Cinnamon Bun

Very much not canon!

Cinnamon Nun

“What in the world is happening?” The mayor’s voice rang out across the town square.

His week had been... a little on the hectic side. That much was normal. It was the Rose’s Bell festival week, or at least, the week leading up to the one-day festival. That meant merchants and spectators and people from every smaller town in the region all coming to Rosenbell for a day or two.

Every year was a bit of a mess, with arguments sparking and a few people always getting too fond of their drink.

It was worth it, of course, but still.

And then this year a dragon had come to demand cattle and food and tribute. He thought his heart would stop right then and there. They’d been saved by a trio of young explorers of all things, but he figured it was a near thing.

Then he’d been told that there was an entire troupe of children making a mess of the town square just before construction of the stages was set to begin.

There were skinny preteens grouped up together to one side smoking, and toddlers running around while screaming. More of them were jumping up and down on... on something that the mayor suspected was a person.

To one side, a group of three girls were pinning an older teen against a wall, obviously making her very uncomfortable, and in the middle of it all, right where the mayor would expect anyone responsible for the tiny disaster to be, was a nun.

No, not a nun, he realized. The young woman was too young, and her habit was actually little more than a black and white towel draped over her head.

She was running in circles trying to catch a pair of boys who were chanting rather vulgar swears.

“What is happening?” he asked. When it became obvious the no one would answer, the older gentleman took in a deep, deep breath and screamed. “What. Is. Happening!”

The children froze up.

Smiling, the mayor congratulated himself on still having a good pair of lungs before, with a twitch of his mustache, he zeroed in on the one he suspected was responsible. “You,” he said pointing at the would-be nun. “Please do explain.”

It took only a moment more for him to recognize the women as the one that had roared (quite fearsomely) at the dragon the day prior.

“Ah,” she began. “Um. See, I got a nun class?”

“Yes?” he asked. That didn’t explain anything.

“And I figured I’d help out at the orphanage, because that’s what nuns do? And I could teach all these kids about the magic of friendship?”

He looked around at the mess they’d made. “You seem to have failed,” he said.

The woman’s eyes teared up. “They didn’t want to listen. The lady at the orphanage said to use a ruler but, but I can’t do that!”

“Didn’t you have help?” he asked. “There are... twenty kids here!”

The girl pointed to the side where her shy friend was hiding from the still suspicious looks of three girls, then she pointed to a pile of feathers that he suspected was once a harpy. “They, they tried. But the children! Oh, it was awful!”

The mayor sighed. At least this filled the quota for strange things happening on the Rose’s Bell festival week.

***

Buns of Steel

Awen didn’t know why Broccoli had asked her to meet her in the yard behind the inn. She also didn’t know why Broccoli had asked Awen to find a stick and a cast-iron pan. Not knowing didn’t matter though. Broccoli was the coolest, nicest, most kind person that Awen had ever met, and if she asked to meet outside, then Awen would do that.

She would do a lot more than that too, but that kind of thinking was wrong and undignified and immoral, and it made her feel faint and all fuzzy inside.

It was probably for the best that she stepped outside where the air was cooler and much nicer to breath.

It only took a glance around to find Broccoli.

And then Awen stopped to stare at her heroine.

Broccoli was currently sitting on the ground, an expression somewhere between a pout and a scowl on her face.

The young woman got up and then, with a small hop, jumped onto a small picnic table set under the shade of a grand tree. She stood atop the table, bent halfway forwards, then tipped backwards.

“Awa!” Awen called out. It’s not what she wanted to say. She wanted to shout a warning, but whenever she tried to say things in a hurry, things twisted up between her brain and her tongue and it was always that cursed pair of syllables that escaped.

It’s why she couldn’t shout a proper warning as Broccoli fell backwards and, munich to Awen’s surprise, landed on the ground rear-first with the dull thump of something hard impacting the dirt.

“Hmm,” Broccoli said.

Awen unfroze a moment later and rushed over, pan and stick still in hand. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Broccoli looked up to her, big green eyes filled with barely contained mirth. “Awen! You’re here.”

“Y-yes, but are you okay?” Awen asked.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Broccoli said a moment before bouncing back onto her feet. “I’m testing out a new skill! It’s a class skill.”

“For, um, your Buns of Steel class?” Awen guessed. She worked hard to keep her eyes on Broccoli’s. It was hard. She could melt into those eyes so easily, and she was sure that someone as friendly and cool and wonderful as Broccoli wouldn’t make the slightest fuss about it.

Broccoli nodded. “Yeah. Ohh, and you got my stuff, neat. Do you have a few minutes to help me?”

Awen nodded, afraid of the terrible things she might say if she could speak.

“Neat!” Then Broccoli leaned onto the table with one arm, bent over at a ninety degree angle with her legs shoulder width apart. “Smack my bum please.”

“Awa.”

This time the awa was barely even noticed. It wasn’t as if she was going to say anything intelligible anyway, her mind was far, far too busy elsewhere.

Broccoli turned around to stare at her, big guileless eyes still filled with mirth. “Start with the stick, we can work out way up to the pan after.”

“Awa.”

“Oh, right.” Broccoli reached back and flipped her skirt up. “Is that better? I need to see just how-steel like these buns are, you know?”

"Awa?!"

"Come on, Awen, spank me."

The only impact was Awen’s as she landed back-first onto the courtyard’s ground.

***

Cinnamon Burn

To Broccoli Bunch, the world was a place of wonder and joy.

The skies were filled with fluffy candy cane clouds and the songs of birds accompanied the joyful calls of the people she crossed.

Pretty houses with bright walls flew by as she skipped and hopped along, spreading cleanliness and joy with every step. And through it all, the World itself rewarded her.

Congratulations! You have spread the Flames of Joy to Rosenbell Villager, level 10.

To those horrified people looking onto the scene, there was no joy, not happy smiles, and nothing but terror, terror and the ever burning fires of unholy magics.

“We need more water!” a mage screamed. He tried to pull more from the city well, but there was nothing but dust left within.

“Are you thirsty, sir?” a kind, happy voice asked.

He turned and beheld a smiling nightmare made flesh. “No, no no no!”

“Here, let me clean your mouth out!”

His last cries were burned from his lungs.

The girl, satisfied that she’d helped another new friend, skipped on ahead, firing little burst of cleansing magic with every skip. The whole city was such a bright and festive place. It even smelled like roasting meat!

She saw people gathering at a building down the road. Perhaps that was where the delicious smells were coming from?

With a hop, she began to skip on over. She was sure she could make friends and maybe grab a bite while she was at it!

***

Play Bunny

“So?” Amaryllis asked.

She’s watched Broccoli sprout a pair of ears, and even a small tuft of brown fur over her rear, all in the time it took most people to yawn. It was... interesting magic, to say the least.

A base creature--and no matter what the humans said, she doubted they were the only origin of intelligent races--could evolve into something slightly new. If they bred true then there would be entire new communities that sprouted from nothing.

That usually required at an entire group have the same class, or very similar ones. Like the Grenouille and their fabled ‘Frog’ dungeon.

She’d never expected to see that kind of evolution with her own two eyes, but perhaps that was par for the course when dealing with the like of a Riftwalker... or a Broccoli Bunch.

“I feel... warm,” Broccoli said after she’d finished tugging at her ears while looking in the mirror. “Not bad warm, but warm-warm.”

“Awa, maybe, um, buns have higher body temperatures?” Awen tried.

It was an astute observation. Amaryllis nodded along. “That’s distinctly possible,” she said. “I’ll have to find a few books to narrow things down. I just hope you didn’t catch a fever at the same time as you changed races. It would be just like you to get sick like that.” amaryllis doubted there were any good apothecaries in such a backwater. She’d need to run back into her ring’s range, order something from a proper, civilized place, and then run back to give it to Broccoli.

“Nah, I think I’m okay,” Broccoli said. “Health’s at one hundred percent and all.” She sighed, tugged at the nape of her neck, then with a shrug took off the top layer of her armour.

“Hrm, well I suppose it’s nothing,” Amaryllis said.

“Yeah,” Broccoli agreed as she took off her shirt.

Awen squeaked next to her and covered her eyes, but Amaryllis didn’t care. Human... Bun physiology was only really interesting in a sort of scientific fashion.

“So hot right now,” Broccoli said as she stripped out of her skirt.

Awen started stuttering while Amaryllis worked hard to put two and two together. The result wasn’t promising.

“H-hey, Awen?” Broccoli asked.

“Yes?” Awen said past the hands she had plastered over her face.

“Wanna play... a game?”

“Wh-what kind of game?” Awen asked.

Broccoli shifted on the spot. “I dunno. Monopoly or something.”

That was it. Amaryllis was going to learn a spell that allowed her to summon cold water.

***

Cinnamon Bum

“I dunno, man,” Broc B. said from her spot on the couch. Who, exactly, had brought the couch out into the town square was anyone’s guess. “Just, like, chill out, you know?”

“Yeah,” Rhawrexdee said. “Yeah, we all need more chill.”

The dragon dragon took a hit from Broccoli’s cinnamon bun bong and let it out as a plume of dancing smoke.

“Yeah.”

Off to one side, Amaryllis fumed.

***

Cinnamon Bun Pun

Amaryllis glared at... at the girl who’d somehow become her best friend. “So?” she asked. “Are you done being a complete moron?”

Broccoli, who was currently tied to a chair with a piece of rope in her mouth, nodded rapidly.

“Aw... should I, um, untie her?” Awen asked.

“Certainly,” Amaryllis said.

The little mechanic fumbled with the ropes for a bit, showing a surprising level of expertise with them until they came loose and Broccoli was able to talk once more.

“Oh, wow, thanks!” Broccoli said. So far, Amaryllis though, so good. “So, why did you tie me up?”

“To stop you from talking,” Amaryllis said.

Broccoli blinked. “Talking? Did I make a tit of myself?”

Amaryllis’ eyes narrowed.

“Because being tied up like this is super unpheasent. I feel like a sitting duck. And it’s not like I did anything fowl enough to deserve getting tied!”

“Should, should I tied her back up?” Awen asked.

“Oh no,” Broccoli said. “As Awazing as you are with that rope, Awen, I’d really knot have it around my mouth again. No! I haven't been knotty, I swear!”

Amaryllis nodded to Awen and watched as Broccoli struggled against being tied all over again. She wondered... hoped there was a cure to the terrible affliction that had captured her friend.