Adagio Dazzle Wants A Burrito
Open Up Your Mouth And Feed It
The afternoon sun shone brightly, almost harshly, on the tired main drag of Downtown Canterville’s Restaurant Row on Third Street. One- to three-storey brick buildings erected in happier bygone days, painted either white or in left in their natural earthy tones, sat forlornly (despite clearly being occupied) amidst the streetscape, which thanks to a total lack of applied beautification was utterly devoid of plant life, save for the random tufts of non-native grass growing through the cracks in the sidewalks and street, plus a sad tree near the intersection. The street itself seemed dead despite the occasional car zipping past, drivers clearly trying to get through as quickly as possible on their way to somewhere else.
In the middle of the street, a rock – chert, larger than a pebble but still rather small – existed. Untold years of wind and rain (and the occasional car tyre) had smoothed its edges. This made it much more aerodynamic if were to ever be kicked, which is exactly the fate that befell it. A scuffed purple boot made contact with the unfortunate rock, sending it careening through the air until it bounced unceremoniously off the side of a lamppost, falling to the ground where it landed in that little corner of road where the asphalt meets the curb – the part that can never be cleaned no matter what anyone does except during a heavy rain, much lacking of late.
Adagio Dazzle stood in the middle of the currently empty street, surveying the scene before her. She breathed a sigh of relief that that rock she kicked had not flown through any of the myriad storefront windows – fixing that would have cost an obscene amount of money she did not have. In fact, she had absolutely no money at the moment.
The warm breeze attempted to blow through her hair, but became hopelessly lost within her indescribably curly orange locks reaching down to her rear – her sisters called it “The Poof”, a name she hated. Despite the sneers and jokes at its expense, and the various objects that occasionally became entangled in it, she took great pride in her hair. Indeed, after the loss of her otherworldly singing voice, The Poof was about the only thing left she could have any pride about.
The gases in Adagio’s digestive tract burbled audibly, vibrating her stomach and causing her to briefly clutch her midsection before recovering what poise she could. She cursed to herself as she made her way onto the sidewalk just as a car sped by, its driver more engrossed in whatever app made the colourful digital fruits happen than in paying attention to the road.
Adagio observed the scene before her. A rundown-looking small restaurant with a garish neon ‘OPEN’ sign beckoned any and all comers. Writing on the window (as well as on an awning out of her line of sight) read simply: “Big Beulah’s Burrito Barn”. A piece of copy-paper taped on the door offered an early-bird / after-school discount for seniors and students respectively.
She grimaced as she saw her own reflection in the tinted window. The weeks since the disastrous literal-Battle of the Bands had taken their toll on her. The Poof was extremely unkempt… though a casual observer would have a difficult time noticing, save for the occasional twig or leaf caught in it. Baggy eyes stared at a purple ensemble that had become noticeably tattered from life on the streets.
In hindsight, Adagio mused to herself, We should have paid the rent.
She pushed open the front door of the Burrito Barn and, upon finding several tables occupied by students, CHS and otherwise, slowly studied them to find the easiest mark. In the meantime, her mind wandered, probably hovering amongst the metallic rafters above everyone’s heads, taking care not to burn itself on the can light fixtures.
It’s not like we didn’t have the money. Hell, we still DO have the money. Stupid jerk at the bank refusing to let me into our safe-deposit box. How dare he doubt that I’m Abacus Cinch! Whoever that is… just a name I saw in the newspaper and decided to *ahem* commandeer. Whatever. A Siren still needs to eat. It may not be the tingling pleasure of others’ negativity, but sustenance is sustenance. Now that those two dead weights are gone and can’t foul me up, getting my way should be a piece of cake.
I like cake. The blue idiot brought me cake once. This place doesn’t have cake. I don’t need cake; I need a meal. The purple idiot said that once. I’m better off without them. They’re idiots. I don’t need them. I never needed them.
It’s been a week I think since I told those two morons to take a hike – away from me, out of our squatter’s hovel, off a cliff if I could be so lucky – and already my life is looking up. Yes indeed. Finally on my own. Independent. Free to live and do as I see fit. Everything is bucking wonderful.
Well, It’s a lot quieter at any rate. Quiet is nice. No more listening to the purple idiot complaining about how stupid everyone and everything is – she’s right, of course, but it gets old after so many years. Better yet, no more listening to the blue idiot speaking words of wisdom she heard on a puppet show. Maybe one of these days she’ll finally be able to count without saying “Ah-ah-ah” after every number. Pfft, what am I saying? Of course she won’t. There probably won’t even be a ‘one of these days’ for her. Or the purple idiot either. I give both of them even odds of lasting one more week before they either die of exposure or whatever… or they come crawling back to me because they’re completely incapable of surviving on their own, at which point I will just tell them to stuff it again.
All they ever did was hold me back. A few years in this hellhole plus most of our old lives in Equestria. They call themselves my ‘sisters’, but when did those idiots ever do anything to deserve that title? How have they ever been anything but useless dead weight? Especially the blue idiot. That damn stupid smile – she’s lucky I never slapped it off her face… well, almost never; the purple idiot usually took care of it… okay so maybe she was useful for something after all; trying to beat sense into the blue idiot hurt my hand and never did any damn good. Plus the crying, oh sweet Achelous. “Waaah, Adagio! Aria’s being mean to me again!” “Did you do something stupid?” “All I did was pour water into the TV because the guy riding through the desert with the nameless horse was thirsty.” “Then you deserved it.”
Every day with those two. Banging my head against a brick wall would have been less painful than putting up with their idiocy – I should have tried that; might have helped my headaches. Even when we still had our pendants, they needed big-sis Adagio to help them use their powers. Feh.
I may not be able to sing my Siren Song (though at least I can still carry a tune, unlike those two simpletons), but I’ve still got my looks. Hmm… too damn many girls; no point trying there. I don’t swing that way. Maybe the purple idiot does? The blue idiot did seem awfully interested in Sunset Shimmer.
Sunset, Adagio growled to the point she nearly foamed at the mouth. If I ever get my power back, mark my words I will— oh. Oh yes. You’ll do.
She zeroed in on a teenage boy sitting alone at a small table along a far wall, a bunch of papers strewn about next to his piping-hot burrito. He was average in every conceivable way – average height for his age, moderately-lanky build, pale peach skin that belay no particular background, brown eyes, shoulder-length bushy brown hair untameable by a normal comb (though nowhere near as wild as The Poof, which had long since become the stuff of legends; truly it is in a class all its own), sporting an outfit of green khaki cargo pants, striped button-up shirt, and red jacket that anyone could have bought for a song at the thrift shop down the road… except the Sirens post-defeat, for obvious reasons. Perhaps the only thing even remotely interesting about his attire was the pale green knitted cap that might have been intended as a fashion statement, but really just looked like an oversized dirty sock.
Adagio sidled up to him and attempted to work her magic – what of it may have been left, at any rate.
Ohhh yes. He’s turned toward me now. Hello, little boy. Do you like what you see? Of course you do. Turn on the charm. Keep eye contact. Eyes on the prize. That goes for you too, buster. Sashay my hips. If you’ve got it, flaunt it, I say. Keep his attention. Bat my eyelashes. Sultry look. You want to… to me, don’t you? But all I care about is that food next to you. And you’re too stupid to realize it. Slight toss of the head. Sit down in his lap. Now I got you. Gaze into his eyes, and…
What’s with that frown? I’m pretty sure you’re not one of those students I tried to enslave before… I think… so you have no reason not to fall for my charms, plebeian. Hold on. I-is that a chuckle? You’re slowly tilting your head down, looking at…
Adagio’s eyes widened as she realized the boy’s eyes had settled upon her breasts, or rather lack thereof. Of the many parts of her humanoid body with which she was perhaps overly proud, her flat chest was not among them. Though she compensated for it by wearing outfits that focused attention on her rear end – of which she was very proud – she still often cursed the fact that Aria and (especially) Sonata ended up considerably more top-heavy. Also Sunset. Grrr. Well, yet another reason for Adagio to declare her fellow Equestrian expat her eternal mortal enemy.
She scowled as she crossed her arms over her barely-existent bosoms, glaring at the boy, a slight blush developing on her orange cheeks.
He rolled his eyes… and smirked, a total rejection of Adagio’s very essence.
If looks could kill, Adagio’s would be the equivalent of a neutron bomb aimed directly at his smug visage. Frantically scanning her immediate surroundings for something, anything, to lessen the sensation of embarrassment slowly spreading through her, radiating out from her core to the most distant of her capillaries, she discovered a disused yet mostly full squeeze bottle of Louie Z. Ana’s Hot Sauce™ (Now With Ghost Peppers!) on the next table over.
Adagio always considered herself graceful, whether as a Siren or as a humanoid, and she proved it by moving in one fluid motion to grab the sauce bottle, pivot back to her original position while aiming the nozzle directly at the boy’s face.
It happened quickly enough that he was momentarily shocked, but that lasted only a second or two as Adagio, left eye twitching involuntarily, squeezed the bottle, launching a stream of sauce into his eyes and mouth, shifting her aim briefly to ensure his nose got to share in the experience as well. The effect was instantaneous.
Everyone in the restaurant turned to see the boy’s blood-curdling scream as he fell to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. Maybe someone should help him? Nah. Doing that would require getting up, and that’s just too much work. No one appeared to notice Adagio, who had already placed the offending hot sauce bottle on the table and turned to leave… with the boy’s plate of burrito in tow.
As Adagio made it out the front door, luckily not being pursued by any irate teens or the eponymous Big Beulah, she took a second to sigh as she attempted to ratchet herself down from her anger-fuelled high. To her left, a few doors away from the Burrito Barn, was some sort of fancy bistro with a few tables set up outside under an awning to accommodate smokers and hipsters who preferred eating outdoors (often one and the same, admittedly). The tables were all empty despite the nice day, possibly due to the time or maybe because the food wasn’t worth the price. Adagio didn’t care; she sat down, fully prepared to punch out anyone who told her to move, held the now-cooled burrito to her mouth, and took a bite.
“Blech!!” she said. “What the hell poison is in this?!” She pulled out a green leaf that looked like fresh parsley but wasn’t. Cilantro.
Adagio had learned shortly after arriving in this universe that she was among the 10% of people for whom the herb tastes absolutely vile, thanks to being hypersensitive to the smell of unsaturated aldehydes. Clearly things had not improved after several years of being a humanoid. Defeated, she glared at the burrito, which still sat in its basket, cold, mocking her.
“What?” she asked it angrily, before slapping it to the ground. That’ll teach it.
Author's Note
For the Author's Notes, please go here. Thanks for reading!
