#That steam bun definitely has food poisoning

[pragretti]

🥟

Two together

[antsyandpantsy]

25 and 26 for the ask game :^)

ty for the ask nat!!!

Berry loves the color yellow (specifcally warm yellows or like... normal yellows... I would never project...), it makes her really happy. Her least favorite color is like highlighter yellow-ish green, she thinks it's too bright and tacky. Her favorite food is any kind of steamed buns, it makes her feel really comfy. Her least favorite food is oysters, the texture is disgusting to her.

Ezra has always liked green, but they don't really enjoy throwup greens. They mostly enjoy the bright ones or the warm ones. They really like sushi or pizza (they've definitely gotten food poisoning from gas station sushi). They HATE ground beef, it's a texture thing.

Lave's favorite color is pink or red. He doesn't particularly care for green too much. His favorite food is chili. He absolutely LOVES spicy things, so chili is perfect. He hates meatloaf, mostly because his mom used to make ASS meatloaf.

Farren likes all colors, they don't really have a least or most favorite, they just like taking in every color. Her favorite food has to be anything freshly caught. She especially likes seafood kebabs. It reminds him of his parents and his culture. Hates candy corn, the texture is weird and the taste is too repetitive for him.

Marlo loves warm colors, he doesn't really have a particular color. He isn't a big fan of bright colors (sucks to suck when he's playing turf war, womp womp). He's simple and really likes pasta (I don't really have a specific kind lmao). He hates meatballs though, do not put it on his pasta!!!! He'll eat it to be polite but he won't enjoy it.

Teo is into green and yellow. He doesn't really enjoy cyan, it's a weird dark blue-ish green that just feels off to him. As a chef, he enjoys creating many foods, but he's a sucker for shrimp scampi. He thinks that cilantro tastes like shit and had to be created by a demon of some sort.

Castiel LOVES pink, he loves every kind of pink. He's not a big fan of teal (woah sanitization that so silly) Castiel doesn't eat much (he doesn't exactly need to as he's technically dead, and sometimes food makes him feel gross), but when he does eat he enjoys sandwiches, he likes putting different toppings on them and experimenting with them. Hates sushi, he thinks raw fish is disgusting.

had to think a lot about this lmao nat rlly making me use my brain here

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt if I may ask: little Nie MingJue running into pre-Jiang sect Wei WuXian chased by dogs, seeing him quiver in fear /exactly/ like HuaiSang, his big brother instincts kicking in, and five minutes later he has Wei WuXian rolled up in blankets, stuffing him with food, while going on tirade on how he needs to grow a backbone, those were just some strays, this dage will help you train, while Wei WuXian is all ????

Nie Mingjue left the discussion conference early.

He’d done what he’d promised all the sect elders: he hadn’t lost his temper, he hadn’t drawn Baxia, he hadn’t raised his voice, and he hadn’t left before the official events were over. He’d behaved the way a Sect Leader should – a brand new one, yes, so freshly appointed to the position that he was still wearing almost entirely white, but a Sect Leader nonetheless.

After the official talks were over, Jin Guangshan had called for wine and “absent-mindedly” asked Nie Mingjue if he was even old enough to drink it, an obvious probe; Nie Mingjue had looked at him straight in the eye and reminded him that alcohol was forbidden for those in filial mourning, and he wouldn’t be drinking for another three years. Lan Qiren, there on behalf of the ever-absent Qingheng-jun, had nodded in approval; Jiang Fengmian had accepted the drink instead, seeking to break the awkwardness. 

Wen Ruohan had held out his hand for a drink as well, smile slick as poison and eyes lingering, and Nie Mingjue had left without another word.

A little rude, but not outside the boundaries of reason.

All in all, Nie Mingjue thought he’d done pretty well: his fingers had only started shaking once he’d gotten outside. He did as well as anyone could expect, really. He was fifteen years old, pretending to be eighteen – Qinghe had never shared much personal information with the other Sects, and he was tall enough to make it believable as long as he didn’t talk too much and kept his voice low – and he’d just spent four shichen in the company of his father’s murderer, talking shop as if nothing had happened. 

Really, it was a good sign that he’d only started shaking once he’d gotten outside, whether from fear or from anger –

Better it be anger. Anger was practically a family tradition, just as much as their sabers; it would be fine if he were angry, and he was – being scared was just pathetic. What was he supposed to, clutch Baxia to his chest or hide her away where no one could use her to kill him? Ridiculous.

He’d done fine, Nie Mingjue reminded himself as he walked through the streets. It was fine. Fine. He’d done it, and it was over…and he’d have to do it all again tomorrow.

He was not fine.

He was breathing hard, his face was red, his fingers were still shaking – he needed to hit something.

There was a soft cry of fear, not unlike a kitten but definitely human, from the alley next to him, and he was moving before he’d even thought twice about it, Baxia leaping forward into his hands, eager to destroy anything evil –

It was a little boy, cowering at a bunch of dogs.

Not quite evil, but better than nothing, he supposed. Nie Mingjue sighed and walked over, swinging his saber less as a weapon and more as a broom – he apologized to Baxia in his heart – and the dogs went running at once, yipping and whining.

He crouched in front of the boy. Small, malnourished, and no more than seven or eight, he guessed; right around Nie Huaisang’s age. His clothing as torn and his feet and fingers were red.

“Hey,” he said gruffly. “You know those were only a couple of strays, right? They won’t hurt you.”

The boy sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve, then looked up at him with a teary-eyed smile. He was still quivering, more steamed pudding than child, and for a moment there he looked so much like Huaisang that Nie Mingjue wanted to wrap him up in his arms and hold him until they both felt better. Or until Huaisang got bored and kneed him in the guts, whichever came first.

“Thank you, da-ge,” the kid said, and then he reached out to try to – to try to pick up a bun that had clearly fallen onto the ground and been chewed by dogs and, no. Just no.

Nie Mingjue had the worst day ever; he was not going to let some small mirror of Nie Huaisang eat off the ground.

“Get up,” he said, standing up. “I’ll buy you something to eat, okay? Do you like meat?”

The kid’s eyes glowed, which wasn’t surprising; who didn’t like meat? Excluding the Lan sect, but even they didn’t dislike meat, they just liked suffering more.

Nie Mingjue took the kid’s hand in his own and blinked, surprised to find a spark of cultivation in there: the kid wasn’t a regular person, but a cultivator – or he would be, if he got some training. He had potential. “What’s your name?”

“Wei Ying,” the kid chirped.

“Right. Wei Ying. Do you have parents?” Shifty eyes suggested no. “Were they cultivators?” An eager nod. “Do you want to be one, too?”

“Yes!”

There were lots of rules about what a person could and couldn’t do when they were in mourning for their father, including about adding to their family – but as Sect Leader, Nie Mingjue wasn’t bound by that restriction; he could always add people to his sect. It wasn’t supposed to be a decision he made lightly, and he was pretty sure the sect elders would have some harsh words to say to him about not being able to simply invite anyone he liked back to Qinghe and how he wasn’t responsible for rescuing all the world’s children.

Still, he was Sect Leader. What was the point of enduring all of this misery if he couldn’t do something good once in a while?

Nie Mingjue looked down at where Wei Ying was chattering away eagerly, skipping and jumping up and down in his excitement, and smiled. Not only a new cultivator with some promise, he also thought that there was a good chance that Huaisang would appreciate having someone else his age around to play with, especially someone lively and good-natured the way Wei Ying seemed to be.

He still wanted to hit someone, or something, the anger (not fear) still running hot under his skin, but at least the moment of frenzy had passed; he could get out the urge for movement by doing something constructive, like teaching Wei Ying the basic movements he would need as a foundation before he started learning how to wield saber. 

Hopefully he’d take to it more than Huaisang had…

“Tell me about your sect!” Wei Ying demanded, beaming.

“Our sect.”

“Our sect!”

Nie Mingjue, who wasn’t always the best with words, made an effort to share some of the basics. 

As they walked, he caught a familiar flash of purple going down another street and made a small detour to avoid bumping into Jiang Fengmian – the man thought himself well-meaning and kind, but Nie Mingjue had no time for a man so milquetoast and committed to neutrality that he’d looked shocked at the mere idea of offering a word of condemnation against Wen Ruohan for what he’d done to Nie Mingjue’s father. 

He wasn’t sure what exactly Jiang Fengmian was looking for in the streets, but he didn’t especially care, either.

He had a new guest disciple to take care of.

[leatherbookmarking]

i. know i had that post abt qin su and jiggy finding out, being appropriately terrified and orchestrating jgs’ murder with an army of his bastards, but since i had a thought about jin rusong the alive child...

consider: the above, except qin su is already in love with the child that’s growing inside her. he was, as opposed to some, conceived out of love; there’s no reason to punish him for crimes he didn’t commit. jiggy, of course, has a different opinion, and they argue in whisper-shouting (which is, to be honest, quite counter-productive, so they quickly stop and/or move behind the mirror). they reach an understanding,

and eventually jin guangyao and young madam jin are known as the most unbearably paranoid future parents to ever exist.

healers hate them. no, young madam jin, mild pollen allergy usually doesn’t kill-- i’m sorry, it simply does not kill. it is not possible. what about colds? a-yao said he would catch a cold often as a child, what if it’s-- the chief healer of the jin sect takes a calming breath. everyone gets sick sometimes. but jinlintai is properly isolated, so unless you’re dangling the baby out in the cold on purpose (i am only assuming you would not do that), with the proper care it will DEFINITELY receive, NOTHING WRONG SHOULD HAPPEN.

young madam jin is silent for a while. chief healer is about to sigh with relief.

and then the horrible woman opens her mouth again.

the healers should just give her the baby to deal with, says one cousin to another over tea. if she has to feed, entertain and clean after the baby, she surely won’t have time to complain and bother everyone with her never-ending questions! i understand being scared, i had my doubts as a young mother, but...

oh, but you know, the father is jin guangyao, the other cousin says. this man would rather eat his own hat than have something not under control. imagine the life of this kid!

exasperated nods.

by the end of qin su’s pregnancy, the entirety of jinlintai would, without batting an eye, heartily assure her everything is on order, in fact, that’s how it should be! perfect! even if her child had six fingers in both hands and a tail growing out of its forehead.

(they, however, hope nothing of this sort happens.)

(it, coincidentally, is exactly what the horrible future parents have wanted)

a-yao, says lan xichen very gently, i really think you shouldn’t worry so much. your child is lucky to be born to such wonderful parents, and--

jin guangyao’s eyes widen in panic. er-ge, he whispers. er-ge, i don’t know how to be a father. how am i going to--? what if i do something wrong--? what if---?!

lan xichen gazes gently into the camera.

young master jin, future jin rusong, is born; the birth itself is quick and uneventful, save for, well, the baby being born. he is healthy, not too small, not too big, with healthy lungs. young madam jin wasn’t even in that much pain. gods themselves have smiled upon young master jin, people say! no, the people in jinlintai think. WE have FROWNED at young madam jin’s belly (carefully, behind her back), diplomatically suggesting for the baby to be in perfect health, OR ELSE.

oh, do they eat their words. oh, do they wish the boy was of fragile constitution, staying in bed or safe in his warm room. because future jin rusong is demon incarnate. he is also, coincidentally, the most beautiful child anyone has ever laid their eyes upon, having his mother’s dark, innocent eyes and his father’s charming dimples, but this is where his good traits end.

he is a MENACE.

presented with OBJECTS, he grabbed the brush and immediately shoved it into his mouth, almost making his poor mother drop him; and that gesture will stay with him for the rest of his life. he tries to eat his mother’s fingers, his father’s fingers. robes? do you mean a snack? actual food is of no concern to him if he can CONSUME literally everything around him. jin guangyao turns away for one!!! (1) second, yet when he turns back, he finds his son has, in the meantime:

nibbled on the inkstone

tried the ink as well

and got it on his little stupid hands and his little stupid offwhite robe

tried the brush, guess which tip

started on the letter his poor sod of a father was writing.

is this normal, whispers young madam jin weakly.

yes, says the head healer automatically.

qin su and jiggy stop worrying as an act and start worrying for real.

by the time he’s six, jin rusong has tasted most of what there is, and isn’t, to taste in jinlintai, including but not limited to curtains, floors, his mother’s jewellery, suibian (to put it gently, it was a memorable day), baxia’s hilt (nie mingjue snorted), the ends of lan xichen’s head ribbon, alcohol, the cup that used to have alcohol in it, by which i mean that jin rusong dumped it on his face, licked his lips and then the cup clean, fairy’s ears, fairy’s paws, nie huaisang’s fan, the robes of perhaps every resident, a bell, a hand and hair of his cousin, jin rulan.

he’s a horrible thief and doesn’t even notice it. he just starts idly playing with an object, like his aunt’s bracelet, after a while says goodbye like a well-behaved boy and leaves, and then several hours later comes back, terrified out of his mind, apologizing, in tears. and oh, does his crying face make everyone’s hearts melt.

he’s sneaky and his steps are virtually inaudible, and upon finding out about this fact, several people in jinlintai suddenly flash back to their affairs and feel cold sweat on their back. some suspect he has developed the ability to turn invisible. his parents and teachers are out of ideas on how to keep him in his room, aside from “iron handcuffs and an iron pole with a stabilizing talisman on it” which seem a little bit too much. who teaches him all that? unclear.

he was supposed to copy a text and think about it; he is found three hours later, soaking wet and with a new friend (frog). he’s been hiding in the lotus pond, ducking underwater when there was someone passing by. he was supposed to practice sword forms with jin rulan and an older disciple; they are found gorging on steamed buns in the nearby market. jin rulan doesn’t know how it happened, and it infuriates him. the disciple knows, and the answer is “those damn dimples and sparkling eyes” but no one’s asking him, so.

by the time he’s nine, he limits the CONSUMPTION to the bare necessary minimum (food, his own fingernails, and the correct tip of the brush) but follows jin rulan like an enamoured puppy, thinking he is Literally The Coolest. jin rulan appreciates that very much, but sometimes... when he’s trying to be cool, you know? an annoying little cousin shouting at him to COME SEE I FOUND A REALLY COOL BUG? is kind of, ruining his vibe, okay.

you know what, actually i planned to end this post like 200 words earlier, with a vaguely ominous passage about how “sect leader jin and his wife are a perfect couple! usually there are rumors, even minor, about all sect marriages, but none about them! truly an example to be followed!” (meaning: they were MURDERED). 

then i was like oh! what if rusong was a mess, and there was no assassination attempt, or rather: there were, but through food, and rusong’s parents caught on quickly and started to train their child, who likes to CONSUME, to automatically neutralize various types of poisons with his core (once he ate something that would have killed a non-cultivating adult man and only mentioned it was ‘making his tongue all tingly’. that’s very funny, a-song, jin guangyao said, and then went to have a fucking drink)

but... then... i got distracted by Chaos Child Jin Rusong... and i don’t know what happened? please imagine jin rusong, 13, seeing “”””mo xuanyu”””” and being like oh! oh! xiaoshu! XIAOSHU YOU’RE BACK LOOK I HAVE A SWORD WOW YOU’RE SO TALL

““““mo xuanyu”““““: ????? whomst the Fuck

what else happens in this au? does nie mingjue not get murdered, due to ‘being the cool uncle with a big saber’? does that mean wwx does not get resurrected? does jiggy kill mingjue anyway, and everything is as it was originally, along with the guanyin temple and there is ONE MORE traumatized person? does it go completely differently? i don’t know!!! i don’t know!!! i really don’t know!!!

[a-spoonful-of-home]

My Top 17 Foods To Eat In Chengdu

Szechuan cold spicy noodles 四川涼面

These are hands down my favourite food to get in Chengdu. Sitting down in the heat outside with some cold spicy noodles (and a beer - of course) is the best way to spend a hot summers day here. It’s a great mixture of garlic, spring onions, ginger, and lots of chilli oil. I think I prefer cold noodles over hot noodles because it takes the heat down a level. Just writing about these noodles is making me want to go for a walk down to the noodle joint near our complex! An absolute staple of Szechuan cuisine - 10/10!

Steamed buns 包子

Steamed buns, or baozi, kept me alive when we first arrived in Chengdu and were running round trying to get all our documents sorted. They’re so convenient and you can really get them everywhere. I love the snacking culture here in China because it means you’re never very far away from some tasty street food. Steamed buns, sweet or savoury, never break the bank and you can pick one up normally for around 20p/30p. Steamed pork buns are my favourite bun but it’s always fun to try new ones - like the custard buns that you can poke with a chopstick and squeeze all the custard out… granted it can look a little disturbing but it’s still fun!

Dumplings in chilli sauce  红油抄手

Another classic here. I wasn’t a huge fan of these the first time I tried them but now I can’t get enough of them. I think I’ve really worked up my heat tolerance since moving here and now there’s nothing better to me than a big bowl of pork dumplings covered in spicy chilli sauce! It’s the intensely aromatic sauce they’re coated with, made with vinegar, garlic, and roasted chilli oil, that makes these dumplings so irresistible. You can also get dumplings in soup but I prefer the dry dumplings with chilli sauce.

There are lots of different types of dumplings in Sichuan and China as a whole, but Zhong dumplings are named for the family who first made these in Chengdu around 100 years ago - and now they’re recognised officially as one of Szechuan’s most famous street foods! They’re a simple dumpling with sweet soy sauce and chilli oil and they’re great for beginners. James and myself were actually lucky enough to get to go on a dumpling making course when we first arrived - it was really fun!

Roast pork 烤猪肉

This isn’t a Szechuan specialty but it’s still very much available here in Chengdu. My favourite way of eating pork here so far has been where the pork is served on a sizzling plate with a sweet sauce and peanuts. Normally the server will pour the hot sauce over the pork in front of you and it’s great to watch it sizzle. I love it when meals feel more interactive like that. It’s super sticky and sweet and is everything that roast pork should really be!

Hotpot 火锅

I think it would be a sin to come to Szechuan and not try hotpot at least once. Unfortunately, I’m not the biggest fan of hotpot with red oil but I do quite like the version of hotpot at a restaurant near us that uses what I think is some kind of chicken stock/soup to boil the ingredients. This restaurant is Hong Kong themed so it’s not typical Szechuan food. When the food is cooked you dip it in a sauce that you can put together yourself - this is chillis, garlic, soy sauce, and spring onions. There are a few different types of hotpot but some of the most popular here are chuan chuan 串串 (where you get your food on long sticks and place it in the pot) and huo guo 火锅 (where you place the food directly into the pot and scoop it out when it’s ready).

It’s a really fun way to eat though because at most restaurants you start by going around a fridge section of the restaurant with a basket and get to choose what you’d like to boil, then take it back to your table and cook it in the pot with your friends. Chinese style eating is quite different to the UK because typically you share food more instead of ordering just for yourself and I really prefer it like that - it just means you get to try more things and don’t have to worry about ordering something you won’t like! It’s a much more sociable way of dining and it’s just so much more fun.

Eating with friends

It’s always so much more fun to share your cooking with your friends - especially when you all come from different parts of the world. I really love the other teachers in my class and so I decided to cook them some ‘traditional British food’ because Tina, one of the teachers, really loves trying new food. It was also a bit of a thank you for how welcoming they’d been and how much easier the job is working in our team. Of course, being the welcoming people they always are, they came to the dinner with Szechuan food for us to try too! They made us kung pow chicken, fried chicken wings, and mapo dofu (silken tofu in a spicy sauce) and we shared with them a cottage pie, potato and broccoli soup, Hellmann’s egg mayonnaise sandwiches, biscuits with brie, and a steamed syrup pudding - the best of both worlds!

Dan dan mian 担担面

Dan dan mian (noodles) are so called because historically the walking street vendors who sold the dish would have a type of carrying pole (dan dan) that they carried over their shoulder with two baskets containing the noodles and sauce at either end. The name of these noodles is literally translated to noodles carried on a pole. They’re another Szechuan staple food and one of my favourite things to pick up when I’m walking around Chengdu. They're served hot with minced pork in a spicy sauce. They’re also served with preserved vegetables like zha cai 榨菜 (lower enlarged mustard stems) and ya cai 芽菜 (upper mustard stems). Living in Chengdu has meant that I’m a lot more into preserved vegetables than I was in the UK!

Xiaolongbao 小笼包

Now this is definitely not a Szechuan food but you can still get it in some places in Chengdu. It’s associated with Wuxi and Shanghai so I’m really excited to try some more when we move cities! It is a steamed dumpling with broth inside that's typically made from chicken or pork. You eat them using a soup spoon and a pair of chopsticks and bite into the dumpling on the spoon then suck out the soup. There’s a restaurant called ‘Modern China’ that we’ve been to a fair few times. It’s got a huge menu but recently I’ve been ordering just xiaolongbao and calling that my dinner. It’s been wonderful!

Roast Duck 北京烤鸭

Some of the best roast duck that we’ve had in China (so far!) was when we went to Hongyadong 洪崖洞 in Chongqing - which was once the site of the earliest and most developed pier in ancient China. It has since become a popular destination for visitors to experience Bayu culture and houses a large-scale stilt house complex built along the bank of the Jialing River. It was full of food vendors and we ended up going for a dinner roast duck which was skilfully carved in front of us. Again - I just love food where you get to see the chef or servers work with it! The restaurant we visited is called Quanjude and it’s a restaurant famous in China for its roast duck and longstanding culinary heritage since it was established in Beijing in 1864. There’s no way that we’re going to be able to live in Shanghai without at least one trip on the bullet train to Beijing now!

There’s also a restaurant called Bao Bao Ding just near our apartment and they sell really great roast pork and duck with rice. It’s not hard to find and I’ve never found it to be anything other than delicious! James also swears by the spicy duck neck snacks that you can get here but I think they’re still too spicy for me!

BBQ 烧烤

One of the first restaurants that James and I went to near our new apartment was a BBQ joint just across the street and I fell in love with this area! I’m a big kid and I just love getting involved in cooking the food myself so I really enjoy going for BBQ here. You’re supposed to dip the cooked meat in chopped peanuts and spices when you’ve cooked it on the grill and it’s so good. Unfortunately, I went to a different BBQ joint in the city and ended up getting food poisoning (I don’t think that I cooked the chicken enough) and so I’ve got off BBQ for the moment but I’m sure I’ll be able to get back on it!

Sweet water noodles 甜水面

I love these noodles so much - they’re always the star of the show. Most famously, you can get them from the Wenshu temple area where there are plenty of vendors selling this street-side snack. They’re quite different to the other noodles in this list because they’re made using a much thicker, square-cut noodle and are served in a sweet-and-spicy sauce. They're served cold and are very chewy with a rough surface to help them grab every bit of the sugary sauce that they're served in. I really love both the chunky look of these noodles and their mouthfeel and I think they’re always going to be something that distinctively reminds me of our wonderful times in Chengdu.

Pastries 蛋糕

Although I do miss a good Greggs sausage roll - Chinese pastries really are off the hook. We live by a bakery called Holiland which opened in the mid 90’s and became the biggest chain bakery in China. I think that’s fantastic news because we won’t have to go without our Holiland fix in Shanghai! Chinese pastries and breads are typically a lot sweeter and lighter than those in the UK and always seem to be much more creative in their presentation - maybe it’s just because they’re new to me but I really find them to be so beautiful. Some of my favourite pastries here are the hotdog pastries (literally just a hotdog in sweet bread) and the half baked cheese (which is sort of like a cheesecake with no base). It’s a very dangerous shop!

Bubble tea 珍珠奶茶

I really love just how readily available bubble tea is everywhere you go here. Every famous western fast food company that’s come over to China has their own bubble tea (McDonalds is the best one) and there are so many other chains (like HeyTeaGo and Fresh One More Time) which sell some really amazing teas. It’s really going to be one of the things I miss the most when we do eventually move back to the UK. One of the best teas you can get is a watermelon tea with a cheese foam topping. There’s a lot of cheese flavoured things here (like cheese flavoured yoghurt) which I’m really into. It’s not so much a hard cheddar cheese and is more like a cream cheese/mascarpone flavouring (if that). I’m really obsessed.

Vegetarian food at temples

I really like visiting temples. I think they’re such beautiful places that offer a calm that you don’t seem to find in many other places in the city. They also often have vegetarian restaurants nearby and the food is super tasty and affordable. When we went to visit the Leshan Buddha with my parents, we went to a restaurant near the temple there and had a lovely meal overlooking the square. I’m just really into these vegetarian restaurants and love what they’re about.

Cake at the kindergarten

We always bake a cake with the little ones whenever its one of their birthdays at the kindergarten. There’s a great mini kitchen downstairs and they’re so precious in the tiny chefs hats and aprons. The cake itself isn’t the most delicious cake I’ve ever had because we don’t put any sugar in it, so it’s more like a bread with fruit on top, but it’s so much fun to share it with so many excited four year olds. It’s great for them to get to bake the cake and then eat it together. I love birthdays at the kindergarten.

Street food 路边小吃

The best part of living in China is the abundance of street food. There have been so many new things I’ve had the opportunity to try from vendors in the road. It also keeps our cost of living down because they’re never that expensive and can be quite filling! I love just picking up some noodles when I’m out and about, or grabbing some Guo Kui 锅魁 (deep fried meat pie) which tastes a little bit like a sausage roll with lots of Szechuan spices.

Liang Gao (Glutinous Rice Curd) 凉糕

Liang gao is a sweet summer dessert which roughly means 'cold cake' (although it's more like cold tofu thing). It's served with sweet molasses and has a texture like jelly pudding but is just mildly sweet without the sauce. I first had it at the noodle shop near our first apartment and it was a great accompaniment to our noodle feast that we had!

Variety of crisps

China has some really out there crisp flavours. I’m not sure if they’re just novelty or if people really like them but I guess they wouldn’t sell if people weren’t buying them! The most interesting flavours I’ve seen have been lychee sparkling drink flavour and yoghurt drink flavour. Some of the flavours like spicy crab and hotpot flavour are really good but I think I’ll be avoiding the yoghurt for a while longer!

Sugar people 糖人

Sugar people is a form of traditional Chinese folk art using hot liquid sugar to create beautiful shapes and animals. This isn’t really something that is particularly delicious to eat - just because it’s made purely of hardened sugar but it really is beautiful. The reason I love it so much is because I think it’s such an amazing art form and it’s handmade and blown in front of you. I really enjoyed this pig candy because I got to blow it up myself (which a lot of help from the vendor). It’s kind of like glass blowing but you get to eat the finished product (highly recommend not doing this with actual glass).

[johaerys-writes]

Day 12: Watching the Sunset

For day 12 of @scharoux‘s @14daysofdalovers, featuring my OC Tristan Trevelyan and Dorian Pavus! From the as-yet-untitled Modern AU @oftachancer and I have been working on :)

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The cold southern wind whistled through the narrow cobblestone streets, bringing with it smells of burning wood, damp pavement and fresh salt spray, mingled with Antivan spices from the many restaurants along the road. Dorian wrapped his coat tighter around him, shivering. He had been in Ostwick for months, and he had gotten somewhat used to the random bouts of rain, followed by bright sunlight, which was in turn followed by more drizzle. That drizzle was the worst; that slow, steady spattering, too light for an umbrella to make a difference, but that still managed to dampen his coat and the top of his head. It could go on for days- days that seemed grey and miserable and never ending, days that Dorian had become accustomed to. What he never thought he could get accustomed to was that wind. The wind that seemed to come from everywhere all at once, swirling about him, making the leaves and scattered papers on the street whirl in lazy, unfocused patterns. It froze him to the core, and made his eyes water and his lips crack, and disheveled his carefully combed waves. It irritated him to no end. How those dratted Ostwickers never seemed to mind that awful weather, and would walk about in the middle of winter with T-shirts and thin sweaters while he had to bundle up in layers and scarves was beyond him. Southerners. A bizarre lot. 

He muttered curses under his breath as he made his way to his flat, swerving past the throngs of people and laughing students. That part of the city was the busiest that time of day - the old Merchant district, that was now filled with bars and coffee shops and small restaurants, the scent of ale wafting from half open doors. Marcher ales were decent, if one liked that sort of thing. Dorian himself prefered wine, red and deliciously dry, for which the Free Marches were hardly renowned. Even so, the selection of Antivan and Orlesian wines was astounding, even in the tiniest bars. The Marchers were an odd assortment of people, that was certain, yet they seemed to know their liquor as well as any Tevinter. In that respect, Dorian had grown quite fond of the place. He wondered what else he might grow fond of, with time.

Muffled conversations and drifted from the bars and shops he passed by, and Dorian found his steps had slowed down as he glanced at the people gathered inside, chattering and laughing. He managed to spot a few familiar faces - students that showed up pale and weary at his morning lectures, dark circles under their eyes and steaming cups of strong coffee in their hands, yet were now rosy cheeked and merry under the influence of whatever brew they were sipping from tall glasses. His gaze swept over them all, never lingering on any particular one, when his steps suddenly stopped short before a small and rather dim bar, simply decorated and its chairs carefully arranged in a semi circle. The reflection on the glass window made it hard to make out details, but Dorian would recognise that hair anywhere. Light blonde, the highlights in it so pale they almost looked white, falling in soft waves around a high forehead and a sharp jaw. A strong nose, a stubborn chin, a small line in between brows furrowed in a focused frown. The soft curve of that bottom lip, curling downward, interrupted by the bite of white teeth, glistening as a rosy tongue was swept over it soon after. Glistening.

Dorian blinked, leaning forward to peer inside the bar. Yes, it was definitely him. Tristan Trevelyan. He hadn’t seen him in quite a while - not since Professor Walker had returned to the University, resuming the teaching of the Rune crafting course. Dorian didn’t miss much about teaching that course. Its preparation took up way too much of his time, time he needed for his own research, yet there was one thing in particular that he now realised he had missed. His TA meetings with the young Trevelyan had been entertaining, in a way that Dorian had never quite anticipated. Quiet and reserved most of the time, with a reticent gaze that always lit up when they talked about all the different elements of runes and their composition. Conversations about rune crafting could soon derail into deep discussions about history and philosophy, until they somehow found themselves talking about Rivain coffee and all the different reasons why it was preferable to Nevarran tea. Dorian had learned that Tristan was fond of pastries and gin, often in unusual combinations, that he disliked early mornings, that he abhorred scratchy sweaters, that he would much rather spend his summers by the beach than in the mountains. He seemed approachable, tangible, tactile, yet still so out of reach and understanding that Dorian’s thoughts couldn’t help but stretch towards him, almost obsessively. 

Without quite realising it, he pushed the door open, walking into the small bar. It hardly looked like a bar; there was no music playing from loud speakers, no overpowering smell of beer and whisky wafting off the tables. In the center of the semi circle was a small make-shift podium, where a young man was sitting on a dingy wooden chair, a book open in his hand. 

“...What is the true nature of the poet? What is the proper role of the poet in society? Is the artist a medium through which universal truths are expressed, or is art forged in the depths of the artist’s psyche, corrupted by flawed world-views and personal biases? What is the function of imagination and inspiration? Polmear begins by declaring that a poet has no self or identity. A poet, like a chameleon, absorbs the colorations of the outside world, becoming one with the things seen, heard, and touched. Poets should free themselves of their own limited experiences of the world…”

Dorian approached silently, taking a seat at the very last row, close to the door. There were only five or six people. Tristan was by himself, so far as Dorian could see, nodding absently as he listened to the man on the podium. When the man was finished, a woman was invited to the podium, her hair in a messy bun on top of her head, her eyes obscured by the thick rim of her glasses. 

"How many bards gild the lapses of time! A few of them have ever been the food of my delighted fancy,—I could brood, over their beauties, earthly, or sublime: And often, when I sit me down to rhyme, these will in throngs before my mind intrude…”[1]

Others followed after her, each one with a careful selection of poems. Some of them were quite enjoyable, that even Dorian could admit, others just sounded like pompous fluff to his ears. Soon he found his mind drifting, choosing to study the young Trevelyan instead. He hadn’t noticed him, his expression dreamy as he listened, gently nodding when one by one the poems finished. 

It seemed like an eternity later that the young man from before came to the podium. “Would anyone else like to read a poem before we finish for tonight?”

“I would.”

To Dorian’s surprise, Tristan rose from his seat. He shifted awkwardly on his feet for a breath, then made his way to the center of the semi circle. He sat at the edge of the chair, clearing his throat. Long fingers brushed over the outside of a small pocket book, its yellow pages contrasting the paleness of his skin. 

“We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon; How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver, streaking the darkness radiantly—yet soon, night closes round, and they are lost for ever: or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings give various response to each varying blast, to whose frail frame no second motion brings one mood or modulation like the last. We rest.—A dream has power to poison sleep; We rise.—One wandering thought pollutes the day; We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep; Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away: It is the same!—For, be it joy or sorrow, the path of its departure still is free: Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow; Nought may endure but Mutability.”[2]

Dorian’s skin prickled as he listened to his voice, smooth and slightly nasal, the soft timbre as it deepened, his tongue delicately rolling over the vowels and the consonants. Dorian was never one for poetry, but at that moment he would gladly listen to every poem in that book of his and more, if it simply meant listening to him. 

He was startled out of his thoughts by the quiet applause that echoed across the room as the poem drew to a close, and Tristan lifted his eyes, gaze sweeping over the faces there. And saw Dorian’s. And blushed. Dorian blinked a couple times, just to make certain, yet there it was. A rosy glow, climbing from his neck to his cheeks up to his ear, behind which a pale blonde lock rested. Tristan blinked back at him, his lips twitching in something that looked like smile -was it a smile?-, then he stood up, returning to his seat without ceremony. The poetry reading was concluded not long after, and Dorian found himself standing by the door, trying to suppress the flutter in his stomach as he watched Tristan sling his backpack over his shoulder and approach him. But why in the void would he be feeling fluttery? This was just foolish. Juvenile and foolish. 

“Of all the places I expected to see you, this must have been the very last,” Dorian said with a bright smile in the best imitation of a teasing tone he could muster. 

Tristan’s smile was reserved when he came to stand before him. “Likewise.” He glanced behind his shoulder at the people leaving the cafe. “You came with someone?” 

“No. I was just passing by and decided to drop in. It looked like an intriguing little assemblage. I couldn’t well resist.”

His eyes flashed with interest as he pushed the door open, gesturing for him to walk out first. “Are you a fan of poetry, then?”

Dorian licked his lips, stepping out into the chilly evening. He gave him a quick nod, and instantly regretted it when the fellow turned to look at him in awe. “Evidently, not as big a fan as you are,” he said quickly. “Although, I have to say, this was a very interesting reading. Which poet was it you were discussing, again?”

“It wasn’t a single poet,” Tristan said simply. “It was a feature on Blessed Age Free Marcher naturalist poets.”

“Ah.” Dorian shoved his hands into his pockets, looking ahead. “I lean more towards Tevinter poetry myself.”

Tristan hummed softly at the back of his throat, his steps falling alongside his. “Don’t ask, we may not know what the gods plan for you and me. Be wise, strain clear the wine and prune the rambling vine of expectation. Life’s short. Even while we talk, Time, hateful, runs a mile. Don’t trust tomorrow’s bough for fruit. Pluck this, here, now.”[3]

Dorian blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Tristan blinked back at him, then frowned. “‘Carpe diem’. It’s one of the most well-known Tevinter poems here. I’m afraid I only know the modern translation. Did I say something wrong?” He stopped, searching Dorian’s face. Then, a small smirk curled the edges of his lips. The audacity. “You’re not a fan of poetry, are you?”

“Very well, you’ve rooted me out,” Dorian said with a soft sigh. “Poetry has never held too much interest for me, I’m afraid. Although I do see the appeal.”

Tristan’s smile widened just a hair before melting away, the tiny dimple at the corner of his mouth deepening for a blink of an eye. He walked on, his strides steady and confident, the wind blowing through his hair.  A faint scent of lavender and citrus flowers and… and something else that Dorian couldn’t put his finger on drifted towards him. He quickened his pace, catching up to him.  

“So,” he said decisively, “how are your runes?”

“They’re well. Multiplying, actually.”

Dorian huffed in amusement. “Enjoying Professor Walker’s lectures, I take it?”

Tristan shrugged. “They’re alright. She is quite knowledgeable. Although I prefer your methods.”

Dorian could have sworn his heart skipped a beat. So he prefered his methods, did he? Why did that make Dorian feel giddy like a besotted schoolgirl? And why did he suddenly feel the burning need to show him the full range of his methods, preferably while slowly peeling that snug dark blue coat off him, then that fitted black sweater that hugged the muscles of his arms, then those jeans that... 

He gave a minute shake of his head, swallowing thickly as he smiled. “I’m pleased to hear you found my method of teaching appealing, but I have you to thank for that. The lectures would have been significantly duller without your assistance.”

Tristan chuckled under his breath, that rosy blush returning to his cheeks. Or was it from the cold wind? “I doubt that. You have a way of captivating your audience.”

There it was again. That awkward little hop-scotch in his chest. “You flatter me,” he said, hoping his voice betrayed none of his emotions. 

“I’m not. I’m only stating the obvious.” 

His expression was serious, his tone as matter-of-fact as Dorian had ever heard it. “I see. Well, in any case, thank you for thinking so highly of me.”

Tristan shot him a sideways glance as he walked on, taking a step to the side to let a merry company pass them by. When they found themselves side to side again, his bottom lip was flushed, as if he had been biting it. “You’ve taught many classes before? In Tevinter?”

The mention of his country made Dorian bristle. He straightened, head held high as he walked. “I have. Quite a few different ones, in fact. I finished my doctoral thesis in only three years in Minrathous, but I assisted my mentors with many of their courses during that time.”

“Three years? That’s… bloody hell. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone finishing their PhD in less than four.” His gaze was thoughtful when it landed on Dorian. “How are you finding things here? Is Ostwick up to par?”

Dorian scoffed. “Up to par? Hardly. But I’d give them an A for effort. Or a B.” He paused for a moment, pretending to think. “An A minus?”

Tristan huffed a laugh. “Let’s settle for a B plus. That sounds fair.” Their shoulders brushed as the pavement narrowed, leading them down a small lane squeezed between two stone brick buildings. The sharp gust that blew through it smelt of sea spray and seaweed, and only then did Dorian realise that they had been walking towards the shorefront all that while. He had been so absorbed by the company of the man beside him that he hadn’t even taken a moment to think about where they were going. 

Dark grey blue waves frothed and crashed against the rocky shore as they stepped upon the wide promenade. Seagulls squawked and crooned above them, gliding with the gales to perch themselves atop the old carved railing. The sun was nearing the edge of the horizon, painting the heavy clouds in shades of gold and orange and violet. Dorian followed Tristan as he walked up to the railing, his coat stretching across his shoulders when he rested his elbows on the cold marble.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. The wind swirled about them, thick and sticky with salt, while Dorian gazed out at the stormy sea, the side of his hip touching the railing. The way Tristan seemed so focused on watching the sea stretch before them, it seemed to Dorian that he had entirely forgotten his presence. 

“Do you miss Minrathous?”

Tristan’s voice drifted along a sharp gust, mingled with the susurrus of waves, was almost drowned out by the gull’s insistent squawking, yet Dorian heard it clearly. It was the last question that Dorian had expected him to ask, even though his time with the man had shown him that nothing about him was as it seemed. The question itself was simple. The implications behind it immense. Dorian wondered whether Tristan realised that. 

He always despised that moment, the dratted moment when the matter of his heritage came up. It always did, sooner or later, no matter who he was talking to. To the people around him he must have looked odd, unusual, outlandish even. It wasn’t like he could do anything to hide it, even if he had wanted to. The Imperium had been a looming threat on the whole of Thedas for centuries, and the tales that had been woven through the people’s consciousness were of charlatanism and blind fanaticism at best, horror and despair at worst. No one was bold enough to say anything to his face, of course, but Dorian could see their reservations plainly. He could see it in their wide, friendly smiles that quivered when they were finally able to place his accent, or after he had helpfully informed them where he had learned all the “fascinating things he knew”. He could sense it in the awkwardness that followed, thick enough to be sliced through with a knife. A comment would usually ensue, something about the weather in Tevinter, where it was summer all year round, apparently, or the fine wines that surpassed Antivans in quality and lay far beyond what their meagre salaries could stretch to. Idle statements, irrelevant, inconsequential, aimed at steering the conversation carefully around the elephant in the room rather than crashing head first into it, hastily changing the subject to something else. Something safer. More acceptable. As if the very fact that he came from Tevinter was a frightful affliction, and any mention of it had to be avoided at all costs. 

Dorian held his gaze on the crashing waves and the jagged rocks below them. “Occasionally,” he replied slowly. Cautiously. He stole a sidelong glance at Tristan, waiting. Another long stretch of minutes passed before the man spoke again.

“I’ve heard it’s a wondrous place. I always longed to see it.” He paused for moment, worrying the inside of his lip. “What is it like?”

Dorian’s ears pricked up, searching for the sarcasm, the apprehension, the hidden trap. There was nothing there. It was a simple, straightforward, guileless question. He took a deep breath. “It is indeed beautiful. It is unlike any other city I’ve ever visited.”

“How so?” Tristan turned to look at him, dark blue eyes glinting with interest. Once again, not a hint of mockery in them. What an odd fellow.

“The city inner is made almost entirely of white marble,” Dorian began, forgetting his hesitancy for a moment. “The marble spires of Minrathous were once the tallest buildings in Thedas. An architectural marvel. They’re still there, most of them. There are covered walkways all throughout the center, and entire markets held in loggias. There are hidden gardens everywhere, too, carefully tucked away. One moment you could be making your way through a crowded street, and the next you could turn a corner and find yourself in an oasis, with trees and fragrant rose bushes and fountains. And the bazaars…” He paused for a moment, not quite able to stop the fond smile that widened his lips. “The bazaars of Minrathous are the finest in Thedas. Of that I can assure you. There isn’t a thing you could possibly covet that you wouldn’t be able to find there. The gemstones, the exotic foods, the trinkets, the fabrics…” Dorian let out a soft sigh. “I could go on.”

“Please do.”

Tristan had straightened and was now facing him, his eyes wide with wonder, hanging from his every word. Dorian blinked, taken aback for a moment. He didn’t quite know what he had expected when he started talking, yet it certainly wasn’t it. He had been fairly certain that the younger man had only asked about his homeland out of courtesy, that he probably didn’t care a fig, yet here he was. Reciting Tevinter poetry, listening intently while Dorian spoke, eagerly awaiting more. Who was he, then? Where had he come from?

Dorian looked away, a breathless laugh escaping him. “Perhaps I should show you some pictures. I doubt anything I could say would do it justice.”

A smile, warm and slow spreading, blossomed on Tristan’s face. “I’d love that.” 

Dorian looked at him then, at the strands of flaxen hair carried by the salty breeze, catching in his eyelashes and his lips. Dorian returned his smile with one of his own, following Tristan’s gaze when it left him to focus on the setting sun, and its golden hues that fell upon the thrashing, violet waves. In the day’s waning light, Dorian could have sworn that his eyes had changed their colour to match that of the stormy sea below them.

“The sky puts on the darkening blue coat, held for it by a row of ancient trees; you watch: and the lands grow distant in your sight, one journeying to heaven, one that falls; and leave you, not at home in either one, not quite so still and dark as the darkened houses, not calling to eternity with the passion of what becomes, a star each night, and rises; and leave you (inexpressibly to unravel) your life, with its immensity and fear, so that, now bounded, now immeasurable, it is alternately stone in you and star.”[4]

The words were carried by the wind, whirled in lazily circles about him, cradling him, enveloping him. The promenade was now empty save for the wandering seabirds, and it felt to him like they were both standing at the edge of the world; two people connected by a deep longing for the unknown, and companionable silence. 

Dorian cleared his throat, swallowing through the knot that had found itself there. “Your ability to recite entire poems off the top of your head is truly astounding.”

 Tristan hummed in amusement, and the flush that crept up his cheeks was definitely not because of the wind this time.  

*****

 [1] How many bards gild the the lapses of time! - John Keats

[2] Mutability - Percy Bysshe Shelley

[3] Carpe Diem - Horace, translated by James Michie

[4] Evening - Rainer Maria Rilke

[eldritchsurveys]

363.

Are you currently learning from anyone how to play any instruments? >> No. Are you one of those people who always tend to think critically in issues? >> I’d say so. Mainly because I don’t have any emotional attachments to any of them, so if I’m going to form any sort of opinion, it’d have to be based upon as many facts as I can collate. Do you know anyone who is overly flirty with people? Girl or a boy? >> I don’t know anyone who’s even regular-flirty with people. It seems like far too many people I meet are just... some level of self-deprecating and socially maladjusted and therefore disinclined to do anything like flirt. When was the last time you had any kind of pork? What kind was it? >> I don’t remember, maybe a steamed bun. Are you someone who normally eats a full breakfast every single morning? >> No, I eat when I’m hungry, and that means I don’t necessarily eat specific sized portions at specific times.

Do you believe vampires are real? Not the stereotypical Twilight kind. >> I don’t believe that, no. Also... 1) nothing about Twilight’s vampires is stereotypical, which was literally the crux of a lot of people’s long-winded diatribes against the series; and 2) what difference does it make whether I’m talking about Twilight vampires or not? Either way, I’d be believing in a mythological creature, so I feel like the end answer would be the same. All this self-conscious virtue-signalling about Twilight is annoying. Is there anyone out there who can give you butterflies in your stomach? >> No. Are you someone who has to hide the things you like around friends? >> I don’t hide the things I like around anyone unless it’s a strategic obfuscation. Have you ever been to a porn website? Were you addicted to it afterword? >> Yeah, I’ve been to porn websites. There’s nothing about porn that would get me addicted to it. What is the most disgusting thing you think the opposite sex can do? >> --- Would you rather be able to teleport or freeze time? Which one seems best? >> *shrug* Have you seen the movie Twister? Did the tornadoes look real to you? >> I’ve never seen it. Have you actually been through a devastating natural disaster before? >> No. I mean, I was in NYC when Hurricane Sandy hit, but it didn’t affect where I was staying. Going downtown and seeing the crazy East River flooding and the massive power outages was fun as hell, though. Never seen anything darker than a subway tunnel during a blackout. Did your mom ever fix your eggs and bacon into a smiley face as a kid? >> --- What fast food place, in your opinion, has the best french fries? >> I think McDonald’s has a decent fry, they’re usually the right level of salty. But I appreciate that Wendy’s has skin-on fries, and as long as they put the right amount of salt on them, I’ll vote for those. Do you believe one day aliens might take over the planet Earth? >> I don’t see why they’d bother, but I’m sure several science fiction tropes present reasonable hypotheses. Are you someone who always looks for sales when you go shopping somewhere? >> Not really. Are you constantly re-arranging your bedroom? Or do you not like change? >> I am fine with change. I don’t rearrange my bedroom because there’s really only one logical configuration to use considering the size and shape of this room and its furniture. Who would you consider the best teen actor or actress out there now? >> *shrug* When did you last cuddle up next to someone and watch a movie? >> Inworlders aside, I don’t do that. Where would people most likely find you out on the weekends? >> Nowhere specific. Do you like the school you attend or is it just pretty bland to you? >> --- Do you remember when they used to actually throw candy out at parades? >> I’ve been to a couple of parades like that. Also, New Orleans parades always have throws of some sort, it’s part of the whole thing. What is your favorite childhood memory? Who did you share this with? >> I don’t have one. Are there any windows open in your house right now? Which ones, if so? >> Yeah, my bedroom window and probably Sparrow’s. Also, the balcony door. Is it currently your favorite season? If not what is your favorite? >> No, Spring is my favourite. Do you like soda pop? If so, which is your favorite and least favorite? >> No. Does it bother you when people burp around you or do you do it too? >> I burp quietly in public and I prefer it when other people do, too. Do you have any siblings you’re embarrassed about being related to? >> --- What is one thing you’ve never understood throughout your life? >> --- When you see an old person do you think ‘sweet’ or ‘creepy?’ >> I don’t have any opinion on an old person just because they’re old. What is it that makes old women want so many cats in their life? >> I don’t know, that’s never interested me enough to find out. What is one kind of music you’d do anything to not listen to in the car? >> Polka. When was the last time you babysat, if ever? Did anything bad happen? >> I’ve never babysat. How many times a day do you wash your face? Do you wash it really good? >> Once a day, provided I remember to do it. Would you consider yourself to have a boring life or a really exciting one? >> I consider myself to have a satisfying life. Do you ever talk to people you met online through webcam? Or is that weird? >> No. It’s not weird, I’m just not interested in it. Who was the last person you kissed and why did you kiss this person? >> King Crimson, because I wanted to. How many fish have you owned in your lifetime, so far? Did they all die? >> Zero. When do you think it’s the right age to pass away? >> LOL what. If you were to get drunk right now, how would you most likely act? >> By the time I reach “drunk” status, I’m ready to take a nap. So I’d probably just lay down and watch Netflix. Are you going to post this on a social networking site after you take it? >> Nope. No one will ever see this. Is there something people in general do that bothers you a lot? >> Virtue-signal. Has anything supernatural ever happened to you? What were these events? >> Maybe. How many concerts have you seen so far in life? Were they good ones? >> At least a couple dozen, but that’s definitely a lowball guess. Most of them were quite satisfying. Do you like doing anything your friends wouldn’t expect you to do? >> *shrug* Can you sing very well or are you considerably tone deaf? >> I can sing reasonably well, but my skill level has dropped because of lack of practice (as it would). When did you last make a survey? How many people took it so far? >> --- Would you ever consider becoming a scientist? Why would you or why not? >> No. I have no interest in being a formal scientist. Where is your favorite place to go when you’re feeling sad and alone? >> I just prefer to be in my room where I can deal with my own shit and not have to deal with anyone else’s (or deal with their reaction to my shit). Have you ever had to call poison control while you were babysitting? >> --- Do you ever look back on the past years and wish you could go back? >> No fucking way. When is the next time you’ll talk to the cousin you’re closest to? >> --- Does it bother you when people constantly sign in on MSN? Or not so much? >> --- When was the last time you saw a bird? What kind of bird was this? >> I don’t remember. Have you ever seen someone getting beat up by lots of people at one time? >> No. Are you really into vintage things? Have you ever been into that stuff? >> No. When was the last time you bought new sheets for your bed? >> A few months ago.