Cinnamon Toast Crunch
“Grocery time,” you say in a singsong voice.
You don’t see the ear turn in your direction, but you know it did. The TV clicks off, Bo-Katan Kryze’s voice cutting off mid-sentence. A second later, the sound of four cloven hooves hitting the floor, and then Cinder Glow trots into the foyer.
In some ways, her prompt response to things she finds fun or interesting reminds you of an enthusiastic dog ready for a walk.
She’s soft and fluffy, too, and never requires a bath. Well, mostly soft and fluffy; the scales on her back are serpent-like. You scratch at them and she bumps her head against your hip, then tilts her head and lights the door handle with her magic. She’s ready to go shopping.
As for not requiring a bath? Sometimes when she wants to clean herself, she goes out to the fire ring in the backyard and bursts into flames. It’s very effective.
She unlocks her car door before you can push the button on the fob—she’s learned to interact with most human things either by magic or by hoof. You don’t know why she chooses one or the other. It might be the horn takes more energy to manage; you’ve seen her furrow her brow and stick out her tongue sometimes when she’s really working her magic.
Cinder still waits for you to click the unlock button; she’s learned that the alarm will go off if she doesn’t.
As soon as the car gives its welcoming chirp, Cinder lights her horn again and opens the door, then hops into her seat. The first time, she reached out and manipulated everything she could; now it’s familiar and she settles into her seat, pulling the seat belt across her chest. You hadn’t told her to do that; she’d just learned to mirror you.
How effective a seat belt would be for a kirin is debatable. How much of a factor her magic might play in the event of a collision is unanswerable.
•••
The drive to the grocery store is uneventful. Long before Cinder Glow became your roommate, you’d figured out the ebbs and flows of traffic, and found the best times to get places. Rush hour was out, during special events was out; times when there weren’t too many cars on the road or people in the grocery store were the best.
The parking lot isn’t crowded. One day, it’ll be so uncrowded that you get a prime spot in the front. Today is not that day, and you park by a cart corral. Cinder hops out as soon as the car is stopped and examines the carts, hooking her hock over the handle on each and tugging it back and forth to check for wheel rolliness.
Three carts in, she finds one that meets her approval and pulls it out, then pushes the rest back in. Unlike some humans, Cinder Glow knows how to live in a society.
She can push them herself but it just looks weird so you take the reins—metaphorically. Cinder falls in next to you.
Before you leave the car, you lock it and then do a quick personal check to make sure you’ve got everything. Keys, wallet, purse, cell phone, check. Cinder doesn’t have anything—her life is much simpler.
You’d always been in the habit of gesturing at the doors to get them to open, and Cinder picked up on that; her horn lights and she tilts her head as you approach. The doors, nonplused by your ritual, open on their own time.
The first stop is produce, conveniently by the entrance. A sea of rainbow colored fruits and vegetables to draw you in, to get you in the mood for shopping. Cinder is a vegetarian and you aren’t, but you now eat a lot more vegetables than you used to. A side benefit of a kirin roommate is an improved diet. Although you draw the line at pasture grasses; they smell nice and a few small nibbles here and there aren’t harmful, but you know you won’t get much nutrition out of a bowl of timothy grass.
Cinder knows her way around produce. Everything is lifted in her magic and scrutinized before being placed gently in the cart, or returned to the shelf for somebody else to buy.
After that it’s frozen foods. Both of you like the taste and convenience of frozen pizza once a week. By mutual agreement, one pesto and tomato pizza finds its place in the cart.
You work your way through the store, most of the items staples but every now and then Cinder throws you a curve ball and wants something different than what you normally get. You’re not sure why; she’ll just stop and point or else bring it down herself and lift it in front of your face for approval.
Sometimes she’ll even make a credit-card swiping motion with her hoof, as if to say ‘can we buy this?’
Today she suddenly decides that Pocky Sticks should be added to the cart. She trots down the aisle and stops in front of a shelf, then lifts two boxes—one red and one pink. Chocolate and strawberry. The white one, you note, isn’t vanilla. Cinder tilts her head left and right, and each one lifts in turn—she wants Pocky Sticks, but you can choose the flavor.
You settle on strawberry, and she sets it in the cart and then you move on.
•••
She runs ahead in the cereal aisle, too, which is unusual. Every time you’ve been shopping so far, you get Corn Flakes. This time she’s got a different idea, levitating a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch for your approval.
[CHOICE]
>Sure, it’s delicious! (Hero)
>That’s too much sugar for the morning (Villain)
[CHOICE A: Hero]
“Cinnamon Toast Crunch, huh?” You look at the box and the weird, kind of creepy cinnamon toasts on it. Some foods try and remove themselves from their source; steaks don’t come with a picture of a cow on the package. Others really reach for it. “You like cinnamon?”
Cinder nods
“And toast?”
She nods again. You know she likes toast; she makes it for breakfast three times a week.
“How about crunch?”
Cinder raises an eyebrow and tilts her head. Sometimes it takes her a moment to figure out that you’re being silly. She brings the package closer to her muzzle and examines it before frowning.
“It’s okay, two out of three ain’t bad. Meatloaf said so.” You point to the cart, and Cinder obliges, placing the cereal into the cart. “Now, you know that this cereal is full of sugar, right?”
She picks a new box off the shelf and scans over the nutrition label, then nods.
“So you’re gonna have to do some extra work to burn off all that energy.”
Cinder nods, then the briefest hint of flame licks at her horn.
“Cheater.”
She sticks out her tongue, and then the two of you continue on with your weekly shopping.
[CHOICE B:Villain]
You’re on board with some of her experimentations, some of the novel foods she selects. And the fruits and vegetables—that’s been a big life change for you, but a good one. You’re still not ready to go full vegetarian, but you are nearly there at home and only cheat for lunch a couple of times a week.
There was a time when every morning started with a bowl of super-sugared goodness, ‘part of this complete breakfast,’ as the ads always said. Part of that complete breakfast that should be removed and never thought of again.
Sometimes you struggle with what should be her own free choices and where you should step in. Immediate danger is a given; something in the far future? That’s a little more open to debate.
But then you remember the old you, the one who ate Honey Smacks and Lucky Charms and Coco Puffs for breakfast and you just can’t let her fall into that trap. Before too long the cart will be loaded with nothing but junk food, empty calories that demand more sugary sweets to follow.
You shake your head and pluck the box out of her magical aura. It wavers for a moment as she holds on then releases. “Too sweet for breakfast . . . Pocky Sticks are okay as a dessert, but that’s it.”
Cinder stomps her hoof and a flame flickers across her. You step back, already bracing for a kirin temper tantrum.
But the flame quickly vanishes in a puff of smoke. She’s not one to stay angry for long. With one last reluctant look at the Cinnamon Toast Crunch, she moves down the aisle and grabs a box of Corn Flakes and drops it in the cart.
“I’m just looking out for your best interests,” you say.
The rest of the shopping trip goes normally, until you go to pay and discover your wallet is missing.
You look over at the kirin, who gives you a sly grin. She’d teleported your wallet away. You cross your arms and give her a stern look, then sigh. “You’re not giving it back until you get your Cinnamon Toast Crunch, are you?”
She shakes her head.
“Fine.”