Or: So Why Does Everyone Drink Out Of Those Tube Things?
Everyone knows that certain drinks are just made for certain drinking vessels. Under most circumstances Kaidan’s Canadian lager would be served in the bottle or, for preference, in a pint glass; Kasumi’s pink martini in a martini glass; Chakwas’ stiff morning tea in a mug—and her brandy in a snifter. This is no less true for nonhumans: Liara drinks shaline—the mildly stimulant beverage she developed a taste for while studying at the university of Serrice—from its traditional wide shallow bowl, and tiru, a sweet liqueur, from a narrow flower-shaped cup. And for preference Grunt drinks his ryncol from a ladle-shaped vessel traditionally made from the polished shoulderplate of the chitinous urmox (although, since the urmox is nearly extinct, most modern ryncol cups are made from plastics). (The fact that the ladle-cup’s design makes it impossible either to set it down or to pass it around without spilling means that a serving of ryncol must be tossed back in a single huge gulp… which, as anyone will tell you, is the only way to drink ryncol anyway.)
But if you go to a multispecies bar, pub, cafe, restaurant, or other watering hole, you’re unlikely to see this variety of drinkware. Instead, whether you buy water or beer or tea or a margarita or shaline or tiru or ryncol or something else entirely, it’ll probably come to you in the same container: a long, narrow, transparent cylinder, capped on both ends. This is true on multispecies settlements such as the Citadel, Omega, and Ilium, as well as in the business and tourist districts of single-species homeworlds and colonies—basically, anywhere that might have any appreciable multispecies traffic. In all these places, chances are good that your drink, whatever it is, will be served to you in a tube.
The short answer: because turians don’t have lips.
The longer answer:
Until turians joined the Citadel Council in the 700s CE, asari glassware tended to dominate multispecies eating places. Asari were culturally extremely inflential—still are, as far as that goes—and, more to the point, there was no reason their drinking vessels couldn’t be used by other species. Salarians have mouths compatible with asari glasses and bowls, as do batarians, quarians, and krogans; elcor can drink from asari drinkware as well with the simple addition of a straw. While there are culturally-specific bowls and glasses, anyone with lips can use an asari glass if that’s all that’s available, and so, due to the cultural influence of Citadel culture, asari drinkware became the default.
But then turians joined the Citadel races—and, in fairly short order thanks to the Krogan Rebellions, joined the Council. And turians don’t have lips; moreover, their facial plates don’t even close completely at the back. While their mandibles shield their teeth from view, they don’t actually create a watertight seal. If a turian attempts to drink out of the cups or bowls used by other species, the liquid will tend to spill out between their teeth—wasting the drink and making a giant mess. (A turian drinking very carefully indeed can drink out of a standard human, asari, or salarian glass or bowl… but who going to the bar for a pint is drinking that carefully?)
On their own homeworld, turians developed two types of drinking vessels. The most formal is a wide, deep bowl, almost a basin, in which a turian submerges their mouth deeply enough to be able to drink without worrying about spillage at the sides. (Since turian plates are water-resistant, a turian doesn’t have to worry about the drink staining their faces.) This is mostly used in ritual occasions and banquets. The more convenient daily-use turian drinking vessel is a narrow tube, which can be pushed back far enough in the mouth that liquid can’t splash out the edges or between their teeth. (Because the turian equivalents of trachea and esopahgus are more separated than in, say, humans, the risk of choking from drinking in this fashion are very low.) Most turian drinks, both mass-produced and drunk casually in homes and workplaces, are served in these long, narrow tubes. Commercial drinks are sold pre-packaged in the same tubes, capped and sealed on both ends.
During the Krogan Rebellions, turians swiftly (and with the enthusiastic blessing of asari and salarians) took over Citadel military and police forces; since turians can’t drink standard asari or salarian drinking bottles or other vessels, but asari and salarians can drink out of turian drink tubes, the standard water ration was quickly switched to mass-produced drink tubes for convenience.
When the turians became the third Council race, use of turian drinking tubes spread even farther. Being a Council race confers a certain status, and increasing numbers of places will try to accommodate species with that status. Bars and restaurants willing to keep multiple specialized types of drinkware for various species and types of drinks added turian drinking tubes to their inventories. Bars and restaurants that didn’t want to bother slowly began to outright replace their existing drinkware with the tubes. After all, other species could easily drink out of those tubes, and it was the only thing that turians could reliably drink out of, so the most efficient thing was to serve everything in the tubes. Over time, the turian drinking tubes became more and more common. By the present time, they are ubiquitous: unless a bar is the kind of place to keep dozens of kinds of glasses for each possible drink, chances are good you’ll get your drink in a tube.
(Matriarch Aethyta can wax eloquent on this topic if you ask her. She still keeps a small stock of specialized glassware for asari tiru and iaen, salarian din’dha and mel, batarian kha, and krogan ryncol… but she only uses them if someone asks, which almost never happens; otherwise she uses the tubes. Hell, somewhere in the back of her cabinet is the thin, elegant blown-glass flute used for quarian xaenor, and god knows no quarian could drink from that glass now even if they wanted to, what with the face mask and all. But she had a quarian friend back in the day, and she can’t quite bring herself to throw it out. She pours everything into the standard tubes now, unless asked, but she won’t pretend that there isn’t something lost.)
Prepackaged commercial beverages now generally come bottled directly in the tubes, stored in heating or cooling units to keep each tube at the exact proper serving temperature. Barristas brewing fresh shaline, tea, or coffee will pour it into a tube unless asked otherwise—and bartenders serving a cocktail will shake it up right in the tube in which they intend to serve it. Asari sip the tubes; salarians use their long tongues to slurp out the content; young krogans with something to prove crunch the whole thing up (the biodegradable shell might cause them mild digestive discomfort but won’t hurt them). Quarian sterilizers and suit intakes are standardized to accommodate the common sizes of turian drink tubes. Humans new to the galactic scene teach themselves to sip a drink tube as if it were natural, and feel very cosmopolitan when they manage. And turians—who invented the tubes by necessity—knock the drinks back with practiced ease.
Me: My Forsaken hunter stitched soles to her feet so she can creep around silently and shoeless like a cat
A darker, more jaded me, deep in the darkness of my subconscious, about three snifters of brandy in, curled on a fainting couch like a dead caterpillar: You know what’s going to happen if you walk around without shoes on in-game
Late evening had drawn in over Baltimore, Hannibal Lecter had settled himself for the night in front of the fire in his living room with one of his old leather bound books. Having dined alone and washed the dishes by hand, the good doctor had sat down in his wing backed chair with a snifter of brandy and one of his expensively branded cigarettes - a rare treat he still allowed himself from time to time when he was sure not to be caught in the act. Dressed immaculately but more relaxed or the time of day, doctor Lecter wore black slacks, a teal blue button down shirt and a grey waistcoat - earlier in the day he had removed his suit jacket and silk tie and folded them over the back of the chair opposite him.
Flicking the ash of his cigarette into the crystal ashtray upon the side table next to his chair, Hannibal took a sip of his drink and adjusted his position before turning the page in his book, continuing his reading; he had set himself the very attainable goal of 300 pages before retiring to bed for the night, with no need for his usual nightly activities (the freezer had been fully restocked just the week before) Hannibal had no need to do anything but enjoy his quiet life at home.
so i don’t want to be one of those people who puts down weird characterization things to just bad writing instead of trying to incorporate those things into their portrayal or make them make sense (my usual strategy) but honestly the entire orlesian political situation is so ridiculously simplified and ‘dumbed down’ in wicked eyes & wicked hearts and the three main players are almost caricatures of the characters as portrayed in masked empire.
so, uh, i’m not going to deny the ‘canonicity’ of most of the gameplay stuff but i will be primarily basing my understanding of the muse on the book, with its slightly greater depth of characterization for all involved.
the one exception will be the sheer number of times we&wh tried to depict gaspard as a drunken fool. he smokes, maybe he enjoys a snifter of brandy or two, fine, no problem. but there’s no evidence of his personality being… so excessive?? … in the book i read. that gaspard would never choose to dull his mind or senses with too much brandy during something as important as these negotiations!
Me, yesterday: *is low class buffoon* Me, today after reading a single book: *Runs hand along a mahogany bookshelf* Ah yes… *Gazes around my study, gently puffing on a pipe* Many classical scholars agree with me that Bella’s journey from human to vampire- *Gingerly swirls chocolate milk around the rim of my brandy snifter* mirrors the Orpheus’ descent down to the underworld and back out. Truly, the masters never cease to amaze us.
I probably don’t know tastyrepulsorboots well enough to blame this on her, do I? But she was talking about polyamorous soulmates and what a jerk Howard is and then this happened so you guys can draw your own conclusions.
(It’s totally your fault, I hope you like it)
Title: Untitled Soulmate Fic Pairings: Peggy/Steve/Bucky, Tony/Steve/Bucky, unrequited Howard/Steve, Howard/Maria Summary: Howard Stark never had a soulmate. Not one he would ever accept. Warnings: internalized homophobia (NOT STEVE), class discrimination, imperfect soulmates
2014 is slowly turning into the “Year of San Francisco.” The East Coast media in America has anointed SF as the new hub for innovation, conspicuous consumption, and comically absurd rents. New York Magazineparachuted a bunch of reporters into the Bay Areato figure out how to steal their douchebags back. The article asked “Is San Francisco New York?” No, it’s much worse. The existential crisis around San Francisco’s ascension to the heights of assholery stands in stark contrast to the fact that it is damn near unlivable for most normal people.
The end is nigh for a city that used to be a magnet for the counter-culture. San Francisco was strangled, so we decided to go over the numerous causes of death.
San Francisco used to be that place you moved to if you were too weird for LA, but too lazy for New York. It was a perfect city to ply your trade as a quirky motherfucker with a penchant for “edgy performance art” and whimsical scarves. That was just dandy. We liked that.
Around every corner, there could be an anarchist bookshop or a dude covered in glitter, wearing a Spongebob t-shirt, and sporting a raging hard-on. Where did that San Francisco go? Across the fucking bridge, that’s where.
Oakland is cheaper than San Francisco (but not by much), it’s close to Berkeley’s cultural gravity, and it’s just a BART trip away from what’s left of SF’s relevance. It’s also an industrial wasteland full of crime and Raider fans. You might ask yourself, What happened to San Francisco’s iconoclastic spirit…? Well, in two simple words:
There’s always been a bourgeois element to San Francisco that we all just ignored. The landed gentry of Nob Hill, Pac Heights, and Sea Cliff have always been there. They have owned their home for years, love wearing fleece sweaters, own nothing but real wood furniture, and are the type of people who tool around McCovey Cove in their yachts during Giants games. They are from a different planet and don’t mingle with the plebs. They have their world of brandy snifters, champagne flutes, cheese tastings, and obscure European automobiles. They honestly don’t care what you think.
The tech bro, on the other hand, seeks to engage in city life. They go to the same bars you do. They eat at the same restaurants. They badly want to be accepted as “cool,” while also having more money than you and getting chauffeured to work in a free corporate bus. Their insistence on trying to infiltrate the real San Francisco has pretty much killed the real San Francisco. Dolores Park, once a safe haven for burnouts to drink 40s and smoke weed at 2:30 PM on a Tuesday, is now the world’s biggest networking event for dudes who wear khakis to the gym.
In New York, Wall Street people know they’re pricks. In Los Angeles, Hollywood people are too stupid to know they’re pricks. In San Francisco, tech bros think they’re saving the world with their crackpot schemes aka “start-ups.” They’re the fucking worst.
Have Yourself A Normandy Li'l Christmas, by potionsmaster
T for language
for @shepard-pls on tumblr. ^__^ Prompt was Christmas on the SR1,
everybody’s there and of course there’s a mistletoe! (humans are
weird). Also, bonus: y'all get to see my second crack ship, lol.
Wish they weren’t such a rare pair, but then again they wouldn’t be a
crack ship if they were.
saw Ashley messing with a pile of rifle barrels, various heat sinks,
and an assortment of stocks on the work bench next to their lockers.
She sighed in frustration.
was trying to make a Christmas tree out of them.”
blinked at her for a few moments and closed the door to his locker
with a metallic clunk.
knocked the pile over and leaned against the table, crossing her arms
under her chest.
was trying to explain Christmas and human holidays to Liara the other
night. Thought it might be fun to have a tree and a small party down
here if we can get it approved. I managed to find a cheesy, plastic
mistletoe last time we were docked at the Citadel, too.”
rolled his eyes at that.
can’t be serious…
hip-checked him, eyes sparkling, then turned back to the bench.
bah-humbug to you, too, LT. It is
furrowed his brow at that, pulling up the calendar on his omni-tool.
Sure enough, it was December 21, 2183. He marveled at how Earth’s
reckoning of days and time went by the wayside while in space.
closed his omni-tool and held in a sigh. The gun parts clacked and
clattered as Ash struggled to put them in conical shape again.
Kaidan ignored her muttering about using the ammo magazines as
What do you need, Joker?”
commander’s looking for you on crew deck. Something about a mission
him I’ll be there momentarily. Alenko out.”
gave him a sidelong look.
likes to debrief you a lot.”
felt the heat rise around his collar and tips of his ears and hoped
she didn’t notice. He hoped that he had kept his infatuation with
their CO pretty well under wraps, but Ash seemed to have a sixth
sense for teasing him.
you say, Chief. If Pressly actually stepped up to being XO, he
wouldn’t need my help so much.”
started to make his way back to the elevator.
you ask him if we can have a holiday party? Pretty please, with
polonium rounds on top? He never says ‘no’ to you!”
smirked at the wordless nod as the lieutenant disappeared in the
there are two popular sports played at the Magical Institute of Mexico Eternal, circa 100 PA; one legitimate, one illicit.
the first, known usually as “industrial sandbags”, is essentially a descendant of soccer, American football, and similar games, with the goal being to pass a “ball” through a central section on the opposing team’s home line. the main distinctions are IS makes no restrictions on what methods may be used to interact with the ball, and that the ball is a polypropylene or burlap sandbag weighing between 50 and 200 pounds (depending on game, rules, and physical alterations made to the ball during play). magic is encouraged and practically required to score a point, but players often cultivate a muscular build as a side effect of the sport’s frequent brawls and heavy lifting.
the second, officially condemned by school authorities but de facto accepted, goes by several names: tipsy smashers, drunkard’s duel, goons, but most often referred to mock-formally as mensur, after a German university fencing tradition to which it bears almost no resemblance. the sport caught on after an unknown student, reverently referred to by adherents as “Slizzard” or sometimes “Slizzard the Wizard”, created a spell which transforms a touched beverage into a weapon, usually but not always a bladed melee weapon. referred to as a sacramental blade, the qualities of the weapon vary wildly depending on beverage, serving size, container, and mental state of its wielder. in all cases, the weapon causes no injury when it contacts a human being–instead, any part of the weapon which contacts a player is magically ingested. conventionally the game is played as essentially a drinking contest, where the goal is to strike one’s opponent while avoiding being struck until a player forfeits or is incapacitated. the game carries a fair amount of prestige among students, and is occasionally used to extrajudicially resolve conflicts between students.
popular weapons include a short blade made from a can or bottle of beer or cider, longer blades made from bottles or boxes of wine, or from forties (affectionately referred to as bastard swords, regardless of actual form, for their low cost and relative efficacy) and, more rarely, light weapons made from a glass of wine or flute of champagne. daggers and dirks made from cocktails or snifters of brandy are not unheard of, and one legendary duel saw a senior student wielding an elegant two-handed blade made from a bottle of celebratory champagne lose to a junior carrying a rapier made of rosé accompanied by a dagger of sherry in the off-hand.
Then I noticed they’re drinking out of rocks glasses. Hannibal serves brandy in snifters. It’s almost certainly whisky.
Which gives this scene that already kills me with feels another layer of feel. Because for once, Hannibal is serving Will what will wants to drink.
Then I remember Hannibal is also deciding to warn Mason about Margot being pregnant with Will’s child because Will is already anticipating being a good father and not telling an obviously stricken Will that Abigail is actually alive and well back at the house.
Serving Will whisky for once is NOT ENOUGH HANNIBAL.
The hearth’s embers crackled and jumped, but its heat was
not needed by the owner. Regina Mills
sat, cross-legged, on her sofa, gently swirling brandy in her snifter glass. She was surprised to be drinking the cognac
since she was already feeling very warm and unable to sleep. Thoughts of Emma Swan were pervading her mind.
She thought of Robin’s parting words when they had
mutually ended their relationship. “I hope you and Emma figure things out,
Regina.” She had asked him sharply
what he had meant by that and he had the audacity to pin her with a ridiculous
look and tell her not to be so “clueless”!
He had actually told her not to be clueless! The man wore clueless everyday like a
Snorting into her brandy, she took a hearty sip and let
the amber liquid slide down her throat and warm her belly. As if she needed Mr.-I-wipe-my-ass-with-leaves-and-like-it to tell her that she found
Emma Swan attractive. Of course she
found the woman attractive. She had always found Emma Swan attractive.
I know we all love this scene as I do too, but what i wouldn’t give to have a scene swap. Howard reclining on a chaise lounge in a smoking jacket with a snifter of brandy, jazz playing in the background. Probably set in a drawing room or a library. He rings a little bell and Vince enters, topless and in ropes (or something chain-like but more fitting to such a scene?)