Birds can’t taste capsaicin.
“Come ooooon, Mumbo! Try one!” Grian said brightly, holding out one of the wizened little fruits from the depths of his plastic bag.
Mumbo peered at it. It was… just a small, shrivelled little pepper. Grian turned it over, letting him see the wrinkled spice in all its glory. Before he could comment, Grian popped the little pepper into his mouth and bit down on it with a satisfying crunch.
“No.” Mumbo said, folding his arms, “The last time I had one of your “snacks”, I saw the face of God.”
Grian rolled his eyes.
“Oh come on. It wasn’t THAT bad. Anyway, these ones are a lot milder than that last one!”
“Milder? Mate, drinking a cup of molten steel would be milder than the last hell fruit you had me bite into. My moustache caught fire.”
Grian groaned.
“I still think you should try one. They’re nice and salty. Healthier than popcorn, too! Just all around good for you.” He fluffed out his wings and offered Mumbo a pepper, placing it on his upturned palm.
“You really think I’m going to fall for this again, don’t you?” Mumbo sighed.
“I’m not trying to trick you! This one IS milder, I swear! Like it’s actually- that last one was a little spicy, even for me, but this one is nice! Almost…salty-sweet, really.”
Mumbo sighed.
Grian ate another one, humming in delight.
“Well, nothing ventured…” Mumbo said warily.
“What do you call these things, anyway?” He asked Grian, popping it in his mouth before waiting for a reply.
Grian turned over the package and glanced at the front.
“Says they’re called…Carolina Reapers. Fun, hey? Mumbo? Mumbo? Are you okay?”
<MumboJumbo burned to death.>