Guacamole has a minion!

Yummy the Smiley Avocado

The waitress approached his table slowly, like the bowl of soup she was carrying could leap out of her paws at any second. To him the sun feli seemed like quite a young girl--perhaps a young relative of the chef or a high school student trying to earn a little spending money--but he never was that good with ages, and he decided there were more important things to focus his mind on at that moment.

"Here you are, sir," She said in a high-pitched and perky voice, "I'll be back with the rest in a little while."

"Oh, gracias," he said as he pulled the bowl a little closer. Slowly, he picked up his spoon and sipped a small bit, letting the warm broth sit on his tongue for a moment to let him savor the taste. He noticed the onions were far too overpowering, and even though he liked the taste of onions he decided it would be important to mention. As he swallowed he felt a small drop running down his cheek, and he frowned and huffed quietly as he tried to lick it off. It had taken him years to learn how to use silverware without thumbs, and yet he still managed to get food in his whiskers.

As he lifted the spoon again and gently sniffed the next bite, he began to focus on what he should say about the place. Adjectives were swirling through his mind as he gently poured the soup into his mouth, and they directed his attention far away from the lilac torrey that had taken a seat on the empty chair across from him.

"Enjoyin' your lunch, sir?" It asked him with a smile.

At first he was surprised, and he nearly dropped his spoon before looking around to make sure he was the one the question was addressed to.

"Oh, why, yes," he replied, but before he could say any more he was interrupted.

"I was thinkin' you look awfully familiar, but I'm not sure where we met," the torrey said, "What's your name again?"

"Er... It's Ruperto, but I've never seen you befo-"

"Oh, wait a minute! You're that guy from the newspaper, aren't you?"

He held up his paw to stop him and hissed a quick, "Shh!" After a quick glance back at the kitchen, he started whispering, "Yes, yes, I am the local restaurant critic, but it isn't a good idea to let them know that. It could affect the service, you see."

The torrey smiled again and leaned forward as he began whispering too, like they were playing some kind of game. "Oh, I get it. My name's Mickey. So do you get paid real good just for eatin' places?"

He took a moment to answer as he felt himself smiling slightly from considering the possibility of having a fan of his work. In fact, he was so excited by this that he didn't realize his picture had never been printed in the paper. "Well, it doesn't pay much, but it's enough. Really, I'd like to open my own restaurant someday. A nice Mexican place where I can serve all of my grandmother's recipes."

"You don't say?" Mickey replied, "Hey, I know a bit about the food world myself. My brother has a place not too far from here."

"Oh? It feels like I've been to every restaurant on this street. Which one is his?"

"I'm sure you have, pal. It's that little pasta place you reviewed a couple of weeks ago. Remember?"

"Ooh..." He could tell his smile had faded instantly, "Yes, I'm afraid I do." It was certainly a shame. The food was perfectly fresh and delicious, like nothing he'd tasted in many years, but finding half a cockroach in the sauce isn't something that can be easily overlooked.

"Well so does he. In fact, your little report got the place shut down. The poor guy couldn't pay his rent and got kicked out of his house too."

He lowered his ears and head, trying to show how deeply saddened he felt. "That's terrible. I'm so sorry he had to go through all that."

"I'm sure you are, buddy," Mickey's voice was quickly changing from a cheerful tone to a lower hiss, and his smile started looking much more sinister. "You see, in our family we watch out for each other. We got each other's backs just like our Daddy always taught us to do. And when some guy thinks he can mess with one of us, he's messin' with all of us."

Something suddenly clicked in his mind, and his eyes began to dart around the room. Torreys. The customers at the tables around him. Torreys. Sitting at the bar and watching him over their shoulders. Torreys. Standing outside the front door and watching through the windows. All torreys. By some unfortunate event he had harmed the son of someone who should never be angered, and now he was trapped in a room full of relatives ready to pounce on him. He tried to keep still, but he could feel his toes and fingers twitching. Mickey just kept smiling.

"Somethin' wrong with your soup, Ruperto?"

He wasn't sure what happened next, but suddenly he was on his feet, the table was in the air and falling away from him, Mickey was screaming and trying to get the hot soup out of his eyes, and everyone in the dining room was coming towards him. He tried to run back to the kitchen, but something furry yet sharp tackled him to the ground. He felt a paw come crushing down on his ribs, but a sudden roll and kick sent the weight on top of him off and into the crowd. In the split second of confusion he had given himself, he scrambled to his feet and jumped as high as he could. His light paralix paws allowed him to step through the air like he was climbing an invisible staircase, leading him to a window above the bar, almost on the second story. He scrambled through as the others swarmed below him and tried to follow, but they weren't able to climb up the wall like him. He kept going up as soon as he was out, climbing on to the roof and then jumping to the next one, and the next, and the next. His ability to float helped carry him over the large gaps at a pace that even he didn't know he could run at, but even when he knew he had lost them he kept on going.

He needed to get as far out of town as he possibly could. And perhaps change his name and hide for a long while.
Fortunately, he knew just the malticorn to help him.