#it's like shrimp colours only nose version!

[mnemememory]

i’m going to need you to go to hell

critical role cutthroat kitchen au

“In this case, I have $150,000 of cold, hard cash. Six chefs get $25,000 each. If they want to leave this kitchen with any money, they have to survive three of my culinary challenges. And each other.” A small smile plays over Jester’s face as she stares down the camera. “In this game, sabotage isn’t only encouraged – it’s for sale.”

Jester always loves this part. With a dramatic flourish of her hand, the curtains behind her open to reveal her next round of victims. Participants. Whatever.

“Welcome – to Cutthroat Kitchen.”

.

“Ah, hi. My name is Yasha. I like cooking.”

There’s a pause as the cameraman waits for her to continue. Yasha continues to stare blankly at the camera, face indifferent.

The cameraman clears his throat. “What sort of cooking do you prefer?”

“Oh, you know,” Yasha says. She doesn’t elaborate.

.

Jester stands to the side of her table, arms crossed.

In front of her are five people – chefs, supposedly. Jester hadn’t looked too hard at their credentials. After all, just because they could sauté a shrimp didn’t mean they could do it in handcuffs. Being a bad cook was more entertaining for their program’s target audience, not less.

No, Jester had specifically chosen these people because of how explosive this was going to be.

(Also, she had gotten them all really, really drunk).

From the back of the set, someone gives Jester the go-ahead.

She clears her throat. “Hi! Welcome everyone, hope you’re having a great day. I’m having a wonderful day. I guess we should get started with the rules – now I know you all had to tick a box saying that you’d read and understood the terms and conditions outlined in your contract, but no one actually reads those. Firstly – I am Jester Lavorre! Otherwise known as the really famous Lady Fancypants McGee!”

She pauses. There’s a confused pause, and then everyone gives some mumbled version of “Hi, Jester.”

“Now, you five will be enduring – I’m sorry, participating in three rounds of cooking! I’m going to be assigning the dish. You have sixty seconds to shop for your essential ingredients in our Cutthroat Kitchen pantry. After that – well.”

Jester smiles at them. It is not a nice smile.

“We’re going to have an auction.”

.

“I’m Beauregard Lionett,” Beau says, sprawled out over the provided chair. Her foot is hooked around the side and digging slightly into the sheet background. “And I’m going to win Cutthroat Kitchen. I spent years training under the members of the Cobalt Soul – I’ve seen things. Horrible things. I can’t be scared anymore.”

There’s a sigh. Off-camera, someone mutters almost too low for the mic to pick up: “Why do we always get the crazy ones?”

“Don’t blame me, man. Jester’s the head of scouting.”

Louder: “What’s your specialty?”

Beau tilts her head to the side, thinking about it. “Anything that’s not sweets, really.”

.

“And for our first round, you’ll all be making – cupcakes!”

Jester splays out her fingers and wriggles them around. Behind her, a curtain opens to reveal a massive platter of multi-coloured cupcakes. She grabs one and bites into it, getting frosting on her nose. When she grins, her teeth are stained blue.

“Okay, are you all ready?”

Everyone nods.

Jester moves out of the way of the pantry, leaning up against the island table. “On your marks,” she says slowly. The contestants shift their grocery baskets around in their grips. “Get set…”

She waits.

And waits.

And takes another bite out of her cupcake.

“Go!” she yells, mouth still full and spraying crumbs everywhere.

And they’re off – Beau gets there the fastest, shoving Fjord aside when he tries to duck in before her. Veth is next, hopping nimbly over Fjord’s fallen form and dashing inside. Fjord scrambles to his feet and starts shoving as much food into his basket as he can, elbowing Beau when she goes for more icing sugar. Caleb ducks the flying limbs and goes to grab the chilli powder. Yasha stands at her table, looking horribly lost.

Caduceus just walks.

“Ten,” Jester cheers. “Nine! Eight!”

Caduceus walks out, basket full, smile mild.

“Seven! Six!”

Caleb rushes away from the dangerous elbows and back to his station. His basket doesn’t look anywhere near as well-stocked at Caduceus’, but there are enough ingredients that he could theoretically make something.

“Five!”

Beau lunges past the doors and falls face-first onto the ground, basket spilling everywhere. She rolls onto her feet and makes a flying leap for the bag of self-raising flour that Caleb is bending to pick up.

“Four! Three! Two!”

Veth sprints out, tripping Fjord onto the ground.

“One!”

With a maniacal laugh, Jester slams the pantry door shut on Fjord’s face. He gives a loud groan and stares rolls over to stare up at the ceiling.

“Well, well, well,” Jester says. She’s finished her first cupcake and is onto her second one. There is now pink icing on her fingertips. “Looks like I’ve caught a fly in my web!”

Fjord gets up and resignedly holds out his basket for inspection. Jester winches the door open once more and stands in front of him, stroking a finger along a non-existent moustache.

“What are you taking from me,” he says.

“I think – hmm, it’ll be difficult to make cupcakes without milk!” Jester says, grabbing the carton and shoving it randomly onto a shelf. Fjord just shakes his head and walks away.

Jester turns around and claps her hands.

“Now for the fun part! Let’s talk sabotages.”

.

“My name is Caleb Widogast,” Caleb says, not blinking. “I am thirty-three. I was born in the Zemni Fields. I have a cat called Frumpkin –”

“Oh, um, no,” the cameraman says. “You’re introducing yourself with regards to cooking –”

“My best friend is named Veth,” Caleb says. “She is also competing. She is very good at cooking.”

“Oh boy,” the cameraman says under his breath. “Well – what about you? What do you like to cook?”

“I like to set things on fire,” Caleb says.

.

“Starting bid for the hook is…?”

“One hundred dollars,” Beau says quickly.

“Two hundred,” Veth says.

Jester grins and waves the plastic pirate hook around to each person as they bid.

“Three hundred,” Beau says.

Veth narrows her eyes. “Five hundred dollars.”

“Six hundred and fifty dollars,” Beau says, teeth clenched.

“Seven hundred dollars,” Veth says.

Jester is watching them go back and forth in delight, head bouncing around like a Ping-Pong ball. When Beau fails to respond, she starts talking.

“Okay, so – seven hundred dollars – going once – going twice – sold! To the halfling with the shiny buttons!”

Veth puffs out her chest and goes up to deposit the money into Jester’s grabby hands and collect her prize.

“They are very shiny, aren’t they?” she says. Then she takes a good look at her competitors.

Beau is scowling into her basket, annoyed at having lost. Veth feels no regrets about having spent so much money on the first item. She knows exactly who she’s giving this to.

“Captain Tusktooth,” Veth says, tipping him an imaginary captain’s hat. “I believe this belongs to you.”

Fjord jerks the hook out of her hands angrily and glares at her. Veth gives a contented sigh and goes back to her designated spot, just next to Caleb.

.

“I’m Chef Brenatto, from Felderwin,” Veth says. She’s standing on her chair rather than sitting in it, smiling wide with sharp teeth. “And these punks are going down.”

“What do you like to cook, Chef Brenatto?” the cameraman says, sounding resigned.

“Oh, everything,” Veth says. Her dress has a lot of buttons on it, sewn heavy along her skirt. “But my favourite things are rats. I’ve tried to cook my friend Caleb’s cat once or twice – he always gets away from me, the sneaky good-for-nothing – but nothing beats a good roasted rat.”

.

“Next up, we have this lovely cement mixer! If you win this bid, you can give this to whoever you like to substitute for their mixing bowl and stirring utensils. Don’t worry, it’s perfectly sanitary. Probably. In any case, I’m not the one who has to eat it, so.”

“Oh no,” Beau says, staring at it.

Jester’s smile is positively evil. “Oh, yes. Starting bids!”

“One thousand dollars!” Fjord says, eyes wide with panic.

“One thousand five hundred!” Beau says.

“One thousand six hundred,” Veth says.

Fjord turns towards them both. “I am not getting this cement mixed on top of a pirate hook. One thousand eight hundred dollars.”

Veth smiles at him daintily. “Two thousand.”

“Three thousand,” Fjord says through gritted teeth.

Veth stares at him with narrowed eyes, and then gives a huff and shrugs it off. Beau gives a wave of acceptance to Jester.

“Going once – going twice – sold! Three thousand dollars from Captain Tusktooth.”

“Do you have to call me that?” Fjord says, walking up to deposit his money. Jester just shrugs and shoves it back into her bedazzled pink briefcase.

Then he starts looking around the room for signs of weakness.

“Really,” he says out loud. “There’s only one person I can give this to.”

Veth glares at him as he wheels the cement mixer over to her. “I’ll get you for this, pretty boy.”

“I’m sure you will,” Fjord says, going back to his own station.

“Final sabotage for the round,” Jester announces, grabbing something from underneath her island and slamming it loudly onto the table. With a dramatic wave of her hand, she pulls back the cover to reveal a freezer of strawberry ice cream. “For this one, you have to substitute all the sugar in your baskets with this! Starting bids?”

“Three hundred dollars!”

.

“Hi, I’m Fjord Stone, I’m the owner of the restaurant chain Captain Tusktooth. We specialise in seafood.”

Fjord gives the camera a slightly uneasy smile. He keeps glancing around, like he’s expecting someone to jump up and scare him at any second.

The cameraman clears his throat. “Are you okay, sir?”

“What? Oh, yes, of course,” Fjord says. “I just heard that Veth – er, Chef Branatto – was also competing. I was wondering if she’s already here?”

Veth shoves aside the fabric background and jumps onto the back of Fjord’s chair, grabbing at his shoulders. “You bet I am.”

The camera cuts on Fjord’s startled scream.

.

“As you can see, halfway through and they’re doing remarkably well despite my – handicaps.” Jester snickers to herself and gestures to Fjord’s station, where he’s apparently attempting to mix the batter with his hook.

“And Veth is using that cement mixer to full advantage, managing – oh, hi, Yasha.”

Yasha sneaks up behind the camera and gives a small wave. “Jester, may I have some butter?”

“Of course,” Jester says. She goes into the pantry and comes out a few seconds later. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Yasha says, going back to her workstation. Although she hadn’t actually grabbed anything from the pantry in the initial sixty seconds, she’s managed to accumulate a veritable wealth of ingredients to the side – including, but not limited to: half of Caduceus’ eggs, some of Fjord’s icing sugar, and a tub of Beau’s ice cream.

“Where was I?” Jester says. “Oh! Yes – Veth is trying to make some very delicious-looking triple chocolate cupcakes –”

.

“Hi,” Caduceus says, waving. “I’m Caduceus Clay. You might know me from the SBS network’s show Grave Discoveries, where my family and I discuss the ups and downs of operating a small Church cemetery. Each episode, we delve into the history of Shady Creek Run and all the mysterious happenings around the area.”

“Food,” the cameraman says. He sounds utterly defeated. “Please. We are a food show.”

Caduceus looks delighted. “You are?” he says. “Jester didn’t really tell me what I was doing. This was only a social visit, you see.”

The cameraman’s forehead smack was audible even without a microphone.

.

“Alright, people – count down with me!”

Jester was jumping up and down in front of the cameras, waving her arms about wildly as she counted.

“Five!”

Caleb very calmly tried to put out the fire on his stove. Veth was right next to him, frantically trying to help. Neither of them was doing a very good job.

“Four!”

Fjord and Beau were racing to plate everything; Beau had apparently given up halfway through for the icing and was just drizzling her raw cupcake with melted ice cream. Fjord was attempting to bump her at every turn while also desperately smoothing down his own icing with his hook.

“Three!”

Yasha was sitting next to her already-plated cupcake, doodling flowers onto the plate in icing.

“Gee, that looks nice,” Caduceus says, leaning over.

Yasha turns to smile at him. “Thanks. Yours looks really good too.”

“It’s matcha.”

“Two!”

A hoard of crew members descends upon Caleb’s cooking station with fire extinguishers.

“One! Alright – time is up, challenge over, hands off the food.”

.

“Can everyone please extend the warmest welcome to your judge for today – Mollymauk Tealeaf!”

Mollymauk walks out from behind the stage, seeming undeterred at the lack of applause coming from the people lined up in front of him. In particular, Caleb and Veth look a little more charred for wear, while Beau has a split lip and Fjord is leaning precariously against the side of his table to hide his limp.

“You’re the judge?” Beau says, scowling.

“Beauregard, how lovely to see you once again. And in such pleasant circumstances, too!”

“I will punch you,” Beau says.

“Now, now, is that any way to greet an old friend? And also holder of your fate?”

Jester beams at them all. “Molly was backstage, so he doesn’t know what’s been going on.”

“I can guess,” Molly says with a careless flick of his fingers. “But I don’t really care. What’s on the menu today, Madame Lavorre?”

“Cupcakes!” Jester says. She turns around and grabs another one of her pre-prepared snacks to wave around Molly’s face.

“Excellent,” Mollymauk says. “Now, I’ve been told I only care about three things – does it look good, does it taste good, and is it actually a cupcake?”

Fjord and Beau exchange uneasy glances, and then seem to realise what they’re doing and look away.

.

“Hi, Molly,” Yasha says.

“Hello, Yasha. That’s some lovely artwork you have there.”

“Thanks.”

Molly picks up the cupcake and takes a bite. He tilts his head to the side, and then smiles.

“Ooh, strawberry. Very nice.”

“Mhm.”

.

Molly moves on.

“Cousin,” Caduceus says in greeting.

“Cousin,” Molly says. He picks up the cupcake. “Matcha! My favourite.”

“I know.”

Jester frowns at him. “No one was supposed to know who the judge was. Did you tell him, Molly?”

“No,” Molly says, crumbs flying out of his mouth.

“How did you know?” Jester demands, standing up onto her tiptoes to glare at him.

Caduceus just smiles.

.

“I’m not eating that,” Molly says, staring at the charred lump of coal settled innocuously in the middle of the white plate. Pieces of ash had started flaking off and were staining the sides.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Caleb says.

.

“Chef Brenatto,” Molly says, all teeth.

“Mollymauk Tealeaf,” Veth says, smile just as wide.

“I haven’t seen you since – when was it, again?”

“The hospital,” Veth says. “Scrambled eggs.”

“Ah, yes. Now, tell me about this – interpretation of yours.”

“It’s still technically a cake,” Veth says.

“Hmm.”

“It’s just a…pan…cake.”

“I see.”

.

“Beauregard! Such a wonderful surprise.”

“Fuck off,” Beau says, arms folded across her chest defensively.

“And what’s this…delightful creation of yours?”

“It’s a cupcake.”

Molly eyes the sludgy mess dubiously. “Are you sure?”

“Look, are you going to eat it or not?”

Molly picks it up and holds it to the light. It slides out of his fingers and lands back onto the plate with a squelch.

Beau glares at him. “You did that on purpose.”

“I did not –”

.

“Captain Tusktooth,” Molly says.

Fjord just glares at him, head held high. Then his shoulders slump and he gives a defeated wave across his monstrosity.

“Really? You have to call me that too?”

“Oh, but of course,” Molly says. He squints down at the cupcake and then reaches out to poke it. “I think this is more icing than cake.”

“Just how I like it,” Jester pipes up.

Fjord spares a brief second to smile fondly at her. He turns his attention back to Molly, who still hasn’t taken a bite.

“I don’t know how to pick this up without getting icing everywhere,” Molly says after a while. He tries to pinch at the top, but his fingers just slide right through.

“Hey, don’t ruin it!” Fjord protests.

Molly shrugs, using his fingers to scrape off most of the excess icing, and then pops the little circle of cake left remaining into his mouth. He chews thoughtfully for a few seconds, face serious.

Then he turns away.

“Excuse me,” Fjord says, outraged. “That’s all you have to say?”

Molly gives a careless wave of his hand and keeps walking.

.

“Caleb, you’re disqualified.”

“Yeah, okay,” Caleb says. He just looks tired. It takes him less than thirty seconds to stuff the money back into Jester’s hands and then run off to the side of the set.

“Don’t forget, we’re all still going out after this,” Jester calls after him. She waits a few seconds to see if he responds, and then gives an “eh” and turns back to Molly.

“And the other person leaving today is –” he pauses, grin wide.

Jester takes another bite of her cupcake.

“– Captain Tusktooth.”

“This is bullshit!” Beau bursts out loudly. “Just because you don’t like me – wait, I’m not being kicked out?”

“Thanks, Beau,” Fjord says sourly.

Beau looks slightly dazed. “I’m still competing?”

“I can kick you out if you really want me to,” Molly offers.

“No, no, that wasn’t what I –”

“See you for the afterparty, Jess,” Fjord says with a sigh.

Jester just grins at him, reaching over to swipe a speck of icing off his cheek. She watches him walk away fondly, and then pats Molly on the head and pushes him backstage.

“Congratulations on surviving the first round! Round two is just as much fun – I hope everyone likes ice cream!”

.

[lemontrash]

Epithets; the Pros and Pitfalls

Ok gang, so recently the topic of epithets in fanfic has come up and this is a topic I have been thinking about a LOT for A LONG TIME so I figured maybe now is the time to share my thoughts on phrases like ‘the braided baka’ and ‘the ebony-eyed Chinese pilot’ and what some of the pitfalls are in using epithets to enrich your writing. 

NOTE: I am not slamming the use of epithets! I am not coming into your fic from 25 years ago saying ‘shame!’. I am only maintaining that these are tricky to get right, and to raise awareness of how epithets can be a really useful, powerful tool of description but also a double-edged blade. 

What is an Epithet Anyway?

An epithet is a word or phrase applied to a person or thing to describe an actual or attributed quality, in addition to or instead of their name, and which are used to identify. 

On one side of tradition, they are poetic. Homer, writer of the Odyssey, was a big fan of these. ‘The wine dark sea’, ‘rosy fingered Dawn’, and ‘Nausicaa of the long white arms’ are some of his most famous, never mind ‘Apollo, destroyer of mice!’. In his works they were generally descriptive, or talked directly to the schemata (the perceptions and understanding) of his audience. 

Everyone knows Achaeans are super hairy, right? You know that. 

On another side of tradition, they are identifiers. If you have a populace named virtually nothing but John, Richard and Henry and you’re not used to using family names, then calling this John ‘Long John’ and that John ‘Little John’ helps direct attention to the right person. Or to acknowledge their good or bad deeds/attributes (Peter the Brave vs Stinky Pete, for example) or their lineage (Aragorn son of Arathorn/ John of Gaunt). They can be used for comedic purposes as a device to make purposefully similar characters more amusing (Wee Jock, Big Jock and Smaller-than-Big-Jock-but-Bigger-than-Wee-Jock Jock all agreed to steal the sheep. The Pirate with the Peg Leg and the Pirate with the Clothes Peg boarded the ship.)

But notice that many of these epithets still use people’s names or are direct substitutions for when a name isn’t known. And they are largely subjective - epithets carry not only description but opinion - the opinion of society at large or the opinion of the individual speaker - and pinpoint value - what it IS about this person we should pay attention to. 

And that means epithets can be used to praise, (Richard the Lionheart), to criticise (Bad King John), and to stereotype (those hairy Achaeans). 

Oh and these are just epithets used for people. Epithets come in other forms, for example:

“The earth is crying-sweet, And scattering-bright the air, Eddying, dizzying, closing round, With soft and drunken laughter…”

The highlighted parts of Beauty and Beauty by Rupert Brooke are also epithets. But i’m going to focus on those used to describe people in this discussion.

In short, epithets always carry meaning in two ways - they focus on what the user feels is perceptively important about the subject of the epithet, and as a result, when we look through the lens of an epithet, our view of a character narrows.  

Why are they Great? 

Because they’re poetic by nature; they add interest and often eloquence. And because they tell us so much about the point of view of the user. They can add new facets to characters and give writers a secondary means of identifying characters to reduce name fatigue, or differentiate between otherwise similar characters. They can be comedic or evocative. They can show the changeability of characters as they develop or when circumstances change. Clever Odysseus, Lord of Men can become Pitiable Odysseus, hated by the sea.  

But because they are poetic, because they carry opinion and because they are inherently narrow in their focus, there’s a whole bunch of pitfalls to be aware of when using epithets. Getting this wrong, well, maybe you just make your story harder to follow. Get it very wrong, and at worst you could genuinely offend someone. 

What’s the Problem with Poetry?

The first basic issue you may encounter is that your epithets are too vague or are being overused.

‘My better half’ is an epithet. But if he (she? they?) has not been introduced in any capacity and you also alternate referring to him (her? them?) as ‘the hardened police officer’ and ‘the sloe-eyed beauty’ I might be forgiven for losing track of how many people are in the scene, how they’re related and how I should be thinking of them. Especially early in a story where i’m still getting up to speed with the setting. Here your epithets are muddying the story and it’s a situation where you should be using names. Even for fanfic where we’re assuming that the characters are familiar to everyone, you should be clearly introducing your version of the characters, because generally readers like to know they’re on the same page from the start rather than get thrown for a loop later on. And also you can’t be sure what your reader is thinking, so tell them. 

Don’t forget that a NAME captures the whole of a person. Epithets only capture a slice.

You may also make your epithets too purple. ‘The azure-orbed golden-haired CEO’ is a mouthful, and may be adding detail that is irrelevant to the scene; imaging encountering that in a scene where Quatre is busy slashing through Leos in a desert battle. Who is stopping to think about that? Why does it deserve a spotlight right here, right now?

The other type of overuse is to pick one epithet that is your favourite and use it for every other mention of that character. Because epithets carry more meaning than names this is a little like shouting that character’s name through a bullhorn. It’s great the first couple of times - Wow! Exciting! Memorable! - but it fatigues faster than using their name would have. The epithet can then become annoying (’I know he’s got long hair, stop saying it!’) or at very very worst it can become othering. You will alienate your reader from the character, and at the absolute worst, this may mean your reader either comes out with expressions of an attitude to that character that you had no intention of courting or encouraging, or they think YOU have those attitudes and go away from your story thinking ‘wow, that was a well-written story but OOF. that guy’s got some uncomfortable feelings about stuff’.

Whose Line is it Anyway?

Epithets can be factual. They can be based on things you know, I know, and (most importantly) everyone in the story knows. For example, ‘The Wing Gundam Pilot’ is a factual epithet for Heero and is based on knowledge accessible and agreed by 99% of people. 

It would still not work if the narrative POV is a character who doesn’t know Heero or doesn’t recognise him as a Gundam Pilot at all. E.G. He’s in disguise and questioning Abdul, who has never met him before.  

And this is because epithets are still directional. They convey an understanding or a focus from the user to the reader, regardless of if the user is a character within the story, or the voice of the author themselves. And that’s where it can get weird. 

Let’s say I’m writing a story from Rashid’s POV. As a person, he is unlikely to be fussed about the colour of Heero’s eyes, or the fact that Trowa is tall because Rashid is too pragmatic to give a hoot if your eyes are blue or not, and literally everyone is a shrimp compared to Rashid. So in that story, epithets like ‘The azure-eyed pilot’ or ‘the tall pilot’ would be strange if not meaningless coming from that character, and in fact would break the 4th wall by forcing the author’s voice into the foreground. 

Effective epithets are either universal and readily accepted (and therefore often neutral/factual, even if they are poetic - rosey-fingered Dawn) or they are naturally biased towards the perspective of the user. Which means characterisation of an epithet used by a person in a story to describe another person in the story goes both ways: When a story in Heero’s POV describes Duo as a ‘violet-eyed beauty’ I may think ‘Duo, purple eyes, pretty boy, yes. check!’ but I will probably also think, ‘wow, Heero’s a massive closet romantic and he has some serious pants-feels for Duo’. 

Or if that doesn’t match my view of Heero as a character, I may well think that this author has missed the point of Heero Yuy: Perfect Soldier and it’s THEM who has the serious pants-feels for Duo. If it’s the middle of a gritty battle scene, I may also think ‘Wow, is this really the time, author? Put it back in your pants’. 

Or maybe in the above example, it’s a 1x2 but this is jumping the gun. Heero isn’t aware of his own feelings yet so this kind of epithet is premature in Chapter 1. Bring it in down the line when Heero’s acknowledging to himself that Duo makes him go all weird and sweaty. 

So use epithets knowing that they will describe the target but also the user, and if those things don’t accord, can jar your reader quickly out of the headspace you were trying to achieve or shout your own voice over that of your characters. 

Distilling or Reducing?

If I take a mint plant and distill it, I will end up with a bottle of menthol oil which I could shove under your nose and declare ‘this is perfume!’ and you, eyes streaming, would have to stand there and generally agree. 

But if i take a mint plant, rip off a leaf and push it in your face and declare ‘this is perfume!’ you’re less likely to agree with me. Because in this case, I am not distilling, i am reducing. 

Epithets can work the same way. At their best, they take everything you want to convey about a character and their situation/personality and condense it into one potent phrase that socks your reader in the face. 

But all too often, they are used reductively and then you actually lose a great deal of what’s important about a character for the sake of showmanship and/or lazy writer’s short-hand. 

Let’s go back to the Odyssey. Odysseus has just washed up after being shipwrecked; he’s naked, salt encrusted, beardy and beasty and savage. Whilst stumbling around on the shore he is met by a princess, Nausicaa. Nausicaa of the long, white arms. That’s her epithet. From a modern feminist perspective, it seems a little reductive, but in the context of the story, it’s a distillation. She plays an opposite to Odysseus in this scene as he struggles to come back to civilisation after his hardships. She is washing rich clothes; he’s dressed in rags. She’s feminine and cultured and graceful; he’s acting like a wild lion. She represents civilisation and ideals with her fragility and her skin that’s been protected from the sun. He’s burnt and has forgotten how to act like a man. 

So whilst the epithet is focussed it tells me a lot of what i need to know and expect of Nausicaa in terms of her role in the story, and the fact that she will compel Odysseus to come back to himself as King of Ithaca. 

However, epithets are commonly based on appearance, status or origin, and can very easily fall into stereotype and tropes. Remember Homer’s hairy Achaeans? Was that a flattering description? Would Achaeans bang their chest and cheer proudly to be described as hairy, or would they be put out? If Achaeans are hairy, then what are Trojans? 

Let’s bring this to a modern context. If I use ‘the American pilot’ as short hand to convey that Duo is brash and loud and reckless...can I guarantee that my reader will agree with that assumption? Personally I know a lot of Americans, many of whom are not brash or loud or reckless. And if Americans in my fic are de facto brash and loud and reckless... what are Chinese people like? Humourless and ill-tempered? Or is that just Wufei? As a British person, I can find it more than tiresome to see myself represented as old-fashioned and endlessly polite; particularly when it gets obvious that the writer hasn’t the first clue about the UK or British culture. I can only imagine what it’s like for minority groups. 

If you start short-handing in this way, it’s the top of a potentially slippery slope into unintentional racial or cultural profiling. This is where epithets can start to raise eyebrows or make readers reach for the back-button. You need to ask yourself - is this lazy description or is this meaningful? Is this from a ‘generic’ POV (IE, mine as the author) or is it quantified by the POV of a character in the story who may carry those biases? Should those biases be acknowledged or explored by the story? Should those biases be carried in character speech only, then, or is it ok to put them into the prose? 

Is there a way I can characterise that without short-handing with a basic epithet? If I’m already saying that Duo flipped the table and threw his hands up in impatience, does tagging on this epithet strengthen the meaning of those actions, or are his actions defining the epithet? 

Did you know that the alternative meaning of ‘epithet’ is ‘a disparaging or abusive word or phrase’? This is loaded description. 

And finally, sometimes the epithet is just plain boring. If the epithet is a universal fact, then it is also a static snapshot of the character we’ve seen before;  and it’s often not even individual. Heero has blue eyes... but so does Quatre, and so do Relena, Zechs, Mariemaia, Treize, Sally Po, Sylvia Noventa and that guy over there. It tells me nothing about Heero as a person and even if we argue ‘but it’s a specific shade of blue!’ Well...sure. It’s still not that unique and you shouldn’t have to dig that deep into the epithet to make the trait stand out. It’s the literary version of a newspaper headline yelling ‘WOMAN WEARS CLOTHES’. 

For example, compare: 

‘The blue-eyed Vice Foreign Minister entered the meeting room’ 

Cool beans. So what? Relena’s arrived but my attention is already distracted away from her looking for something more plot-related. Especially if this is chapter 3 and her appearance has already been described to me 6 or 7 times. 

‘The false queen, Relena Peacecraft entered the meeting room’. 

J u i c y! Sounds like tea is going to be spilled. Who’s still holding this grudge against her? Is she the villain here? I’m gonna keep reading. 

TL;DR

In summary,  epithets carry a lot of personal perspective and can be powerful devices in writing. Used well, they will lift up your writing and make it memorable, vivid and engaging. Used thoughtlessly, you can stumble into a number of pitfalls, some which will make your writing harder to read or unintentionally comedic, and others that could make you look like an asshole. 

[childofsquidward]

Tag Game!

Rules: answer 21 questions and then tag 21 people (bold of you to assume I know more than two people on this hellsite) who you want to get to know better.

I was tagged by @temmie-loony who is awesome, like thank you, I don’t know why I feel so flattered right now, but I do

Nickname(s): Diyu (everyone on my mom’s side of the family maybe), Diyumuni (grandma, mom’s side), Diyappa (my mom’s youngest sister), Gubbu/Gubbi (my mom’s other younger sister; the two names are kind of interchangeable), Diyapochua (my mom’s younger brother), probably others thanks to my mom's side of the family who come up with 135% of my nicknames as mentioned above

Zodiac: Sagittarius!

Height: 5ft. - 5ft.2 (maybe 3? hopefully?)

Last movie I saw: Ready (I've watched it 500 times over, no joke, just check my Netflix account)

Last thing I googled: statistics a tool for social research 4th edition (if anyone wants to hit me up with a pdf, I will be forever grateful; I hate this class, it’s 8am, I’m there right now, I’m a language student what the fuck is this?!)

Favourite musician: ummmmmm idk it changes this is hard wtf

Okay, so right off the top of my head - Shawn Mendes (I love every single one of his songs, I didn’t think I would, but I did), P!nk (all-time fave), The Pretty Reckless (Taylor Momsen’s voice you guys!), Big Time Rush, Kurt Hugo Schneider (okay, technically he’s a cover artist, but this man is magical like he plays a ridiculous number of instruments, his production quality is so unique and wonderful and his VOICE - listen, he does not sing as often as he should, and he shouuuuuld), and just like any song that was composed by A. R. Rahman, written by Javed Akhtar and sung by either Arijit Singh, Atif Aslam and/or Shreya Ghoshal you really can’t go wrong with

Song stuck in my head: A constant is Oi Dur Paharer Dhare (I still haven't heard the original) but as of recent Naa Tum Jaano Naa Hum from a movie called Kaho Naa Pyaar Hai (which defined my entire childhood solely) because I didn't realize that it was on my phone and I've been using Spotify the entire time but now I'm obsessed and I can't stop and basically I'm my own worst enemy; also, sometimes L’oiseau et l’enfant by Marie Myriam makes an appearance and it tends to make me like 4000x more dramatic than I usually am, which is saying a lot and I Like Me Better by Lauv (the KillerVibe theme, fight me)

Other blogs: I wish I was fabulous enough to have more than one blog (maybe one day... *wistful sigh*)

Do I get asks: once in a blue moon, yes, but I love and cherish every single one of them

Following: I’m assuming you mean how many people I’m following and not how many followers I have, so 554, I’m following 554 people

Amount of sleep: it depends... in high school, it used to be that I just wouldn’t sleep during the months of January and June, but now in uni it’s changed to October-December and February-April; honestly, I could go to sleep at like 3AM, and still wake up at 7AM and be fine as long as I finish classes by like 6PM - I don’t need more than 3-4h of sleep  

Lucky number: 13, 7, 4

What I’m wearing: my favourite... what colour is this maroon? like a plum, reddish-purpley (burgundy? I don’t know colours) thing (matches my hair) sweater that says ‘hello’ the bottom in white, the one pair of jeans I wear even though I have like 10 others, and my gray snow boots which are pretty cute considering that snow boots are ugly as fuuuuck (and probably pizza socks... am I wearing socks today? I don’t think I remembered to put on socks, nvm)

Dream job: to work with the UN, that's what I'm striving towards anyway, and maybe get a book published (my main goal in life is to be a functioning adult, and honestly, the UN thing seems infinitely more realistic)

Dream trip: a road trip to I don’t know where yet, but it’s gonna be a road trip

Favorite food: does food in general count? the first thing that comes to mind is chotpoti (it’s basically the filling you have inside a pani puri, but better cuz phuchkas over pani puri every time - but it’s literally these tiny lentils, chickpeas if you wanna be lazy, cooked with potatoes and every spice known to the world and then you add the tamarind sauce which is so hard to make and that’s why there’s always a limited amount but every asshole that comes to our place on Eid literally drinks it like some animal but whatever you literally have to soak the dry tamarind in water and get all the gross stuff out while keeping the good stuff and figure out a good balance of chilli powder, salt and sugar and it’s never as good as when mom does it)

Idk why I just ranted like it’s my job, but I’m leaving it there. I also like thin-crust mushroom pizza (the brand is Ristorante and it is the best), my dad’s shrimp and potato curry (idk what else to call it, I don’t even eat it with rice, I turn that shit into a taco, I’m not even sorry), naan and bihari kebab w/ that really spicy green chutney/raita/whatever it is, piyaju and aloo chop (it’s fried and it’s so bad for you, and I hate onions but for some reason I don’t give a fuck when it comes to piyaju even though it’s just lentils and onions - it’s frieeeeeed), and apple pie (apple anything dessert tbh)

Play any instruments: I've played piano kinda on and off (I could probably follow a song), I learned flute in middle school but I never continued it and ooooooo I'm trying to teach myself guitar; I also sing

Languages: Bangla (I need to re-learn how to read and write though, which is so sad), Hindi, Urdu, English, French, I’m slowly becoming fluent in Spanish and I’m trying to teach myself Arabic (listen, I might not be the doctor cousin, but look grandma I can read the Quran - I know my strengths! also, Arabic is a really pretty language)

Favourite song(s): Crazy Little Thing Called Love (Queen), Cheer Up (A Great Big World), Can’t Help Falling In Love (Elvis Presley), Raabta from Agent Vinod (the Shreya Ghoshal version!!!), Tujhko Jo Paya from Crook and Jo Pyaar Ho Gaya from Ishaan

Random fact: I am deathly afraid of birds. I always thought that birds just kinda freaked me out, but then I ran into oncoming traffic because there was a pigeon nearby so there’s that.  

Describe yourself as aesthetic things: black with splashes of pink and yellow because I have no sense of anything, snow, plaid shirts, sweaters, leather jackets, boots, coffee, cute stationery, studying (y’all know what I’m talking about right? like those images on Pinterest of ‘messy’ notes and pens and crap, usually with glasses there), pizza socks, fuzzy animal socks that probably have the little 3D whatever ears and nose (do they use pom-poms for those? idk), any variation of the ‘world’s okayest sister’ quote, BOOKS, candles, white lilies (the only flower I acknowledge as a flower)

Tagging: @maniq1 @darwinquark @ciscoscaitlin @dibs4ever @winxy-writing @thatkillervibe @sunshineoptimismandangels @lightninginmyeyes @headoverhiddles @hope-dyne @nordarhk @kendrasaunders @jwmelmoth @daftydraw  @taakoshell  @lewispanda @jalonii @cheleonrage712 @deathly-smirk @purpleyin  @crelliefan4life

[gaaragirl22]

Chapter 3

Sorry it's been forever and a day since the last chapter but...school just started on my end...so,yay!😧 and i still need a laptop haha, life😩. Anyway we finally getting into movie territory😃.ENJOY Next Day Gil was so tired...like deep in your bone tired and hungry...like ‘I can eat a whole shark’ hungry. He feels the warmth of the sun against his eyelids as it hangs high above Uma’s ship, peeking around the storming clouds. The salty sea air reaches his nose as it laps against the weather worn wood, making his stomach twist even tighter as he lays on the deck of the ship. Why did Uma decide to bring back sword practice!? With the other VKs off the isle turf battles had become something of the past to almost nothing. Which made Uma loosening up about the mandatory training and that gave Gil a chance to focus on other things like eating and stealing from madame Tremaine hair shop(you can't just have all those colours and supplies laying around and not expect someone to pocket some!). For some odd reason she decided that they needed to practice a quick refresher she said. So here he was splayed on the deck of the ship….sore and tired...and really hungry. Opening his eyes he looks over to see Harry's back as he instructs the younger crew on the best stances when on a ship. A little to the right Uma sat helping sharpen the spare blades. He can't help but smile as he thinks back to his first lesson…it was only been about a month since he joined the crew...he was still trying to find where he fit in. One morning he showed up hoping to grab a snack before going on a run. When he noticed Harry showing Uma around the ship his voice brash and boisterous as he explained how each part worked...he reminded him of his dad when he was younger, all in your face with a need to show you what they could do. Before he knew it he was down on the dock leaning on a pole listening in to Harry's description of a voyage, imaging them on the high sea when- a delicious scent pulls him out of the memory his stomach growling as he quickly flips over to look towards the shop and sees Iridessa coming towards him with a basket, the amazing scent growing stronger. Slowly he gets to his knees his eyes glued to the basket reaching with both arms outstretched. He couldn't wait to see what bounty awaits him. With a jolt he looks up as Iridessa slaps his hand away. “This is for everyone,” stretching the word she pulls the basket away. “not just you!” She explains setting the baskets on a barrel beside some empty scabbard. Gil notices that she was wearing one of his spare scarfs pulled forward, her bow staff on her back. “These were hard to make. So you can't just devour them like you usually do, you've got to savor these ones.” She insists taking a seat beside him leaning on the barrel. “Ah…” Gil opened his mouth to asks why she was wearing the scarf but then he remembered the screams from last night. Harry's gift… “What, Gil?” She asks looked up at the sun. Shutting his mouth his mouth he swallow the question not wanting to risk her wrath. “But I'm so hungry! Come on,” He reaches toward the basket again. “ just...one... little... bite.” He yelps as she smacks his hand again. “No...but,” she whispers glancing over at Uma before turning back to him. “If you can tell me why Uma won't let me use shrimp in any of my recipes. You can have one.” He freezes up as a thought comes to the forefront of his mind, “Weren't you there that day?” He asks rubbing his neck as he leans back in thought. A strong scent that reminds him of his mother enters his nose, his muscle relaxing and his mind clearing. “No, I was with my mom, remember? Scavenging. Just give me the short version....you know a quick refresher.” She assures avoiding his eyes as she pulls her staff into her lap. “Hmm, okay.” Nodding as he takes her words in. “Uma was down at beach with Mal and few others. Mal jumped in the water and well, she acted like she was drowning...Uma jumped in to help and just as she got close. Mal jumped up and dumped a shrimp filled bucket on her head.” He glances at Uma not wanting her to hear him retelling embarrassing tale. “She thought the smell was horrible. It stayed in her hair for weeks she was super mad. Mal even told her she wasn't big or bad enough to hang with her and the others...then she started calling her shrimpy, the name stuck, she's really short.” “So, she tried to save Mal.” She whispered looking over to Uma, again. Gil looks as well watching as Uma laughs at some joke from one of the crew. Her face lighting up as she throws her head back with a loud laugh. Her hair shifting in the wind catching the sun and glittering. He can't help but smile… “So about my snack…?” He asks tilting his head as she turns back to him quickly grabbing the basket as she waves him off. Digging into the basket of slightly warm clam fritters he doesn't see Iridessa freeze up. Her eyes cutting towards the sky a smile creeping on her face. “Something just came through the barriers.” She tosses over her shoulder as she goes to stand, her staff in hand her eyes to the sky. “Yeah, they drop stuff all the time….Hey! maybe they actually put some proper cloth in this time or maybe a whole yard of cotton or maybe even some yarn! I've gotta-” he stops as Iridessa grabs his arms looking at her sees her face looking up with a wide grin as she starts she to laugh. “Hehe,” She chuckles pulling him closer wrapping her arm around his neck pulling him close. Whispering in his ear, “you won't have to wait on Auradon much longer. I think the last piece has finally arrived.” Gil stays silent as Iridessa walks over to Uma, as his shock wears off he moves closer. What did she mean the last piece? She whispers something to Uma that makes her jump up her sword gripped tightly in her hand. As their heated conversation begins between Gil can only catch a few words as he walks closer. “-Are you sure?” Uma asks looking towards the shop her hair shaking as she shifts for to foot. “As sure as the balance.” Iridessa says throwing up a three fingers salute. “...Still not sure what that means...but-” She pauses as her mother screams reaches the ship. “Winnie, where are you!? the lunch crowd is coming!” “It's gonna have to wait...Harry! Wrap it up.” Uma yells as she grabs her coat. “You come with me.” She commands walking to the pier, Iridessa close on her tail her smile still on her face. Shrugging Gil grabs his sword and the basket of food if practice was going be cut short then he was gonna head home….he had strange need to see his mom. What's my name It was happening. The pieces were falling into place. Her patience was paying off. Their sail was about to be set in a few days-no, hours. They could be out of this prison. With all of Auradon for the taking. “Hey! I wanted the seaweed wraps!” A disgruntled voice interrupts her thoughts. Bringing her out of her mind and back to the floor of her Mother's shop. “I want a sea pony!” She mockingly singsongs turning towards them. “Life's not fair!” She snaps turning towards her crew...not yet anyway. As the last of them come in she takes off her smock throwing it into the kitchen. Taking her spot beside Harry she clears her throat waiting for their eyes to turn towards her…Rolling her eyes she looks to Harry who was staring at her with a wide smile. Her excitement seeming to infect him. Rising her brow she chuckles as he slams his hand down with a growl. “All hands on deck!” He growls all eyes turn to Uma a few of the customers as well. With their attention she feels the phantom warmth of her power her smile growing wider as she thinks of how they would react. “Lost Boys and Girls of the isles our time is coming!” Her voice seeming to reverb though the room drawing more eyes. “To end the blatant disrespect and disregard we deal with daily from Auradon…”She pauses as a they booed and hissed at the name. “And the traitorous Mal and the friends who joined their ranks!” slamming her hand on the table bring a hush to the room. “They think they can slap on a crown,” She pauses looking to her around meeting the eye of each crew mate. Their angry and pain seeming to burn into her. “or even switch up their style and they won't have to pay for their betrayal. For leaving us behind!” Slowly she begins to smile leaning forward. “Well, we're not gonna let them get away with it. We’re gonna crush them and destroy their perfect little life.” Grabbing Harry's arm she pulls him closer. “Son of Captain Hook!” Taking Gils collar she pulls him close, too. “Son of Gaston! And me Daughter of Ursula!” She breathes her eyes glistening in the candlelight as she lets her mind wonder. Shoving Gil away she turns to Harry his eyes glued to her face. “Who's the only one who can get us off this rock?” She asks. Dropping below Uma’s eye line he takes off his hat. His eyes soft as he whispers caressing each letter with his mouth. A shiver goes up her spine as he says, “Uma.” “Who's gonna crush those traitorous VKs?” She asks pushes Gil. “Uhh, Uma?” He mumbles around a yolk. “Who's not gonna let anything stop her from getting us out of this prison?” She asks scanning the crew. Nervously they answer, “Uma.” “Who's not gonna ruin her chance to rain down Evil on Auradon?” She leans forward her eyes almost glowing in the candlelight. Her hands raised as her eyes scan the crew a smile on her face as they shout, “Uma!” “What's my name!? What's my name!?” She shouts back slamming her hand on the table. “Uma!” They cry out cheers going through the crowd. One of them running to the the organ and begins to play a quick paced tune. The rest begin to Dance chanting Uma name's in different variations, laughter rising as Uma joined in. Someone grabs the swords from the sword check and they stand back in awe as Uma and a few others begin dancing with them. ~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~ Iridessa watches from the kitchen doorway. Their excitement and joy at the thought of getting off the isle makes her smile. Looking to her left she sees Harry watching Uma with a kind of predator air. She tugs her scarf lower she knew that he had a connection with Uma that he protected with his everything....that's why she enjoyed teasing him. What she hadn't expected was that he would sneak attack her with a horrible colored dye explosion. Leaving her hairline disfigured and with her unable to fix it (the barrier saw it as selfish or something). With a huff she walks over to Harry standing beside him she sees why he can't look away Uma was a sight to behold the blades flashing in the lights her hair flying as she spun and gyrated. As though she was a literally goddess demanding attention and adoration. Glancing up at Harry as he cheered it seemed she had plenty of that. “Got your little gift.” She shouts over the noise grabbing his attention. He looks down with a casual glance a wide smile beginning to tug at his lips. “Ah, hoped you would like it.” He snickered turning his gaze back to Uma who was now dance on a table. Rolling her eyes she crosses her arms watching as Uma dances around Gil. “You know she'd be more open if you didn't flirt with everything that had a pulse.” As her whisper reaches his ear she can feel the tension fill the air around them the rest of the crew moving away. So of course she had to push. “I mean unless she already found someone worth her time.” “You should watch your tongue, witch.” He whispers leaning closer as he stares into her eyes. A shiver of fear going down her spine...his eyes almost completely black, no light, no escape. “Talk like that again...and magic or not.” he whispers bring the hook close to her face.The cool metal heats up as it drags against her cheek. “I'll hook you within an inch of life then I'll toss you overboard and watch as the sharks make a meal of you.” Her heart beats faster...the urge to run building in her gut...he wasn't bluffing. “HEY!” Uma yelled pulling their attention. Her brow raised as she looks over at them. All eyes on them, the music quieted. Slowly he lowers his hook turning with wild flourish to Uma. “We were just talking…” He assures waving his hands as though he shoo away the tension. “about my duties as first mate.” “Really?” Uma asks tilting her head slightly. “Oh, Yes!” He exclaims excitedly motioning to Gil who hurriedly brings out a heavily ornamented chair placing it behind Uma. “If you like I could give you a taste of what I told her.” With a chuckle Uma sits tapping Gil’s hand encouraging him to kneel beside her, “Oh, Please do!” Climbing up on the table He throws off his coat as he spins around. As if on cue the pianist begins a quick rhythmic beat as Harry begins to sing...well more along the lines of rap. Iridessa clutched her elbows as she listened. Her heart rate slowing as he goes on. “You know what they say Bad girls have all the fun Never learned how to count 'cause I'm number one Ready here, we come We always get our way It's a pirate's life, every single day (hey!)” Uma rocks along in her seat mouthing the words with him….like she knew it by heart. “She's the captain, I'm the first mate Enemies seasick can't see straight.” As he finished his rhyme he leaps from the table landing close to Iridessa. Waving his hook close to her face. “Call 'em fish bait, throw 'em on a hook,” He says this line looking what feels like directly into her soul. Before turning back to Uma kneeling at her feet. “Uma's so hot they get burned if they look.” As the crowd loudly cheers, Harry and Gil help Uma on top of the table. Standing above the crowd a smirk on her lips, she looked every bit a Villain. If you didn't look closely into her eyes, you'd miss her pride as she looks at her crew. Or her gentle touch as she pets Harry's head… Standing off to side Iridessa watches as Uma gives her parting words. “When this barrier comes down and we get to Auradon...I won't let anything get in our way! We’ll have our revenge! Leaving us behind will be their last regret!” The cheers that filled the room was almost deafening. As Uma climbs down a smile on her face as she heads back to the kitchen Harry on her tail. Looking around the room at the loud partons drinking and smiling...some wearing more thoughtful expressions. One in front of her asking quietly, “I mean sure she can do it...but how? And how do we know she won't turn on us.” Gils voice comes from the crowd loudly in answer. “Uma doesn't make promises unless she's got a plan. That's why she's Captain. So...we're getting off this island cause Uma said we are.” As the others nod in agreement knocking the back of the one who raised the question. Iridessa can't help but smile. She had her worries, her trust in the balance wasn't as steadfast as her mother's. She worried that the vision she had when she first meet Uma was a self made fantasy but watching this strange crew feast under their Captain and first mate careful eye...she knew she made the right choice.

[soul-in-the-bowl]

Turtle Lake - a place to eat in Saigon!

|pl| Moja miłość do Wietnamu zaczęła się na ulicy. Tu się mieszka, bawi, gotuje, je, kłóci, targuje, randkuje, dłubie w nosie i w zębach. Uwielbiam to! Takie życie poza domem (w którym zwykle ciasno i tłoczno) jest domeną większości azjatyckich krajów, ale to tu zgrało się z idealnie wpasowanym w moje gusta jedzeniem i jakąś wewnętrzną harmonią, którą czuję przemierzając wietnamskie prowincje, miasta i miasteczka. |eng| My love of Vietnam was born on the streets. Here, the street is where you live, play, cook, eat, argue, haggle, go on dates, pick your nose and teeth. I just love it! And although this way of living outside of home (where it’s usually quite narrow and crowded) is the proper to most countries in Asia, I found Vietnam to be particularly well tuned to my culinary tastes. Plus I seem to always find some inner harmony here, which I feel whenever I travel across the Vietnamese province, towns and villages. |pl| Po 4 miesiącach przerwy wylądowałam w Sajgonie i na powrót zanurzyłam się w jego kipiących zakamarkach, karmiących bez przerwy, czy to o świcie, czy późną nocą, miliony mieszkańców. Nadmiar - tak spokojnie można by dać na drugie tej wielkiej metropolii.

 Żeby od niego nie zwariować postanowiłam ograniczyć włóczęgę głównie do moich okolic, których okrąglutkim centrum było Turtle Lake a.k.a. Ho Con Rua. Otoczone niewielkim parkiem i rondem, z charakterystyczną kolumną, która ma być ponoć mieczem wbitym w ogon wielkiego smoka, który zamieszkał sobie dawno temu pod miastem (tenże ogon miał być wg. zaleceń mistrza Feng Shui przytrzymywany przez wielkiego żółwia, stąd nazwa jeziora i jego żółwi (czyli de facto okrągły ;)) kształt. Mniejsza z fauną, najważniejsze w żółwim skwerze jest to, że od późnego popołudnia do późnej nocy jest to wielka, skwiercząca i pulsująca życiem gospoda! Masa młodzieży, dzieciaków i dorosłych wpada tu by zajadać się typowymi dla tego miejsca i bardzo oryginalnymi przekąskami. |eng| After a four-month break I ended up in Saigon and dived straight back to its hustle and bustle, the city constantly feeding, day and night, its millions of inhabitants. Excess - that’s what you might call this enormous metropolis. Trying to avoid going nuts from its overwhelming abundance, I decided to stick to my neighbourhood in my walks - which is to say I mainly stayed near Turtle Lake at its center, a.k.a. Ho Con Rua. Surrounded by a small park and a roundabout, its distinctive column is alluding to a sword stabbed into a huge dragon’s tail. As the legend goes, long long ago the dragon used to live underneath the city and according to the Feng Shui master its tail was pinned to the ground by an enormous turtle; the same that gave the name to the lake with its turtlish - round, as turtle go - shape. But fauna set aside, the most important thing on the Turtle Square is that whether on late afternoon or late at night it resembles a gigantic inn, fizzing and pulsing with life. A crowd of teenagers, kids and adults gather here to eat very original snacks, typical for the place.

|pl| Jedna z wielu sprzedawczyń mojego ukochanego przysmaku - banh trang tron. 'Wymieszany papier ryżowy' jest pocięty nożyczkami na paseczki i wrzucony do torebki z wiórkami młodego mango, ziołami (głównie moim ulubionym rau ram czyli wietnamską kolendrą), drobnymi kawałkami suszonych mięs, przepiórczymi jajami i sosem chili. Jest to przepyszne, wymaga długiego żucia (papier i mięsa głównie), w trakcie którego powoli uwalnia się miks smaków. Uwielbiam! Wielka przyjemność za 15.000 vnd (0.65$). Te same stoiska sprzedają zwykle również banh trang cuon (20.000 vnd) czyli rolowany papier ryżowy, który skada się z tych samych składników co powyższa "sałatka", zwiniętych w rulon i pociętych nożyczkami na małe kęsy. Uważajcie w trakcie przygotowywania bo zwykle chlusta się na to sosem chili i majonezem, przed czym ja się zawsze bronię. |eng| One of the many saleslady of my beloved delicacies - banh trang tron. The mixed rice paper is cut into stripes with scissors and thrown into a pouch together with shredded green mango and herbs (mainly my favourite rau ram - the vietnamese coriander), tiny bits of dried meat, quail eggs and some chilli sauce. It demands some extended chewing (mostly because of the rice paper and meat) to release all the aroma and the mix of tastes and I simply adore it. A great pleasure for 15 000 vnd (0.65$). Usually at the same stands you can also find banh trang cuon (20 000 vnd) - a rolled rice paper taco containing the same ingredients than the “salad” mentioned above, except in this version they are rolled into a roll and cut into smaller bits with scissors. Be careful during the dish preparation as they often like to slosh it with chilli sauce and mayonnaise - which I myself always try to prevent them from doing. |pl| Kolejne z najpopularniejszym przysmaków - banh trang nuong (10.000 vnd) zwane też Vietnamese pizza. Znów papier ryżowy, tym razem grillowany (nuong) ze szczypiorem, jajkiem, maleńkimi suszonymi krewetkami, odrobiną mielonego mięsa i chili. Wychodzi z tego chrupiaca, gorąca jajecznica i jest szalenie dobra. Na małej patelni smaży się banh trung nuong (15.000 vnd), rodzaj omletu z przepiórczych jajek. Posypany tymi samymi dodatkami co 'pizza' i serwowany z liśćmi rau ram, majonezem i chili (ja znów omijam ten zestaw) parzy podniebienie i smakuje obłędnie. |eng| Banh trang nuong (10.000 vnd) is yet another delicacy, sometimes also called Vietnamese pizza. It is made from rice paper as well but grilled this time (nuong) with chive, egg, tiny dried shrimps, a bit of minced meat and chilli. This results in a crunchy, hot scrambled-egg-like dish and is insanely good. An omelette-like dish made of quail eggs, the bang trung nuong (15 000 vnd) is stir fried on a small pan. It is sprinkled with the same additives as “pizza” and served with rau ram leaves and mayonnaise and chilli (which I avoid again). It is served steaming hot and tastes heavenly. |pl| Dwie ciekawe pozycje - trung cut lon xao me czyli przepiórcze embriony smażone w tamaryndowym sosie (20.000 vnd) i bap xao - wietnamska, biała kukurydza (ma nie tylko inny kolor, ale też konsystencję, jest bardziej kleista/gomowata co szalenie w niej lubię), smażona z susznymi krewetkami i sporą łyżką margaryny (ta zresztą wpada też do jajeczno - tamaryndowego dania). |eng| Two other interesting positions: trung cut lon xao me which are quail embryos fried in tamarind sauce (20 000 vnd) and bap xao or Vietnamese white corn (it differs from the one we know not only by its colour but also by the texture, which is a bit more gluey/gummy and which I am personally very fond of) stir fried together with dried shrimps and a generous amount of margarine (which also ends up in the egg-tamarind dish). Hot ga nuong to ciekawa wariacja na temat jaja, której zrobienie ma element zabawy w wydmuszki więc świetnie się to wpasowuje jako wielkanocna atrakcja. Przez małą dziurkę w skorupce wylewa się jego zawartość i miesza z sosem rybnym, pieprzem oraz... miodem. Potem wlewa z powrotem i grilluje. Gotowe jajo je sie z mieszanką soli, pieprzu i soku z maleńkich kumkwatów oraz z dodatkiem rau ram - wietnamskiej kolnedry. Sup cua to kubas gorącej, gęstej (zagęszczona dodatkiem mąki z tapioki) zupy z wiórkami krabowego mięsa i grzybami shitake (15.000 vnd). |eng| Hot ga nuong is an interesting egg variation. It makes it a perfect Easter attraction as in order to prepare it you have to make an eggshell first. Then you pour out the egg through the tiny hole in the shell and mix it with fish sauce, pepper… and honey. Finally you have to pour the mix back into the eggshell and grill it. Once it’s ready you eat it with a mix of salt, pepper, some tiny cumquat juice and rau ram.Sup cua is a mug full of hot, thick soup (thicken with tapioca flour) with shredded crab meat and shiitake mushrooms (15 000 vnd).