't have to. But I'd appreciate it. It seems like an interesting way to manage paper."

"It is," she says. And resists sighing, because everyone seems to think only she has the secret to making paper bids. She wonders if tacking up the instructions somewhere would save her the explanation each time.

"Sure. Take a piece of paper."

"Oh!" Autor says. He didn't expect her to have him fold paper, too, but he's grateful. The boy kneels, mindful of the blanket, and plucks up a paper. "Thank you, Miss Ashida."

"It's Noriko. I don't like being called by my surname, for the fifth time," she says. "Now. You know how do a mountain fold?"

"Ah," Autor says, a little embarrassed. He wasn't calling her that to annoy her. "No, I don't know how to do a mountain fold. I know nothing about this."

"Okay," she says. "Nevermind that. Just copy what I do, okay?"

Autor nods, and fixes his gaze on her fingers. He copies what she shows him well enough, though his folds aren't as crisp.

"It takes practice. And usually a bone folder," she says. "But you're doing pretty good."

"What is a bone folder?" Autor asks, carefully running his thumb over a crease. He follows her steps exactly, folding and flipping the paper.

"It does what your thumb is doing, without ruining your nails."

Autor furrows his brow at this thumb. "I'm not too concerned with my nails," he reports. He pinches and presses the paper, and eventually bends one wing back. "Like this...? Mine doesn't look much like a bird."

"You haven't folded down the head, or folded up the tail yet. Don't worry, it will."

Autor nods, and continues folding just as she shows him. Eventually, he finishes the crane, and beams brightly. "Ah, look! It really does look like one, now. Thank you, Mis--Noriko."

"No problem. Nine-hundred and ninety-nine more to go, and you get yourself a wish," she says.

"I will never understand people's fascination with cranes, though."

"After folding all of those, I'd have to wish that my hands weren't sore anymore," Autor says, glancing to his knuckles. "What is this paper art called?"

"Origami," she answers. "Nah, your hands wouldn't get sore after just a bunch of paper, even if you weren't wearing the metal like me. It's not that strenuous once you fall into a rhythm."

Autor nods. His hands are always sore, but what she says makes sense. "Or-i-gam-i," he repeats, trying to get the pronunciation right. "How many do you have towards your thousand?"

"Hello," said a man standing above her leaning on an ornate cane. He is wearing a nice black suite, white shirt, and a black tie. He is skeletaly thin, and the smile on his mouth may not have been prenatally nice.

"...Hello," Nori replies, looking up mid-fold at the...very nicely dressed skeleton of an old guy standing in front of her.

"Can I help you?"

"Do you know Dr. Lecter, Miss?" he asked.

He didn't smiled, acting as if he was going to ask her as a favor.

"You just go around asking people that out of the blue, huh?" she asks, brows lifted as she stops folding.

"Not really," said Death, "I have seen you speak with him. I have a parcel that I wish to give him, if you would be kind enough."

The parcel was in his hand. He lied a few times in that sentence, he knew that there was some interaction.

"And you can't give it to him because...?" Noriko asks, not reaching up to take it yet. She does pop out an earbud, pausing the song that's blasting out in rapid French.

"I have not seen him in a while," said Death, "And I have some business to attend to in my own world."

"Then leave it for him with the bar," she says. "Because I don't know what on earth it is, or why you're asking me to do it. And I don't get involved in other people's crap when I don't know them."

"That is a good policy," said Death, " Then I won't ask you to deliver this. I am sure the Bar will do just fine. I didn't know she could do such things as well."

He lied.

"Why are you making so many cranes?"

"It can give you food magically, why would you think it can't deliver a box?" she asks.

"I'm working on a senbazuru."

"What will your wish be, Ms. Ashida," asked Death giving up on pretense.

"Don't know yet," she says. "Might not make one. Why do you want to know?"

"Just curious," he said with a shrug.

"Random person, I don't have the faintest clue who you are. Asking me if I know Hannibal Lecter and if I'll give an unknown box to him is not helping downplay your creepy-stalker vibe," Noriko says. "You might want to work on that."

His scent, that of dust and even fainter decay, intensified a little.

"I really don't care how creepy you find me," said Death, "If you must know I am Death."

"Good to know," she says, making it plain that she doesn't buy it for more than two seconds.

"You might want to work on the cologne, though. It lacks something."

Death smiled.

"That isn't cologne," he said, "That is part of my true essence seeping though this avatar."

"I got some Lysol that'll fix that."

Death laughed, "I doubt that very highly."

He was hungry.

"We can test it out."

"No," said Death, "I shall leave you to your work. It was nice to meet you though."

"...Okay," Noriko murmurs, somewhat nonplussed by the encounter. "Bye-bye now."

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