Cinnabon has a minion!

Bun the Cinnaman

Bonnie loved cinnamon. In fact, such was the extent of this love that she had quickly acquired the somewhat quirky nickname of "Cinnabon" from those around her.

Cinnamon-flavoured biscuits, sweets, spices, you name it, she loved them all. But, her favourite cinnamon treat, by far, was the humble cinnamon roll.

Cinnabon was a common sight in town, often seen strolling merrily down the street from the bakery, face and chest dusted with sugar as she happily munched at her newly-purchased treat. But while Cinnabon loved the cinnamon delights she got from the bakery, she always felt as though her beloved cinnamon rolls could be made even better.
On her walks home, chewing away, Cinnabon often fantasized about the mouth-watering mix of flavours, the tongue-tantalising glazes and syrups, the mind-bogglingly endless potential to create a delectable array of cinnamon rolls that would convert even the most stubborn opposer, to a devout cinnamon-celebrator.

Cinnabon had often considered creating these heavenly treats herself, but there was just one small problem.
She was a positively terrible cook.

When Cinnabon was in the kitchen, the best case scenario would be her emerging with a couple of semi-charred lumps and the oven still intact. Those few products which emerged mostly unburnt, were decidedly inedible, usually having the texture of chalk and flavour of an old powdered wig.

As a result of these failed endeavours, Bonnie had contented herself munching her bakery-bought treats and daydreaming of the perfect cinnamon roll.
That is, until one fateful afternoon.

It was like any other day, Cinnabon was walking home from the bakery, munching away, when a commotion to the side of the path caught her eye.

Peering closer, Cinnabon could see a small flock of crows fussing over what appeared to be a lone, discarded cinnamon bun.
"Huh," she thought, "at least it's not going to waste."

But as she looked closer, she noticed the small cinnamon bun looked a little strange.
It seemed to be thrashing about with what appeared to be two sets of little arms and legs, and as she watched, the little cinnamon bun suddenly gave out an angry shout,
"Get off me you feathered cretins!" It cried.

It was alive!
With a gasp of realisation, Cinnabon quickly ran forward, chasing away the crows from the small cinnamon bun shaped creature.

"Yeah that's right, you'd better run!" The small creature shouted, shaking a tiny fist.