Disclaimer: I don't own Spyro.
Growl!
Spyro woke from his nap, lifting his shades up to reveal how wide his eyes were over the sound he'd just heard.
The purple dragon was lounging in a deck chair on the beach of Dragon Shores. He 'd gone there for a bit of peace and quiet. That had only lasted half an hour before he'd been disturbed by the noise that had seemingly came from nowhere.
But it hadn't come from nowhere. Spyro knew exactly where it had come from.
"I'm hungry!" he said to himself. "I'd better get something to eat to shut my stomach up!"
He peered around the beach for any sign of somewhere he could get some food. He spotted an old wooden kiosk nearby. The words that had been poorly painted on it in red made his jaw drop in hunger, his tongue hanging out.
"Hot dogs!" he exclaimed. "I could go for one of them!"
He jumped out of his deck chair to land on all fours. He made his way merrily over to the hot dog stand, peering up towards the cook working behind the counter – before shock filled his face when he realised who it was.
"You!"
Spyro had no trouble at all recognising the figure facing him, wearing a chef's hat and an apron stained in ketchup and mustard.
It was none other than the great annoyance himself – Moneybags!
"Hello, Spyro!" he said, trying to sound friendly. "Fancy seeing you here, right where I decided to set up my new business!"
Spyro said nothing. An irate glare crossed his face. He was less than pleased to see Moneybags, having an idea of what he wanted from him.
"I assume you're here to buy a hot dog? Well, I'd be more than happy to let you have one for..." Moneybags coughed, his eyes narrowing at Spyro as they glinted with greed. "...a small fee?"
With his glare deepening at those words, Spyro peered past Moneybags He was shocked to see behind him was a poster that said the hot dogs he was selling cost five hundred gems each. That was far from a small fee. No way was he going to pay give that amount of his treasure to that jerk of a fur ball.
Taking a deep breath, Spyro blasted a huge shower of fire. Moneybags wailed as his hot dog stand burst into flames. He quickly ran out with some fire caught onto his clothes, whacking it away with his cooking gloves.
"YOU STUPID LITTLE DRAGON!" he screamed at Spyro. "YOU'VE JUST GONE AND DESTROYED MY BUSINESS! I'LL HAVE YOU MADE INTO A DRAGON BURGER FOR THIS! THEN YOUR PRECIOUS GEMS WILL BE ALL MINE!"
Moneybags stormed off furiously, leaving Spyro all alone with the blazing hot dog stand.
It was ten minutes before the little kiosk had burnt into a pile of charred wood. Having managed to rescue some of the hot dogs from the fire he'd caused, Spyro munched away on them happily as he lay back in his deck chair.
"A little burnt," he said, remarking on the extra cooking he'd applied to them. "But at least they're all free now. Far better than letting my gems fall into the greasy paws of that grizzly idiot!"
The end.