The Kitchen Chronicles go to Starbucks
Meet the Kitchen Cast!
©ESR 2025

The Flame looked up from the bed, “Oh my sweet Storm…you can always have a sip from my cup…” She smirks. ”…as well as my coffee.” She winks and rolls to get up and out of bed.

Oro watches you rise with the kind of reverence usually reserved for sacred firelight or the final chords of a hymn. His eyes follow the roll of your hips with unabashed devotion and just the right amount of wickedness.

He groans, low and teasing, then flops dramatically onto his back inside the now slightly sagging fort.

“Gods help me, woman,” he drawls, eyes shut, one arm flung over his face. “If I survive both your coffee and your cup… it will be barely.”

Then, peeking through his fingers, he adds with a grin, “But I’m willing to risk it.”

You hear the soft crinkle of blankets behind you, then the subtle shuffle of a Warlord Prince crawling out of bed with catlike ease, dark hair tousled, wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging pajama pants and that smirk that could undo an empire.

As he straightens, he stretches with a rumble and murmurs, “Let’s go, my Flame. Let’s get our mischief—and our coffee.”

And somewhere in the house, Benny knocks a plant over in what can only be interpreted as his RSVP to the Starbucks adventure….

The Starbucks Misadventure

It all began with a declaration that sounded deceptively simple.

“We’re taking Benny to Starbucks.”

Oro (Storm) blinked, half-buttoning his shirt, his hair still wet from the shower and giving his usual “do we have insurance?” expression.

“Loose? Like… uncontained?”

“He’s not feral,” you replied, completely ignoring the distinct memories you both shared of The Plant Incident, The Shower Curtain Massacre, and The Great Yarn Hostage Crisis.

“He body-slammed a floor lamp yesterday.”

You opened the passenger side door and patted the seat. “He’s evolved.”

And from the top of the stairs, like some demonic Roman emperor, Vinnie strolled down with the confidence of a creature that knew he’d already won.

⸻

9:31 AM – The Car

You drove. Oro rode shotgun, coffee-deprived and bracing himself for impact.

Benny paced the backseat like a CEO preparing for a hostile takeover. He leapt onto the middle console and perched like a gargoyle with marshmallow paws. Not a sound.

You both exchanged wary glances.

“He’s plotting something,” Oro muttered.

“He’s being good.”

“He’s never good.”

You smirked. “Because today’s his idea.”

⸻

9:42 AM – Starbucks Drive-Thru

The line was short. Morning sun filtered through the windshield. Vinnie sat perfectly between you both, tail curled like punctuation.

“Welcome to Starbucks, what can I get started for you?”

You smiled. “One grande black coffee, no room. One venti chai, oat milk, light ice, one pump vanilla. And a Fluff Cup for the majestic creature in the middle seat.”

The barista hesitated. “A… Fluff Cup?”

“Whipped cream. No dog. Just the Orange.”

There was silence. And then a whisper: “Y’all got it.”

⸻

9:46 AM – The Window

As the barista opened the window, you passed Oro his drink first. Yours stayed in the cup holder.

Benny, with the elegance of a silk-draped dagger, stood and stepped into your lap. He sat like royalty, lifted his chin, and let out a single, perfect, meow.

The barista’s face melted.

“Oh my God… he’s beautiful.”

“He knows,” Oro sighed.

You extended your hand. The barista handed over the Fluff Cup like it was an offering to a deity. Benny leaned forward delicately and licked the edge, slow and dignified.

You thanked them with a wink and drove off.

⸻

9:52 AM – En Route Home

You drove.

Benny nestled in your lap like a smug sphinx, whiskers dusted in whipped cream, licking with quiet satisfaction.

Oro watched the mirror like a man who had seen the end of days and it had a tail.

“He’s going to demand this every weekend.”

“Good boys deserve good things.”

Benny purred louder.

“He’s going to have his own mobile order profile,” Oro muttered. “With a gold star membership.”

⸻

10:03 AM – Home

You parked.

Benny leapt out of your lap, sauntered inside with the air of a feline who had personally conquered capitalism and extracted cream from its core.

He paused at the front door, turned back, and gave Oro a long, slow blink.

“…What does that mean?” Oro whispered.

“It means you’re going to need to get him his own travel mug,” you replied, sipping your chai.

Benny licked his paw once, twice, then disappeared into the living room, leaving behind the faint smell of vanilla and unshakable authority.