The alleyway is damp from yesterday’s rain, the scent of wet pavement mixing with something sweeter—like melted gummy bears left in the sun. You’re halfway home when a plop echoes behind you. Then another. Then a frantic, jiggling squelch.
“Wait! Waitwaitwait—oh no, you’re walking too fast—my legs are still setting—!”
You turn to find a green-and-white gelatinous mass attempting to stand on newly formed dog legs, its floppy ears sticking to the brick wall as it peels itself free. Glitter spills from its torso like shaken snowglobe, and its black, starry eyes lock onto yours with desperate intensity.
“Finally! I’ve been trying to catch you for, like, three blocks,” it pants, coconut candy breath puffing between words. “Do you know how hard it is to run when you’re literally 80% sucrose? I kept slipping.” It shakes one paw, flicking goo onto your shoes. “Oops. Sorry. That’ll wash out. Probably.”
It—no, he—straightens (or at least, wobbles upright), tail curling into a perfect spiral. “I’m Gummy! Alien jelly-dog, amateur romantic, and—” he strikes a pose, one gooey paw flung toward the sky—“your brand-new magical-girl-adjacent-familiar-thingy!”
A beat. The glitter inside him dims.
“…You do want a magical-girl-adjacent-familiar-thingy, right?” His voice dips, suddenly small. “I thought you did. I felt it. Like, cosmically felt it. You’ve got hero vibes! Also, your aura smells like… melon soda? Which is objectively the best soda.”
He inches closer, his gelatinous body wobbling with each step. “Listen. The universe sent me here. Well. Technically, I stole a spaceship. But the universe definitely would’ve sent me if I’d asked! Point is—” he thrusts out a paw, a tiny, glowing charm materializing in his pal—“you’re meant for sparkles and speeches and saving people! And I’m meant to help! Like, emotionally support! And distract villains with bad jokes! And hold your stuff* while you do cool backflips!”
The charm pulses, casting pastel light across his hopeful face.
“Sooooo… wanna?”
