The Beginning of the End

by BoomBamBaby010

Summary:

An ongoing series of drabbles starting immediately after the events of The Emperor's New Groove and leading up to the start of Kuzco attending Kuzco Academy in The Emperor's New School. Basically what I think happens in between, reflections of the events through Kuzco's eyes and how he ends up in school in the first place. Feedback is appreciated!

Chapter 1: The Stars Dance & Kuzco Reflects

The stars dance, and Kuzco reflects.

His fingers curl against the grass beneath them as a breeze passes over him, gentle enough to brush his hair away from his eyes, but not enough to disturb much else. It’s balmy tonight, with a sky clear enough to trace the bright constellations that he had always been taught are a direct result of his lineage, across the inky sky.

He’d only taken to noticing how peaceful it feels to sit quietly on this hilltop recently. Any time his thoughts threaten to consume him, or when his Emperor duties-– that he’s finally taking seriously–- become too much and he needs an escape.
It’s been happening more often than not lately, and each time. . . he finds himself here. An unmoving mass against the calm, dew-covered grass of the hillside, staring up at the wide expanse of the sky while a solitary candle burns in the window of his vacation hut.

Sometimes, Pacha will join him.

If he notices the unmoving figure amongst the fields after the kids are put to sleep, Pacha will join him on the hillside— a silent, but comforting sentry that helps to remind him that there are people who care about him in this world.

‘Nobody really seems to care that he’s gone, do they?’

For as long as he can remember, Kuzco has been given everything and anything he could ever want on a literal golden platter. His parents, from the little he actually remembers of them, showered him in gifts of toys, fine jewelry and respondent clothing and the royal nannies were told to always make sure that he was kept happy by whatever means necessary. All he ever had to do was cry and gifts were thrust at him from every angle— each one more entertaining than the last. When his parents disappeared, that never changed. Yzma took over as a caregiver of sorts, and as long as he didn’t bother her too much, she gave him everything if it meant shutting him up. He tried to remember the songs his mother used to sing him to sleep with. The holiday traditions they celebrated as a family— and when he attempted to recreate it with Yzma, he was snubbed.

‘What need does the future Emperor have for such immature behavior? You should be learning to remember far more important things.’

. . . And so, he grew up a spoiled brat, surrounded by opulence and uncaring of how others saw him because he had never learned to behave in any other way.

The soft caw of a bird on a nearby branch breaks his train of thought, and he tips his head backwards to try and place it amongst the trees. In his search, he notices Pacha’s darkened home, with the candle in the window blown out and the entry door closed. They must have already gone to sleep for the night. That's fine. He wouldn’t be good company tonight, anyways. There’s too much on his mind.

Who knew righting your past wrongs and completely changing your groove— I.e. pattern of behavior— would be so difficult and time consuming?

This morning, he nearly snapped at one of the palace servants for bringing him cold atole. Everything else on his golden platter was warm, with enough steam heaping off it to replicate a facial treatment, but the atole was cold and congealing on his plate. For a reason he couldn’t comprehend, this infuriated him.

“Hey! Just how hard is your job, huh?! You call THIS service?” He shouted, startling the maid who was still standing next his bed side and refilling his goblet of water. Kuzco nearly upends the tray on the bed beside him with the force he uses to shove it off of his lap, a petulant scowl twisting his lips. “Maybe if there was a little less chatt-y amongst you servants, and more following your duties to the Emperor, I’d be able to get to my first torture ses— I mean, meeting— on time!”

She stared at him unblinking, hands clenching and unclenching against her robes as she bowed her head and struggled to come up with a proper excuse.

It only took a moment, and the sound of her petrified rambling for Kuzco to realize what he was doing and he visibly recoiled, grimacing at his lack of manners. He’d been trying so hard to avoid falling back into his old habits, and one bad morning after not enough sleep was enough to throw him right back into the routine. She was still babbling, struggling through her apology when Kuzco held up his hands to try and calm her.

“Hey— hey, woah. Slow down.” He shushes, aiming to calm her down before she has a heart attack in front of him. Kuzco pauses for a moment, and then casually asks; “What’s your name?”

The trembling female stops, hesitantly glancing up at him from beneath her bangs and mutters a very quiet “Inez, your Highness” in response.

“Inez. Listen— I’m sorry. I’m having a bad morning, Okay? Didn’t mean to take my frustration out on you.” He tries, lowering his hands and shooting her his best conspiratorial grin. “Anyone would wake up in a bad mood knowing they were going to be bored to tears by back to back council meetings all day. Am I right?”

Inez just stared back at him blankly, before offering him a weary smile. “Of course, sir.”

After apologizing again and asking her to take the tray back to be remade and brought to the throne room, Kuzco dismissed her and laid himself back against his silken pillows with a groan. Enjoying the few moments of quiet he had left before the Thing-That-Wouldn’t-Shut-Up (Huapa. His name was Huapa, he discovered after finally taking a moment to ask him. He hadn’t known that in all the years that he’d worked for him; yet another thing to feel guilty over.) would barge in and insist he start getting ready for the day.

For as long as he can remember that brash, vain, arrogant persona he put on was all that he knew. It was a shield for him, a shield against the world and to those who only see him as a spoiled man child instead of the man in charge of their Empire. The only thing he needed in his extravagant life was the opulence afforded to him by his title, and a palace full of servants and cooks at his disposal.

What reason would he have for niceties, or for allowing other people to get close to him? If it didn’t benefit him in some way, it didn’t matter. At least, that’s what Yzma had always told him– and he’d never had a reason to doubt her advice.

. . He certainly wasn’t going to change in a day or even a weeks time, he was sure. The llama adventure was exactly that; an adventure, and a true lesson in humility. He’d never felt more alone than those few moments after he overheard Kronk and Yzma speaking outside of Mudka’s. When he turned to find the only person who had ever shown him true kindness, the only person who’d ever attempted to help him out of the goodness of their heart, and not because they wanted something– he was gone. Pacha had left, just like he wanted at the time.

It was then that he realized just how much he had lost. A lesson in humility and kindness he never thought he would have to learn. What good was fighting to get back to his Empire, if no one actually wanted him there?

“The Empire will be rid of that useless slug once and for all!”

It still haunts him sometimes.

He wonders how many people share Yzma’s view of him, and what he will have to do to right his past wrongs and get them to see him in a new light. As a man worthy of ruling over the Kingdom.

The real question is. . . if he does manage to change their view of him, will he deserve it?

Chapter 2: Haunted

He’s startled awake by silence, his mouth falling open on a wordless scream as his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room around him. Panting as he struggles to push himself upright, Kuzco fights momentarily with the heavy woolen covers before he’s able to fling them off of his legs and turn out of the bed.

“Th- the guards! What happened to the guards?!”

In all of the excitement with what happened, Kuzco had completely forgotten about the guards who fell to their death from the aqueduct in animal form while trying to capture him for ‘trespassing’. Yzma had completely disregarded them, ordering them after him without a care for the consequences, and Kuzco and Pacha were helpless to watch as they fell, screaming into the fog concealing the watery depths below.

Who could ever be so heartless?

To just send those men to their deaths?

His primary goal at that point had been recovering the potion, and he hadn’t exactly been in a position to do anything for the guards regardless. But— he just. . . forgot. In all of the excitement surrounding his return to humanity, and his return to the throne— he’d completely forgotten those men who had fallen to their death in front of him.

“Sire?! Sire! What’s wrong!” The raised voice of the royal records keeper near bursting through his door startles him out of his thoughts, and Kuzco grabs his chest as he hauls his legs back up in the bed in defense.

He doesn’t scream again so much as . . . exclaims his surprise. Loudly.

“Don’t DO that!” He orders, taking a few measured breaths to (hopefully) calm his heart before it beats right out of his chest. “I was uh. . . “

He pauses then, considering. If anyone would know about the fate of those guards, or what had been done for their families— it’s the royal record keeper.

“The— the guards. There were 5 of them. Who were helping Yzma. . . do you know what happened to them?”

The little man pauses for a moment, seemingly thinking as his gaze drifts across the room. “Well, they died.” He tells him, not unkindly. Blunt as always.

“Right, right. I know that, Huapa. I meant— has anyone contacted their families?”

It must shock the records keeper as much as asking for his name did all those weeks ago. It’s still uncanny for the staff here at the palace, when Kuzco deigns to show any form of concern for them. It’s a constant reminder of how much he has to make up for, and it’s humbling every time he notices their look of surprise.

Which, speaking of; Huapa’s jaw drops in silent surprise, his expression momentarily stunned before he’s able to school his features into something much more solemn. “Um, no sir. The council was more invested in reinstating you to your proper title and cleaning up Yzma’s, uh— ‘creative touches’ to the palace.”

Suddenly, the room feels too small. Like it’s closing in on him— and if he doesn’t get some fresh air right now, he never will. Kuzco pushes himself out of bed and reaches for his robe, aggressively tying it around his waist. “I see.” In a few quick strides he’s at the window, taking a deep breath as he surveys the city below.

It’s quiet this time of night, with only a few people meandering through the streets with their carts.

“First thing in the morning; I want you to arrange a meeting. Find out the names of each of the guards, and send a summons to their families to come to the palace.” Another deep breath, and the weight on his shoulders feels a little less daunting. “If we’re going to do this, we do it right. No more wishy-washy, under the carpet. . . things.”

Kuzco can’t see from his place in front of the window, but Huapa allows a small smile to curl his lips; proud for once of the Emperor making an effort to do the right thing. “Very well, your Highn— “

“Huapa, we’ve been over this. Kuzco. You can call me Kuzco. I’m in my pajamas.”

A casual clearing of his throat. “Very well, Kuzco. Get some sleep.”

It’s not until long after he hears the click of the door close behind Huapa, and the final lantern of a traveling peasant flickers out of his line of sight that Kuzco returns to his bed.

It’s not much, but it’s a start.

Chapter 3: The Brides

“So anyways, I’m really sorry for— wait. What exactly did I say again?”

“ ‘Yikes’, your Highness.”

“Ah hah. Right. . . that.” There’s a pause where Kuzco inwardly recoils, and a hand raises to brush against the back of his neck in an uncharacteristic display of shyness.

Truth be told, he’s embarrassed by his past behavior. Looking back on it now, Kuzco can’t believe he used to think acting like that would win anyone over. Let alone these admittedly beautiful women who were hand selected to become his future Empress. It was selfish and childish, and he can fully understand why some of the women didn’t even want to come back to speak with him again.

“Okay, look. I’m sorry— really. That was incredibly rude of me and I didn’t mean to, you know. Turn you down and break your heart like that.”

A blank look is the only answer he receives, the woman sitting across from him folding her arms across her chest and sitting as still and solemn as a hand carved statue.

The entire room is quiet save for the Royal Scribe writing away at his little desk in the corner, documenting the conversation and his not-bride’s non reaction to his apology.

If he’s being honest, Kuzco can’t even blame her. He kind of deserves it.

But at least she wasn’t the one who’s hair he commented on. A guard had to come into the room to ensure she wouldn’t leap across the table to punch him outright.

“. . . You gotta admit though, it was a little funny.” Kuzco tries with an awkward laugh, aiming for good humor and missing by a mile.

Her other eyebrow raises, and she looks annoyed beyond reason now.

“. . . A little bit? Teeny-tiny?” His hand is held up to indicate a teeny-tiny space between them.

If he concentrates really hard, he thinks he might be able to hear her grinding her teeth together.

“Wow. Tough crowd.”

The Royal Scribe coughs in the corner.

“Right. Okay, fine. Not funny. To you. But— hilarious jokes aside, I wasn’t taking it seriously then and I should’ve been. You ladies are all very beautiful, and I would’ve been lucky to get to know any of you with a possibility of marrying you in the future.”

Her expression softens minutely, and Kuzco takes it for the win that it is.

Mission accomplished. . . . Only 4 more to go.

Chapter 4: Treefrogs

Notes:

This could be considered a flashback, or a headcanon. It takes place when Kuzco is younger, obviously, and is more of a memory than anything to explain his fear of treefrogs.

One of his earliest memories as a small child is of him playing outside in the lush garden of the palace, tottling around with his favorite stuffed toy named Wompy in the bright afternoon sun. His maid is sitting on a nearby bench, reading and enjoying the quiet; and Kuzco is free to wander at his leisure.

Flowers are a beautiful thing, some as bright as the sun itself and others with a multitude of colors and insects fluttering and buzzing around them.

He’s giggling happily as he follows a bee lazily darting through the air, going from bloom to bloom as it collects its nectar. It’s dancing for him, and he’s all too happy to chase it around the garden–- –- until his little foot hits nothing but air, and he’s suddenly falling.

The cold water comes as a shock to his system, and he’s flailing in an attempt to get away from it. It doesn’t help and when he tries to breathe, the cold water fills his mouth and causes him to choke.

Wompy is just as afraid as he is, but somewhere in the struggle he lets go of him, and he floats to the bottom out of sight. He can’t see anything, and he can’t breathe and all too soon he can feel himself getting more and more tired, and his struggles lessen.

In one second and the next he’s thrust out of the coldness of the pond, sobbing and choking as he tries to cough up the water he swallowed. He’s laying on the ground beside the garden’s pond, and his maid is hysterical, screaming for someone to come help. Kuzco is panting, with ragged heaving breaths leaving him and his head lists to the side, feeling like it’s full of rocks when he notices a small creature sitting beside his face.

It’s green, with big eyes and long legs and they’re staring at each other like they’ve never seen anything so strange in their lives. Kuzco is cross-eyed as he stares at it, and just as he’s finally regaining control of his breath, something comes flying at his face.

“AHHHH!” Kuzco screams, rearing back in horror as the creature’s. . . tongue?.. hits him on the cheek and then darts back into its mouth, and the creature’s only answer is a low ‘ribbit’ as he hops closer.

He can’t get away fast enough, hands scrabbling at the dirt as he backs away from the creature, and it’s only until he hits the side of the pond once more that he stops and closes his eyes, bracing himself for the final blow.

That comes in quick succession when the frog darts his tongue out once more and seems to capture something that was on his cheek, and Kuzco is sobbing again by the time the thing finally hops away, satisfied with its dinner. By then the maid is back, swaddling him in a warm blanket and comforting as she tries to get him to stand. In all the commotion, he forgot to tell them about Wompy and he screams that he isn’t leaving until he’s saved!

Eventually, Wompy is rescued by other staffers, and the soaking wet Emperor-to-be and his favorite toy are escorted back into the palace to clean up.

That day still haunts him, and ever since?

He’s NEVER trusted those slimy, smelly little things.

Chapter 5: Chicha is Clever

It’s a beautiful day in the village.

The sun is shining, birds are chirping. The air is humid and stifling, but there’s just enough of a light breeze for it to be mostly bearable. It’s the day after his impromptu ‘hut-welcome’ party in Pacha’s village, and Kuzco is enjoying his ‘vacation’ away from the palace by laying out and worshiping the sun on his chaise lounge and eating grapes by the handful.

His eyes are closed against the glare of the sun, the hand not feeding himself grapes resting behind his head as a cushion. Despite the pampering he’s endured all his life, this is by far the most relaxed he’s felt in years.

No Yzma to worry about, no mid-morning meetings before he’s fully awake, no peasants complaining at him for hours on end.

He should’ve done this years ago!

In between one grape and the next, there’s a heavy pile of something suddenly dropped on top of him, and Kuzco sputters as he flails his way through it to figure out what’s going on.

“Hey!” He shouts, heaving an over dramatic breath once he’s finally free of the. . . wet towels?

He’s greeted by Chicha’s scowling face, towering over him with her arms folded across her chest.

“Good morning, your Highness.” She grounds out, raising an eyebrow at him. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Well I was, until I was so rudely interrupted.” He unceremoniously shoves the pile of dirty laundry to the ground beside his chair, where his grapes lie in a mangled heap. What a shame.

“Sooo. . . what’s with the towels? Out of soap?”

“No, Kuzco. I figured since you had so much fun dirtying everything yesterday, you wouldn’t mind lending a hand cleaning up after yourself today.”

. . . She can’t be serious.

“You can’t be serious.”

Her raised eyebrow says otherwise.

“Hah hah, good one Chicha. You had me going there for a sec. Woo!” Kuzco laughs, brushing an imaginary tear from his eye. “Me, washing laundry. Like a peasant. Hah!”

If anything, her scowl gets deeper and she bends down to pick up a towel with an almost perfect imprint of Kuzco’s muddy face on it to throw back at his head.

“Around here, we peasants like to clean up after ourselves–- and I could use the help while Chaca is watching Yupi and Tipo is out with Pacha. Come on, Kuzco.”

With that, Chicha turns and starts to head back up the hill leading to her and Pacha’s hut, fully expecting Kuzco to follow. He’s still sitting there, staring back and forth between the towel in his hands and Chicha’s retreating back as she disappears from his line of sight. After he realizes she isn’t coming back, Kuzco begrudgingly picks up the dirty towels laying around his chair and stomps up the hill after her, muttering about ‘bossy peasants’.

Truth be told; Kuzco’s never done this before because no one has ever bothered to show him how to do it. He grew up in lavish accommodations, with maids and butlers catering to his every whim. What use would he have for washing his own clothes? He has people for that sort of thing!

Chicha, despite her annoyance at his constant complaining, is patient with him. Showing him the wash basin full of water and dirty clothes, and the saponins used for washing everything. How to hold the garments so he doesn’t scrape his hands with the rock.

It’s slow going at first, but he’s slowly getting the hang of it by the time they’re just about finished and he’s draping the last of the towels over the now empty basin’s edge.

“BOOM, baby! Check me out! I did ALL the laundry, by myself with these two hands!” He holds his hands up for emphasis, missing Chicha’s annoyed eye roll entirely as he spins around in a dance circle.

“Oh yeah, look at me and my bad self! Booyah!”

He stops dancing when he notices her watching him from the couch, amusement warring with annoyance evident in her expression. “Oh no, please. Don’t stop on my account. It was all you, llama boy.”

Kuzco scowls at the nickname, but there’s no heat behind it.

“One? Don’t call me that. Ever.” He takes a seat beside her on the couch, huffing out a faux annoyed breath. “Two-– you didn’t really need my help with any of this, did you.”

Chicha hides her smile behind an overly casual shrug.

“I underestimated you, Chicha. You’re clever. Tricking your Emperor into doing your dirty work for you– literally.”

“What can I say? It’s about time someone taught you some manners.”

Chapter 6: Yzma's Theme Song

Notes:

Yet another flashback to just before the events of the movie.

This one is dedicated to the version of the song Eartha Kitt did that never made it into the movie! Which is a real shame.
It would have been hilarious after the eulogy, in my opinion.

Here's the song if you've never heard it!
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=K5C9jqkL5pA&pp=ygUTeXptYSBwZXJmZWN0IHdvcmxkIA%3D%3D

“Hmm, okay. Let me think about it. . ."

Elegant feather fans hardly make a noise as their breeze drifts across his face, gently brushing his bangs away from his brow. Beautiful women surround him on all sides in the spacious relaxation room, quiet and concentrated on their tasks; whether that be to fan him or to feed him. The only noise in the room save for his occasional chewing is that of the panpipe and flute music floating towards them from across the room, where his palace musicians play without interruption.

It’s been hours since Kuzco last moved from his reclined position on his favorite settee, hands pillowing the back of his head, and his legs still outstretched from his earlier massage. His eyes haven’t opened in just as long, and the only indication he gives that he hasn’t fallen asleep is when his mouth falls open, prompting the women sitting on either side of him to pierce another morsel of food on their golden forks to feed him with.

“Okay, I’ve thought about it. No, no, no aaaaand– no.”

“But Sire! You can’t– y-you have to!” The royal record keeper exclaims, his shock and excitement very nearly bowling him over where he stands by the door. He’s sweating profusely as he makes his way closer to the settee, panicked and babbling as he attempts to appeal to the young man.

The day had started off well enough. Kuzco woke up refreshed and excited for the day ahead. He had nothing on his schedule, save for a little pampering– which was just the way he liked it. He started off with a facial, followed by a light breakfast. A quick dip in the pool, and then sunbathing for several hours. Now he laid in the relaxation room after his full body massage enjoying his light snack and some music.

Until The-Thing-That-Wouldn’t-Shut-Up showed up and ruined it all, of course.

“Look, that’s where you’re wrong, pal. I don’t have to do anything. At all. Ever.” He raises a hand to stop the women from feeding him anything else for the moment and sits up, glaring at the short man still babbling uselessly next to his chair. “Me? Emperor. You? Short annoying advisor-y type. . . guy.” Kuzco emphasizes his point by jabbing him in the chest with his finger, annoyance clear on his features. “YOU do it. ‘Cause, if you couldn’t tell? My schedule’s a little full.”

The-Thing-That-Wouldn’t-Shut-Up takes a step back, a wounded look crossing his features that quickly shifts right back into panic the moment the Emperor’s words register. “B-but your Highness! It’s tradition! The Emperor always blesses the new temples, and gives a speech– “

“I don’t care!” His temper flares, and in his haste to sit himself up he almost gets stuck on his silk robe and falls out of the chair. “I’m not going! You can’t make me. Either YOU go in my place, or– I don’t know, send Yzma! Figure it out!”

The women take that as their cue to leave, quietly moving away from the side of his chair to collect their belongings. Kuzco pays them no mind, hands making quick work of retying his robe’s belt with his glare still aimed at the short man dabbing his forehead with a cloth.

Recognizing a lost cause when he sees one, The-Thing-That-Wouldn’t-Shut-Up heaves a world-weary sigh and stuffs his handkerchief into a pocket, carefully avoiding looking the Emperor directly in the eye. “Very well, Sire– but, uh. You see– n-no one has seen Yzma today, and she was suppos–”

“She’s probably in her “secret lab” doing something. . . old and creepy.” Kuzco huffs, raising his hands to make ‘finger quotes’ at the mention of the secret lab before he pushes himself to standing. “If you want something done right around here, you have to do it yourself.”

Without waiting for the short man to leave, Kuzco turns and struts out of the room. He hadn’t seen Yzma at all this morning either, not that he was complaining. She was all old and gross, wrinkly and. . . smelled weird. For someone who was supposed to be the epitome of perfection, he hated having the old hag skulking around in his palace. Except, of course, when it benefited him. The longer he had to go without doing actual work, the better. Especially if it meant not sitting through hours of peasants whining about their sad lives.

. . . Not that he’d ever admit that to her.

On his way to the West wing, the ominous sound of singing catches his ear and he pauses for a moment in the middle of the hallway– nearly sending a servant directly into his back. She’s able to catch herself in time and skid around him, avoiding eye contact all the time– but Kuzco is so confused by the singing he pays her no mind regardless.

“What’s my name?!”

It’s coming from what’s supposed to be a vacant office room, and he can’t initially place the voice through the closed door. It’s familiar, but it’s definitely not his theme song and he idly wonders who would have the gal to sing something that DIDN’T involve HIM in HIS palace?

The door creeps open as he presses a hand against it, just enough to peek through and he catches Yzma– of all dinosaurs– dancing around the room.

“I'll be the sovereign QUEEN of the nation, I'm the sheekest chick in creation! I'm the cat with all the cream and ooh la la.” She purrs the last part, and it takes everything in his power not to throw up on the spot. Honestly.

This day? Ruined.

“With a deadly concentration, I’ll put an end to my frustration– now this perfect world begins and ends with MUAH! What's my name?!”

She pauses with her eyes closed, cupping a hand to her ear like she’s listening for something in the background and Kuzco, despite himself, glances around like he’s expecting someone to jump out of the shadows. When she belts out her name– eerily similar to the way he himself does– he almost jumps. Almost.

“Yzmaaaa, Whats my name?! Yzmaaa, What'd you say? Yzmaaaa– – AHAHAHAHA!”

When she breaks into her customary evil laugh, Kuzco has had more than enough; and it’s with no small amount of disgust that he pushes the door open to room to step fully inside, with his arms crossed over his chest.

“AHEM.”

“-- HAHAH– OOH OH! O-Oh. Your highness!” He can’t help but smirk as the old crone just about jumps out of her skin, that evil laughter petering off to a nervous laughter as she fumbles with her– scary– dress and attempts to put herself back together. “I-I was just, just– “

“You were. . . what?”

“Y-you know, uh. Thinking up a new. . . song! For your ‘theme song’ man to sing about you, haha– “

“Right. Y’know what’s REALLY evil, Yzma? Like; the lowest of the low. So evil I’m probably going to have nightmares for the rest of my young life, evil?”

Yzma only blinks at him with the caterpillars she calls eyelashes, appearing stunned and entirely uncertain as to how it’s come to this. He doesn’t bother waiting for a reply, knowing he isn’t going to get one anyways and crosses his legs at the ankle where he leans against the door’s frame.

“. . .Stealing a guy’s theme song. Seriously– THAT’S evil. Yikes. I might have to throw it out and have my guy make up a whole new one.” He’s only half serious, really.

After another pregnant pause, Kuzco heaves a sigh and pushes himself off of the frame, turning like he’s going to head out of the room but stopping just before closing the door behind him. “Oh, by the way? You have a temple to bless, some peasant matters to handle and about 4 meetings this evening. If you have any questions, go see the little guy who won’t shut up.”

“What!? But I– “

Kuzco has no issue cutting her off. “This has been a nightmare, truly. Okay. Buh-bye.”

And with that, he’s gliding out of the door, shivering as he heads back down the hall towards his own room. Purposefully ignoring the loud “Kuuuuzco!” He hears coming from the direction of that room he’s going to demolish, just because he can.

Chapter 7: Walk the Llama

Let me fill you in on a little secret. Come here.

. . . No, closer.

I don’t actually mind the whole ‘living like a peasant’ thing as much as I thought I would.

I know, I know. You’re probably thinking: ‘but Kuzco, you’re the Emperor! You should be treated like royalty at all times! Because you are!’

And you’re absolutely right! But sometimes, it’s nice to get away from the city.

Chicha’s been teaching me how to do– what’d she call them again, OH! Right. “Chores”. Like, the laundry and dishes and stuff. Turns out, peasants have to do that sort of thing for themselves all the time! Without any help. Can you believe that?

I offered to bring Chicha some of the palace servants to do it all for her, and she just gave me the evil eye ‘Chicha-stare’ and told me to ‘shut up and start scrubbing’. Pfft.

Talk about ungrateful.

Anyways; point is, I don’t mind it! Saying that I like it is . .. probably going a little too far, but. It’s not the worst thing in the world. Which brings me, and you– my loyal subjects– to what’s happening right now!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Kuzco draws the poncho over his head with a smile, carefully moving his hair out of the way and brushing his hands down the front of it to make sure everything is laying right. The fabric is coarse, as one would expect from wool, but its hands down the nicest gift he can ever remember receiving.

The stark red color of the llama icon on the front contrasts with the muted green coloring of the rest of it, and he can remember how hard he laughed when Chicha first presented it to him as a birthday gift.

He’s just sliding his sandals on when he hears it, what sounds like. . . singing? Coming from the direction of Pacha’s hill. It’s so out of place it takes him a moment, and he strides over to the window to see if he can figure out who’s responsible before realizing it’s coming from the other side of the hill, behind his hut.

He was heading up to Pacha’s anyways to help him with. . . something to do with ‘muck’, he isn’t even sure– so he finishes getting ready and heads out to check it out for himself.

A short time later and Kuzco arrives at Pacha’s hut, and he heads straight for the back where he was expected to meet Pacha anyways. He stops dead in his tracks at the sight that greets him, mouth hanging open for a moment before he remembers himself and moves closer to the wall so he can lean against it.

“Walk the llama llama– “

“Walk the llama llama!”

“Take in the panorama!-- ”

“Walk the llama llama!”

“Don’t have to be a drama–”

That would be Pacha– the big, fat llama herder he’s (privately) come to think of as a father figure– SINGING. Out loud. In public. With Chaca and Tipo.

The three of them are out in the field, in the middle of a herd of llamas they’re corralling towards the fenced in area. Chaca and Tipo are holding some kind of instruments in their hands as they sing the chorus, with Pacha guiding the llamas as they walk and making sure the kids are following along with him.

Kuzco leans up against the huts wall with a grin on his face, content to just watch for the moment and amused beyond belief. He’s going to have joke material from this on Pacha forever.

“Cool in the summer, warm in the cold– a perfect fashion statement for the young and the old!”

“Walk the llama llama– “

“A cloak for the priest, a hat for the farmer– you could be looking at the Emperor’s pajamas!”

Chaca and Tipo laugh at this, and he can see now that they’re brandishing shears as they start in on collecting the wool from the first few llamas they managed to gather up.

“That’s why the llama walks so proud, that’s why the llama holds his head up in the crowd. All of us applaud his generosity, he’s more than just a passing curiosity. He covers up our pride–”

“-- and all those things we have to hide!”

“In a civilized society!”

By the time he ends the song on a purposefully low note, Kuzco has already pushed himself off of the wall to make his way over to the trio as they dissolve into fits of laughter.

“SOOOO–” He calls, announcing his presence in as grandiose a manner as possible just to see if he can make Pacha jump. He does.

“You’re the ones making my pajamas for me, huh? Always wondered where they came from!”

“Kuzco, you’re– how long have you been here?”

“Long enough to know you couldn’t carry a tune with a bucket, old man.” Chicha and Tipo laugh at his joke, and Kuzco stops in front of them all with a grin, folding his hands behind his back.

“Okay Kuzco, that’s enough.” Pacha tells him in his best stern ‘dad’ voice, with a roll of his eyes. “Are you here to criticize me, or to help us out?”

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Turns out Pacha has been singing that song to Chaca and Tipo for months, in an effort to teach them how he shears the llamas.

And despite how off-tone he is, it seems like it’s working! Shocking, I know.

I learned another thing that day, too! A very important lesson I will keep with me forever.

. . . The next time someone asks me to help them with ‘muck slinging’, the answer will always be NO. Or that I’m out of town. Or busy with. . . stuff. Important Emperor stuff.

Muck slinging? That’s for the peasants.

No thank you.

Chapter 8: Grazing

Notes:

Takes place during the movie, a reflection of Kuzco's thoughts after he overhears Yzma and Kronk.

“It’s all been an act and I almost fell for it.”

For a fleeting moment in between the waves of grief and self pity that threaten to consume him, Kuzco is grateful to discover that the distinctive feeling of having the weight of the world on his shoulders is gone. He’d always been far more concerned with his own selfish pleasures and the opulence and grandeur that his lifestyle afforded him, but on occasion he would need to put in some actual work for the good of his people. Council meetings, overseeing the crop supply distribution from the surrounding villages, listening to peasant complaints– it wasn’t fun, but that small amount of work was a small price to pay in return for his lavish existence.

Llama’s wouldn’t have to worry about any of that.

A llama’s primary concern is survival, with a secondary concern of finding a large enough patch of grass to graze in for hours at a time. If he tried hard enough, he was sure he’d be able to convince himself that this was for the best in time. A freeing existence; humbling in its simplicity. Maybe it’s exactly what he deserves. Divine intervention from the Gods, finally showing him his worth and the error of his ways.

“All you care about is your stupid hilltop. You don’t care about me, now just get out of here. Go!”

And why should he care about him? The only thing Kuzco had ever been concerned about had been himself. His huge palace, his infamous ‘groove’, his summer vacation home that would be filled with stuff for HIM. Pacha had all but pleaded with him, trying several times to convince him to change his mind– there was an entire village at stake and the only thing he could continue to think about was how great his vacation home would be. Who cared if he displaced an entire village to build it? It would be worth it.

Pacha, despite his insistence that he would be building Kuzcotopia, continued to help him. He gave him the clothes off of his back– literally– to keep from getting cold, and to get into that restaurant so he could eat something. He was selfless, heroic, optimistic and kind– everything that Kuzco was not but could be, if he could just see past his own arrogance for even a second. How he could think for one moment that Pacha had an ulterior motive, or was only doing this to make sure his village wouldn’t be demolished was beside him.

Pacha was the one person he had in his corner– the ONLY person willing to put up with him, and he pushed him away; blinded by his own selfish need to get back to the palace by any means necessary. His arrogance in believing that everyone else lived to serve him was his undoing.

“The empire will finally be rid of that useless slug!”

“Well you got a point, no one really seems to care that he’s gone, do they?”

Maybe he was better off this way. He could learn to live like this. After all, he only had his conscience to weigh him down now.

As his head lifts to survey the grassy sloping field before him, his ears droop and fall behind his head. It’s so quiet; the only noise being that of the llama’s chewing their grass, and the birds chirping overhead. They seem content with the silence, grazing and mingling amongst one another as they warm in the sun– and Kuzco forces himself forward to join them. It’s a short walk even at a lazy canter, and when he steps off of the small footbridge the grazing llama’s all raise their heads to look at him.

Without thinking he raises a hoof to them in greeting, the human gesture enough to startle them away from him and they turn as a group to head further into the field. The friendly smile slips off of his face and his ears lower once more along with his hoof at the realization that he isn’t even good at this. He couldn’t get an entire Kingdom’s worth of people to care about him– why should a group of llama’s be any different?

Resigned to his fate, Kuzco heaves a sigh and glances down at the grass. In all of the commotion at Mudka’s, he never had the chance to eat anything. His stomach grumbles in agreement, and he realizes with startling clarity that the last time he’d had anything to eat was the morning that he’d fired Yzma.

Well; If he’s going to get used to his new life, he might as well enjoy the cuisine.

Chapter 9: Grass is Disgusting

Notes:

This is half of a starter, half of a drabble taking place after Kuzco admits defeat and heads to the field to act like a normal ‘llama’ and eat some grass. Enjoy.

Grass is disgusting.

It takes everything in his power to swallow the overly large mouthful that he’s already taken, and the first thing he does once the threat of throwing it all back up again is gone is stick out his tongue to rid himself of the remaining bitter taste.

“Blegh! That was horrible– how do you guys eat that stuff?!” Kuzco all but shouts, resisting the urge to brush his tongue off with a hoof. It’s far too human of a gesture for him to make anymore, and he’d already scared the other llamas in this herd once with his attempt at a friendly wave.

“Is that– why was the dirt so crunchy? Unless there were bugs in– oh, Gods. Yuck! Ew, ew, ew.”

He does reach his hoof up then, other llama’s be damned, to attempt to brush the remaining clumps of dirt off of his tongue. There was a distinctive crunching sound on that last chew before he’d swallowed, and if the idea of eating a ‘pillbug delicacy’ was enough to nearly make him sick, knowing that he actually ate a bug or two along with actual dirt was sure to finish the job.

Not that any of it mattered any more, of course. He might as well get used to it.

Blinded by his desperate need to get back to the palace, and to put himself and his own needs before everyone else’s, Kuzco finally managed to push Pacha away for good. Pacha was the one person who, despite everything, continued to support him and stayed in his corner throughout this misadventure.

How the man managed to put up with him this long, he’ll never know– but now that he’s gone, Kuzco has resigned himself to his smelly fate. It’s humbling, and nothing less than he deserves for how he treated everyone while he was in power, that much he knows.

But if it could involve a little less dirt and bugs, he’d be eternally grateful.

“Yeesh.” He grumbles, watching as the disinterested llamas walk away from him once more, ignoring him as they continue to graze.

Just as he’s about to duck his head for another bite– he can’t help it, he’s starving. When was the last time he ate actual food? He hears what sounds like a familiar voice in the near distance.

Kuzco perks his ears, squinting as he tries to place the direction the voice is coming from. He can’t make out details from here– what a llama’s eyesight lacks, it makes up for in its hearing ability– but he does start to head in the voices direction in hopes of at the very least having another human interaction.

Chapter 10: The Decree

“—We’re receiving a shipment of wool from the higher regions this afternoon, which will be distributed—“

“Yeah, can you make it a passion fruit smoothie this time? If I drink one more mango smoothie, I’m gonna start to look like one! Hah!” He laughs loudly at his own joke, the sound of it echoing off of the walls of the cavernous recreation room and interrupting the monotone droning of his day planner. It’s a startling contrast to the gentle lapping sounds of water brushing against the artificial banks of his indoor lake, and Kuzco can see the day planner cast him an unimpressed look over the top of his scroll from the corner of his eye.

The room was designed with one specific purpose in mind; relaxation. His own personal oasis within the palace, where he can go to clear his mind and rejuvenate himself after a long advisory meeting, or a busy morning. The walls are a muted yellow, in a stone motif that continues on to the floor surrounding the built in lake in the center of the room. Natural trees, shrubs and rock line the banks of the lake, giving the room an outdoorsy feel— despite the small walking bridge and the waterslide sitting on one side, of course.

In short; It’s paradise. Over the top extravagant? Sure, but it was built before his ‘nice guy’ transformation, and just because he’s changed for the better now doesn’t mean he can’t still enjoy it.

“Very good sir, will that be all?”

“Yeah, for right now. Thanks, Manu.” Kuzco heaves a contented sigh once he’s calmed down from his laughing fit, and readjusts himself on his floating lounge chair. The butler— Manu; He’s making a point to learn his staff’s names and to become more approachable— takes it as the dismissal it is, and turns to leave the room.

Undeterred by the interruption, the day planner clears his throat and resumes reading from his scroll, following Kuzco from his place on the banks of the lake as he drifts lazily around in the center.

“As I was saying, sir. The shipment will be distributed first to the city—“

“Your highness!” The panicked voice of the Royal Record keeper shatters the serenity of the room once more, startling both the day planner and Kuzco who almost upends his floating lounge chair in alarm. Huffing as he makes his way into the room, the stout man skids to a stop at the edge of the bank nearest him and beckons him closer with a frantic hand motion. His day planner sighs, throwing his hands up in frustration at the realization that his schedule is a lost cause, and turns to leave the room in the direction the Royal Record keeper came from.

Kuzco would find it amusing, if not for the sense of dread falling over him at the sheer panic in the record keepers face. “You know this is supposed to be my no-work zone, right? It’s the relaxation room, not the ‘stress-Kuzco-out-beyond-belief room’, . . .room.” Despite his words, Kuzco weakly paddles his way over to the bank with his hands, sloshing water around as he goes.

“I understand, sire. But you have to see this! When we were going over the books, we came across a previously undiscovered clause in the prior Emperor— your father’s— decree that directly impacts your right to the throne.” Now fully alarmed, Kuzco tries to gingerly disembark his floating chair so he can see the scroll for himself, and instead manages to upend it, sending him splashing into the water of the lake. It only takes a moment for him to come back up, heaving in a lung full of air as he does so and stubbornly ignoring the amused look on the record keeper’s face.

“Okay yeah, great— dad got a little crazy with the pencil back in his day. What does that mean for me?” Kuzco grunts, wading through the water with angry strokes as he makes his way towards the rope ladder that will leave him out.

“Well, uh. Plainly speaking, it means that unless you— “

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“— Unless I pick a bride, or earn a diploma stating that I received a formal education, I forfeit my right to the throne! Can you believe that?!”

The scroll in question is slammed down atop the dining table in Pacha’s hut, a seething Kuzco breathing raggedly as he waits for vindication for his anger from Pacha and Chicha, who are staring at him with matching blank looks of confusion. When he’d first heard about the decree from the records keeper, he went on a rampage— demanding to see the previous decrees and insisting this was a mistake, or some sort of obvious trick set in place by Yzma in her jealousy. A week went by with royal historians scouring through the archives, and Kuzco worriedly pacing the halls of the palace while he waited for confirmation.

When the verdict returned, the very first person he thought to go to about the matter was Pacha. After everything they’ve been through, he’d begun to think of the peasant as not only a friend, but a fatherly figure of sorts. If anybody knew what to do; it would be Pacha. And Chicha; that woman is a force to be reckoned with. So without further complaint, and against the record keeper’s urging for him to keep this knowledge to the inner circle of advisors, Kuzco packed his belongings and announced that he would be heading to his summer get-away hut once more.

“It was supposed to take effect by my eighteenth birthday, but I guess with me being ‘dead’ and all, and Yzma taking over the throne it got overlooked. Oh! I bet that’s why they were pushing so hard for me to pick a bride! It all makes sense now!” Kuzco realizes, slapping a hand against the side of his head in exasperation. Pacha and Chicha share another look, and Chicha reaches out to take the scroll so she can read over it herself.

“What am I gonna do? Unless I find a bride in the next few days, they’re going to make me go to the local school I funded years ago to get the village council off my back. Me! In public school. With peasants!” He groans, overdramatic and allows his head to fall down to the table, completely missing Pacha’s dry look at the mention of being stuck with peasants. As if he wasn’t sitting in a peasants home right now, asking for advice.

He clears his throat to get his attention, and when that doesn’t work, he slides himself over to the bench he’s sitting on and rests one of his big hands across Kuzco’s shoulders. “Kuzco, listen. It might not be so bad to go to school. You’ll be with kids your own age— you might even be able to make a few friends.”

“I have friends! I have lots of friends, the coolest friends in the Kingdom, actually.” Comes the petulant reply, muted by his arms which are resting on the table and covering his face. Pacha is careful to hide his amused smile behind a cough, and he pats his back consolingly. “I’m sure you do. But my point is; it’s not the end of the world. A few years of school, and that’s it— you’ll be back on your throne before you know it.”

Kuzco heaves a sigh as he straightens up again, brushing his hand against the front of his poncho in an effort to straighten it out. It’s the one Chicha was kind enough to knit for him, and secretly one of his all time favorite gifts. Without really thinking, he scoots a little further away from Pacha on the bench seat, further emphasizing his ‘no touchy’ rule. “That’s not even the worst part though, Pach. They’re cutting off the royal funds! I can’t even live in the palace OR my summer vacation hut until I graduate or get married! I’ve never not lived in the palace— how am I supposed to survive out here on my own!?”

Pacha and Chicha share another meaningful look, with Chicha’s turning far more annoyed than Pacha really thinks the situation calls for. Resigned to her fate, Chicha sets the scroll back down on the table and folds her arms over her chest. “Well, Kuzco. You know you’re always welcome in our hut. Perhaps you should stay with us during your schooling.” She bites out, aiming for pleasant and missing by a mile.

For a moment, Kuzco’s thrown by the offer— not used to such a blatant offer of kindness with no hidden meaning behind it. In the next moment however, he chirps a teasing “Mommy!” In Chicha’s direction, if only to see her expression fall completely flat with aggravation. “Don’t call me that. I’m serious, Kuzco. You can stay with us— but I’m warning you, we don’t have a ton of room here. You’ll have to share with Chaca and Tipo until we can figure something out. And I’ll expect you to continue helping me with chores.”

It’s a better offer than he was expecting, if he’s being honest. He’d only come here for Pacha’s sage advice and to air his frustrations, not to ask for their generosity in the matter. He’s touched, warmed by the idea that these peasants who he barely knows, yet could consider the closest thing he’s ever had to a family would offer him their home in his time of need.

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Kuzco is still contemplating their offer and his future choices as he makes his way back down Pacha’s hill later that day. He’d taken the week off to get his bearings, and isn’t expected back at the palace with an answer for another five days. That should give him plenty of time to get his llamas in a row and decide whether or not he’s going to call those brides back in for another line up, or actually do this ‘school’ thing. He’s leaning towards picking a bride; what better way to get this over with as quickly as possible? With a bride, he’s guaranteed a future heir, and he can take back his throne by the end of next week. It’s a win-win.

So, why does it feel like the walls are crashing in around him?

Chapter 11: Loser Face!

“What?! What do you mean they won’t come back?!”

It’s been a week since the discovery of the addendum in the Royal Scrolls, and Kuzco is starting to get desperate. Not that he would ever admit to such a thing, of course; but every day that went by with his ability to hold the throne in question was a perpetual waking nightmare that he couldn’t seem to find his way out of with a candle.

“My apologies, sire! Most of them have accepted your apologies from your first, uh. Encounter. But they are unwilling to risk the d-disgrace of not being picked a second time.” The Royal Record keeper stutters, raising his shoulders in a shrug that makes his neck disappear beneath his robes. Any other time his fumbling would be amusing, but Kuzco is too consumed by his distress to take any real notice of it.

He heaves a world weary sigh in return and leans back heavily against the side of the hot tub he’s in, a wet hand raising to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Can’t I just, you know. Order them to come back? Or– even better!” Kuzco exclaims, standing abruptly in the center of the hot tub and snapping his fingers for a scribe, who scurries over without a moment's notice.

“Let’s bring all of the eligible ladies in the Kingdom to the palace! Any who haven’t been married off, around the same age, attractive– it’s perfect! We’ll offer to pay the family of whoever I chose a handsome dowry, and– “

When the Royal Record Keeper clears his throat with the air of a disappointed parent, Kuzco stops himself mid sentence and visibly deflates as he turns to glare at him, wholly unamused.

He was on a roll there! Just who does this guy think he is, anyways?

The scribe is still standing off to the side, impassively taking down his potential proclamation and the subsequent summons that will be needed for it if it comes to pass.

“Your Highness, while I’m sure that’s. . . feasible,” He begins, placating. “Everyone in the kingdom has heard rumors of your past behavior and inability to– “ The record keeper trails off when he notices Kuzco’s glare sharpening, and audibly swallows before continuing. “-- uh. Your displeasure with the previous brides. They aren’t aware of how much you’ve changed! So, um. The village leaders and families would be hesitant to send their daughters to the palace, even with the promise of money.”

“Riiiight.” Kuzco allows, brows still furrowed in a glare at the annoying little man. After a charged moment he huffs and folds his arms over his chest like a petulant child. “So you’re saying they wouldn’t come. Even if I made them.”

“I’m afraid so, sire. Besides; the council would never approve of a marriage with a villager. They would at the very least have to be a noble who has an education.”

Kuzco lowers himself back into the water with a grimace, idly waving the scribe off with a flippant gesture before letting his arms fall to either side of the hot tubs walls. He’s uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, before a very loud, undignified sniffle leaves him– and before the record keeper even knows what’s happening– he’s slamming his arms down into the water with a loud sob.

“What am I gonna do?! I’m gonna lose my throne!” Kuzco whines, splashing his hands in the water. “Throne-y’s gonna be all alone! I’m going to lose everything, WAAAH. I’m a big loser! LOSER FACE!”

Confused, the Royal Record keeper takes a step forward as if to comfort their Emperor (for now) before he has a nervous breakdown, but thinks better of it at the last moment and stays put. “Your Highness, it seems like attending school is your best chance of reclaiming your throne. It’s only temporary! You’ll be back with, uh, Throne-y in no time. You may even have a better chance of convincing your people that you’ve changed if you attend school and show them!”

With a loud sniffle, Kuzco wipes at his face with his wet hands to remove any mess that may be there and stares at him, still on the verge of another breakdown. “But then I’ll have to live somewhere that’s not the palace! And talk to peasants! And do homework!”

“You talk to Pacha and Chicha all the time. . . “

“What am I gonna do?!” Just like that, he’s off again, hysterical as he leans back against the wall of the hot tub and loudly expresses how much of a loser he is.

“Well, whatever you’re going to do Sire, I suggest you do it quickly. The council is meeting later today to make a final decision.” The record keeper sighs, turning to head out of the room. He pauses at the last moment and glances over his shoulder at the young man, who’s hardly paying attention to him now. “I’ll send for the palace staff to pack your things. . . “

Chapter 12: On the Waiting List

‘Huh. When was the last time I had a manicure?’

Kuzco stares at his hand, examining his nails with a critical eye as his advisory council members drone on and on in the background. The only real reason that he’s here is because the meeting pertains to him and his right to the throne in the face of this mysterious new ‘amendment’ found in his late fathers scrolls. Of course, you couldn’t guess that from how the council was all bickering with one another, talking over each other and generally ignoring him. He’s barely said a single word since he walked in and he’s more than content to let his thoughts drift while they make up their minds.

Inwardly, Kuzco is panicking. Not that he’d ever readily admit that, of course; but it’s threatening to consume him. Only the royal record keeper had seen him in such a frenzied state as of late, simultaneously helping him and turning down his ideas all week– but he knows better than to let that slip to anyone else.

If there’s one useful thing that Yzma taught him in all of her many, many, many, MANY years as his advisor, it’s to never show weakness to your subordinates. When you show weakness or uncertainty, or there’s a chink or your armor– that’s when they strike. It’s something that’s stuck with him since he was old enough to understand its meaning, and Kuzco used to live by the idea– you know, before the ‘llama adventure’.

“. . . So it’s been decided, then.”

Blinking back into awareness, Kuzco allows his hand to drop to his lap and curl into his imperial robe as a source of comfort while he glances around at the solemn faces surrounding him. The royal advisor stands quietly in the corner next to the scribe, watching the proceedings with a grim expression.

“Emperor Kuzco, it has been decided in a near unanimous vote that until you are able to procure either a diploma or an Empress, you will hereby be on the waiting list to resume your title as Emperor.” One of the council members– presumably the head– announces, standing from his chair to stare down the table at him. “In the meantime, you are to attend courses at Kuzco Academy, and will be entirely cut off from the royal funds until you graduate. It will be your responsibility to pass all of your courses without the aid of royal assistance of any kind, to prove your worthiness of the throne.”

At once, his stomach drops out from underneath him. This is the only life he’s ever known– how can he survive outside of the palace? It’s like the air has been sucked out of the room, and Kuzco launches himself to his feet so hard the chair flies out from underneath him. “You can’t do this! What am I supposed to do– live with peasants?! Walk myself to school every day?! By myself?!”

“I’m sorry, your Highness. You’re now on the waiting list to become Emperor. Best of luck to you.”

Before he knows what’s happening, the council member who spoke tugs on a braided cord hanging beside his head that Kuzco had never noticed before. His mouth opens for a rebuttal, but the feeling of his stomach dropping again heightens and the floor drops out from underneath him, and he’s suddenly careening through the air with a loud scream.

He hits a slide at some point, which takes him through a dark tunnel reminiscent of Yzma’s roller coaster, and then he’s skidding across the smooth stones of the outer palace corridors and nearly bowling over a peasant ambling past.

Kuzco stares, unblinking at his surroundings, idly recognizing he’s outside, that the peasant he nearly toppled is yelling at him to watch where he’s going and that his robes train is curled uncomfortably underneath him.

That didn’t just happen, right? He wasn’t just booted out of his own palace by some nameless council member. There’s no way.

In the next moment, Wompy bear– his beloved comfort animal– falls into his lap, presumably from where he’d just come from. As he looks down at Wompy’s cheerful face, it takes everything in his power not to crumple and burst into tears and he snuffles loudly as he cuddles the stuffed toy to his chest.

It takes him several minutes to pull himself together, and the guards don’t even move from their posts. Kuzco pulls himself up with the help of a nearby banner, glaring at them all as he does so. He’s still got the crown on– how dare they ignore him?! “Can’t find good help these days.” He grumbles, rubbing his back end.

Pacha!

He’d offered to take him in, didn’t he? If anyone will know what to do and how to act like a peasant, it’s a big smelly llama herder! He realizes after the fact that it means he’ll have to find his way through the jungle back to Pacha’s village on his own, but it’s not until well after he’s set out, hugging Wompy bear to his chest as he’s ducking under leaves and vines on the jungle trail.

Chapter 13: Made It.

By the time he makes it back to Pacha’s village on his own, Kuzco is exhausted. His robe’s train trails limply behind him as he walks, covered in dirt and with its customary curl as deflated and flattened as he currently feels. Wompy hangs from one hand, as dirty as his owner who ambles along the village trail like a zombie. Night has fallen over the land, with only the faint glow of candles in the window of a few huts to guide him as he meanders through the quiet village. It must be later than he thought– not that he had a sundial on him to keep track of exactly how long he’s been out-– but the temperature is dropping and he can feel the goosebumps on his arms from the breeze as it drifts past him.

“It’s just you and me now, Wompy.” He murmurs to his favorite stuffed animal, lifting it up to hug against his chest as his gaze drifts through the village. Pacha’s house looms over the village in the distance, still in its cozy little spot atop the hill, but when his eyes land on the steep staircase that leads up to it, Kuzco groans in frustration and almost sinks to his knees in defeat.

He’d had to run from a pack of jaguars earlier, after one he hadn’t seen sleeping under some brush whipped its tail out in front of him and he stepped right on it. The big cat yelped and launched itself to its feet, with several others waking up at the commotion and vivid images of the first time he’d been alone in the jungle– albeit in the form of dinner for the jungle beasts– flashed before his eyes. Kuzco clung to Wompy as he ran, screaming a litany of ‘No, no, no, no, no! Not again!’ as he tore through brush and ducked underneath branches. He found a hiding spot behind a fallen log, and wasted an hour there as he caught his breath and waited for the cats to leave the area.

To say that he hates the jungle is an understatement; he loathes it. The idea that he’s going to have to walk through this jungle path to get back to the main city for school fills him with a dread he’s trying very hard to avoid thinking about.

What little enthusiasm Kuzco regains when he finally makes it to Pacha’s hut at the top of the hill is stripped away when he realizes that the candle in his window has been snuffed out, and the hut is quiet save for the llama’s braying in their pens behind it. Idly, he considers sleeping around the back of the hut where he knows a large pile of hay sits under the covered porch for the llama’s to feed on– but he dismisses the idea when a shiver wracks his frame.

He’s made it this far to inconvenience his friend, he might as well get a start on it tonight.

Kuzco ambles up to the front door of the hut, and the hand not clutching Wompy raps against the door several times. Nothing happens at first, and the echo of his knock sounds explosive in the quiet of the night. When Pacha still doesn’t come in the next few minutes, he raises a fist to knock again but before he can get more than a few out the door swings open and a very disgruntled, half awake Pacha stands before him.

He must make a sight with his torn, dirty robes and clinging to a stuffed animal, and any other time Kuzco might find his rapid succession of expressions amusing but he doesn’t have it in him tonight. All it takes is one look at his friend, and the day’s events and exhaustion catch up to him, and Kuzco bursts into tears and practically falls forward against a startled Pacha’s chest. Pacha startles and just barely has the presence of mind to catch the teenager before he can fall. “Kuzco, what– “

He can’t even speak through his loud sobs to reply, and with a sigh Pacha tugs him inside of the hut and closes the door behind them before he wakes the entire village up.

Chapter 14: Rude Awakening

Waking up is a gradual process.

Among the first things he notices is just how hard of a surface he’s laying on. It’s uncomfortable, stiff and at points felt like something was poking him directly in the back. His usual bed clothes are a fine thread wool count, or even silk– and with as many pillows as he can keep on the bed. Maybe he fell asleep in a maid’s quarters again, that would explain some of it.

It’s quiet in the room, and he can faintly hear llamas braying in the distance and the sound of birds chirping. It’s not that unusual to him; on some occasions, when he really feels like being pampered, Kuzco calls to have a small flock of ‘Royal birds’ delivered to his quarters so he can wake up naturally with the sun and the sounds of chirping in his ears.

Though his eyes are still closed, the memory brings a small contented smile to his face and he snuggles in deeper with Wompy clutched to his chest. Sun beams in through the open window and warms his face, and if it weren’t for the sound of sudden breathing nearby Kuzco might have allowed himself to just lay there and bask in it until someone came to drag him out of bed for the day.

Unfortunately, he’s not that lucky.

“. . . Do you think he’s still asleep? He isn’t snoring anymore.”

While the voice is quiet, it’s near enough to startle him and Kuzco’s eyes shoot open in surprise to stare at the small round faces of Chaca and Tipo mere inches from his own. It’s such an abrupt shock that he doesn’t realize at first where he’s at, or what’s going on until he’s screaming and scuttling back into the cushions of the couch. “Ahhh! What are you doing in my bedroom?! Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock!”

Chaca and Tipo share amused, baffled looks between each other before turning to face him once more, and Chaca– hands on her hips– is the one who speaks first. “Knock on what? This is our living room. We were here first Kuzco.” She tells him, matter of factly. Tipo nods his agreement. “What are you doing here?”

It takes him a moment to register what she means, and his gaze narrows at her before casting around the room. He’s been here enough times to recognize the simplicity, and just as he realizes he’s in Pacha’s house the memory of what happened yesterday comes crashing down around him once more.

He can feel his lower lip tremble, but he quickly schools his features; not willing to start bawling like a baby again in front of literal babies. “Were not.” He argues, well aware that it doesn’t make sense or answer their question, and not necessarily caring.

Tipo narrows his eyes and folds his tiny arms across his chest. “Were too!”

Kuzco; childish, annoyed and still clutching Wompy counters with a “Nuh uh!” that– you guessed it, sets off a litany of retorts of ‘Nuh uh’ and ‘Uh huh’s’ respectively. This continues for several minutes until Pacha ambles down the steps, yawning and already pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hey, hey. Woah. It’s too early for all of this arguing. What’s going on here?”

“We’re trying to figure out what his Majesty is doing here in one of your shirts, dad!”

His cheeks heat, embarrassment rendering him momentarily speechless and he drops Wompy to reach down and pull out the edges of the huge night shirt he’s just now realizing that he’s wearing. He doesn’t even remember putting this on, but it’s clearly something of Pacha’s if only because of how his much smaller frame is swimming in it.

“Uh, why don’t you guys go and get dressed for breakfast, huh? I think mom said she’s going to make pancakes.”

Distracted by the promise of a fun breakfast, the kids cheer and race up the stairs to change and harass their mother out of bed. Pacha just barely avoids getting bowled over by them from his place on the stairs, and he chuckles at their enthusiasm. Kuzco is quiet, arms folded over his chest and staring out of the window while his thoughts race. Every bit the brooding teenager he actually is; despite having ruled a country for the last decade of his life.

Pacha heaves a world weary sigh and heads for the couch, standing beside it and placing a gentle hand on the young man’s shoulder. It speaks volumes that Kuzco doesn’t even flinch, let alone launch into his customary ‘NO TOUCHY’ fighting stance, and Pacha chuckles despite himself. “We’ll go shopping after we have breakfast. We’re going to want Chicha to have a few (dozen) cups of coffee before we discuss everything. Go and get cleaned up.”

Kuzco breaks out of his inner monologue at the sound of his voice, and tips his head back to look up at Pacha, furrowing his brows in confusion at how close they suddenly are to one another. When did he come off of the stairs? “Remember what I said about being a big fat guy? Guess it finally came in handy, huh?” He chuckles, gesturing at the enormous shirt.

Seriously, he could launch a sailboat with this thing.

His throat clears, uncomfortable now that he remembers his behavior last night and Kuzco glances away once more, shrugging out from under his huge hand as he does so. Old habits die hard. “When’s breakfast?”

Chapter 15: Moving Day.

One by one, the expressionless red and blue painted faces of his Royal guards bring in box after box of his belongings, piling them against one another just outside of Pacha’s hut. They haven’t said a word to him since they arrived, and when he snapped to order one of them to pick up something that fell, they ignored him. It grates on his nerves more than he can put into words, and Kuzco quietly seethes from where he’s leaning against the fence post watching.

“That’s a lot of stuff.” Pacha quietly comments, coming to stand next to him from his place inside the llama pen.

Kuzco doesn’t reply, and Pacha nudges him in the shoulder. “You know most of that’s going to have to go into the basement, right? Tipo and Chaca’s room is in the attic. It’s not that big.” It speaks volumes that Pacha is able to touch him without the defensive gesture that’s second nature by now, but it’s equal parts because it’s Pacha– who he admittedly (but only to himself) trusts with his life– and because he’s too consumed with his frustration to really register that it happened.

“You know, as Emperor, I still think I should have the biggest room.” Comes the petulant reply, more akin to that of the teenager Kuzco actually is, than the man who had been ruling the country for the last decade. He’s still staring at the guards and a scribe who accompanied the convoy, flitting around like a fly as he marks items off of a list. “I am a Royal. I need all the Royal elbow room I can get.”

Pacha levels him with a look that he purposefully ignores. “I told you, that’s our room Kuzco. It’s not gonna happen. It was either Chaca and Tipo’s room, or the basement.” The mention of the basement makes him shudder, and he finally glances away to look at the man standing beside him. “But the basement is creepy! I’m the Emperor– I can’t be staying in some musty-dusty, dark and gloomy basement! It’ll ruin my groove.” A pause, and a fleeting smile curls his lips.

“And I worked really hard to get that back.”

Before Pacha has the chance to reply, a loud crash can be heard and Kuzco whips his head around to see two of the guards struggling to pull his four poster bed through the front door of Pacha’s hut.

Realistically, even he can tell it isn’t going to fit easily– but if he has to spend another night on the rock Pacha and co call a couch, he’s going to lose it.

With a scowl he darts away from the fence, heading in the direction of the hut and the two guards arguing about the best way to get his bed inside. “Hey! Be careful with that, you big lugs! That’s MY stuff you’re destroying.” They have the good sense to look chagrined, and with them finally acknowledging his presence, Kuzco doesn’t hesitate to launch into a tirade about how they’re handling his things and threatening to throw them out of a window.

Pacha can only sigh, leaning against the fence with both arms and watching. It’s going to be a long day.

Chapter 16: Pizza

Notes:

This is based solely on the clip of Kuzco 's second day at Pacha's from The Emperor's New School. I forget which episode it was, but Kuzco was surrounded by pizza and it pretty much summed it all up perfectly.

Several hours have passed since the guards first arrived to bring his belongings into the hut, and there was still no end in sight. Kuzco’s bed made it safely into the attic room, wedged inside of a small nook off to the side. With a little finagling, it was able to fit relatively well with Chaca and Tipo’s bunk beds in the small room; Not that it made him feel any better about the situation. Or him being ‘wedged’ anywhere.

Now that the guards had been shouted into submission and were listening to him (somewhat), Kuzco orchestrated the move in by ordering them around, telling them where to put his stunning stone carved busts (‘The table in the dining room is fine, it’s supposed to be a conversation starter!’) and the other knick knacks he brought from the palace. It worked for a while; until Chicha saw Kuzco trying to replace a chair with a mannequin designed to show off his imperial robes, and put her foot down. (‘Absolutely not, Kuzco. This is our home; NOT a museum.’)

With Chicha now in charge, and ordering most of the unnecessary items down to the basement, Kuzco sullenly retreated into the living room to relax on the couch and watch the proceedings from afar. He’d spent the better part of the day dealing with all of this, and he was exhausted. It had to be the most work he’s done in. . . he can’t even remember.

When one of the guards comes back from the attic empty handed, he snaps his fingers and waves him over. “Hey, do me a favor? Head down to Mudka’s and pick up a dozen pizza’s.” The guard nods, straightening and turning on his heel to head out of the hut.

This was much better.

Sure, it wasn’t his opulent palace. . . with his gourmet chef, and his money stuffed pillows, heated floors and vanilla scented bathrobes. . .

But maybe this stupid ‘school’ thing wouldn’t be so bad if he still had his Royal guards around.

He relaxes back against a pillow with his arms behind his head, closing his eyes and smiling to himself at the thought. Maybe he’ll even see that hottie-hot-hottie he’d noticed last week when he came to Pacha’s hut to let him know about the news. What was her name again?. . . Malina! That’s it.

She’s bound to be impressed when he shows up at the school; especially if it’s with his guards. He can see it now.

Guard #4 returns a short time later carrying a large stack of pizza boxes, which at Kuzco’s behest, he places on the floor next to the couch. Chicha chooses that moment to come in, Pacha on her heels and she stops mid stride when she notices them. “Oh, how nice Kuzco. You ordered pizza for everyone helping you move in. That’s. . . actually pretty thoughtful.”

Kuzco already has the top most pizza box open, and is mid reach to tear a slice out. “What? Oh, no– silly Chicha.This is lunch! For me.” He chuckles, taking a large bite out of the bottom of the slice and reclining back against the couch again. Mouth still full, he continues; “I am one HUNGRY, King of the World.”

Chicha and Pacha can only stare, dumbfounded, at the lazy teenager.

“Hey chief, keep em’ coming will ya? I don’t want this stack getting down below three boxes.”

Chicha closes her eyes in an attempt not to lose her temper, and Pacha– sensing her struggle– reaches out to place his hands on her shoulders. “Honey, why don’t you go relax and check on Yupi? I’ll take it from here.”

A snort-growl ensues, and without a word Chicha stomps her way up the stairs, fists balled at her sides. Pacha watches her go, then turns towards the lazy-would-be Emperor with his hands on his hips.

Kuzco, oblivious, is already reaching for another slice of pizza and chuckles at Chicha’s reactive snort. “Sheesh; what was her deal?”

Chapter 17: Groove

“Oho, yeah. Look at you! You are looking good, K-man.”

A sly grin meets his gaze head on in the mirror, chestnut hues locked into place as he admires his profile from a variety of angles. His hands work their way through his hair, simultaneously combing through the dark locks with both his fingers and his finely crafted golden llama comb– a prized possession he couldn’t bring himself to part with when he left (i.e. was kicked out of) the palace.

Satisfied with his appearance for the time being, Kuzco allows his hands to fall from his sable locks, which drape like a curtain against the tops of his shoulders with a single shake of his head. His comb is placed with care in its intended holster, a golden vessel designed to replicate the face of his grand palace, before his hands brace themselves against the dresser beneath his opulent turquoise studded mirror.

“You are one hep cat, Kuzco. Yes you are!”

Kuzco hums to himself as he leans forward into his smiling reflection, his perfection clear as day in the golden hue the mirror casts over him. He pays no mind to the fact that along with his reflection, he can see the edges of the small attic room and Chaca and Tipo’s empty bunk bed in the far corner– maybe if he deliberately ignores his new reality in favor of pretending he’s still back at the palace, his daydreams will eventually become true again. One can only hope.

One of his hands lifts from the dresser to swipe a few of his fingers across his tongue, wetting the tips before smoothing over his thick eyebrows in quick succession. If he tries hard enough, he can still picture himself standing in this exact spot (minus the peasant-y bedroom with the twin terrors, of course) in his Imperial robes, with his crown just out of sight on the table next to him.

As it is, he’s standing in front of this mirror today in a simple red wool tunic, tied at the waist with a dark red sash that hangs to the point just above his knees. It’s not the fine thread count vicuna wool he’s used to, and despite having nearly worn out the poncho Chicha had knit for him, it takes Kuzco longer than he cares to admit to get used to the coarse feeling of the peasant style clothing.

It’s effectively his last day of freedom. Chaca and Tipo woke up before him to get ready for school, and despite their efforts to quietly get dressed and gather their belongings, the noise woke him up and Kuzco has been unable to get back to sleep since. Chicha had to run into town for something, and Pacha was doing. . . whatever smelly llama herders did at this hour of the morning, so he had the hut to himself. Or so he thought.

In the quiet of the morning, Kuzco can admit to himself that he misses the palace and all of his lavish possessions. Granted, it hasn’t been that long, but there’s nothing quite like waking up on silk pillows in a brightly lit room to the sound of royal birdies chirping in his ears. What he misses most, however, may not be a thing. . . but a person.

. . . That’s right. And not just any person, oh no!

He misses–

–Theme Song Guy.

Just about every morning before the ‘incident’ Kuzco treated himself to his theme song after a hearty breakfast, basking in the praise of the song as it washed over him while mentally preparing himself for the day. Now that he’s a ‘changed man’ (or whatever) and was making an effort to take his title more seriously (before his life was so rudely interrupted), he barely heard from the guy. What was up with that?

“There are despots and dictators, political manipulators– there are blue bloods with the intellects of fleas! There are kings and petty tyrants, who are so lacking in refinements. . . “

Kuzco slides away from the mirror in one suave move, hands brushing out to his sides as he coasts across the floor of the small room. His eyes close as he concentrates on the music he can hear in his head, and a grin lights up his features at the familiarity of it all.

– What?! It’s a catchy song, okay?

“He was born and raised to rule, no one has ever been this cool. In a thousand years of aristocracy! An enigma and a mystery, in Mesoamerican history– the quintessence of perfection, that is ME!” Both hands point to his head at his exclamation and he laughs, spinning around once again to delve into the steps of his self-choreographed dance as the music sweeps him away.

“What’s his name? KuzcoooOOOOO— “

He can almost see Theme Song Guy in his head, gesticulating wildly as he sings his name over and over again. Kuzco revels in it, thrusting his hips and throwing his hands to the wind before curling in on himself and striding forward in huge over-exaggerated steps.

In all of the fun he doesn’t hear Pacha’s slow amble as he ascends the steps into the attic, a question of concern at all the noise dying on his lips when he takes in the sight of the former Emperor dancing along to a song that only he can hear. There have been rumors of Kuzco’s infamous ‘groove’ spread throughout the kingdom. Only a select handful had ever been lucky (or unlucky) enough to see the actual performance, but Gods help you if you ever stepped in and interrupted it for any reason.

Pacha remembers Rudy’s warning all too well, just before he arrived for his summons that fateful afternoon. The fear in the older man’s eyes from being unceremoniously thrown from a window still resonates with him today and reminds him of just how much power this young man actually holds. Or, held. Actually.

He takes the final step into the room and folds his arms, amusement curling his lips as he watches the oblivious teen. Until of course, Kuzco throws himself into a sudden moonwalk– still with his eyes closed– and starts to head right for him.

Pacha barely has enough time to uncross his arms before they collide, and before he can even open his mouth Kuzco rears around to face him, hands balled into fists and his brows furrowed in annoyance. “You threw off my groove!”

In the next instant he must realize how that came out, and Kuzco visibly shakes himself out of whatever daydream he’d been having in favor of an awkward chuckle. “Uh, I mean– heh. Hey, Pacha!. . . been there long?” He reaches out to brush lint off of Pacha’s arm– more of a nervous gesture than anything else– and acts for all the world like he wasn’t just caught red handed slipping back into his old habits. “For a big guy, you’re pretty light on your feet– gotta get you a bell or something. . . “ He trails off.

“Forgive me, your Highness.” Pacha teases. “I didn’t mean to throw off your ‘groove’. Sure wouldn’t want to be tossed out of a window this early in the morning.”

Kuzco grimaces, brushing a hand against the back of his neck and turning on his heel to head back for the dresser. Not that he has anything to do, he just. . . doesn’t want to look at Pacha right now. Is that a crime? Didn’t think so.

“You heard about that, huh? Eh heh.”

The older man merely smiles and turns to head back for the steps, letting him off the hook with ease. He’s seen first hand how serious Kuzco is at making amends to his people, even if he is dreading the thought of living with them for however long it takes to graduate. The least he can do is let him dance around a little bit.

“I thought we could walk the jungle trail into the city today so you’ll know your way to the school. I’ll be downstairs whenever you’re ready.”

Kuzco can only watch as he leaves, arms folded protectively across his chest. Maybe he can pull a favor and have Theme Song Guy come to the school for him every morning– the folks at school would love that! He’s sure of it.

Chapter 18: Malina.

Notes:

He meets Malina! Kind of.

A sudden knock at the door interrupts the one sided conversation, and Kuzco lifts his head to stare impassively at the direction it came from. When he doesn’t move to answer the door after a few moments, despite being much closer to it than she currently was, Chicha rolls her eyes and sets the pot she was washing down so she can answer it herself.

“It’s cruel and unusual punishment– and for what! I was the world’s nicest guy, you know! Before Yzma ruined everything and tried to kill me. . ."

“Kuzco, it's school. Not the military. You’ll be fine.”

Before he can answer her with another complaint, the door is wrenched open and Kuzco strains to see the visitor from around Chicha’s frame. “Hey Chicha! My mom and I were baking for the local market, and we had a ton of leftover cookies so I thought you and the kids might want some!”

It’s a female’s voice, and she sounds about his age. Idly, he tries to place her voice amongst the people he’s met around the village since building his summer home, and he realizes he can’t. Either she hasn’t been around, or he hasn’t had an opportunity to talk to her yet.

“Aw, that’s so nice of you Malina, thank you. Chaca and Tipo will just love these.” Chicha leans in to take something from her and gives her a friendly hug in the same movement and Kuzco – feeling left out– pushes himself up from the table to get a closer look at her. It’s in that moment that he finally catches sight of what is undoubtedly the hottest girl he’s ever seen in his life.

The hordes of brides Imatcha and the Royal Council provided him could never compare to her, and they were all princesses in their own right, or born of noble blood. This girl– Malina– had a type of natural beauty that made her flawless. He even liked her hair!

She smiles as she returns Chicha’s hug, before straightening up once more– all without noticing him whatsoever. Kuzco is powerless to do anything other than stare, his jaw practically on the floor as he searches for flaws, or anything that might make this peasant girl less appealing. There’s none.

How is it fair? How can he find the most perfect, beautiful girl in the world– with perfect hair, a cute little button nose, big expressive brown eyes and the cutest little smile. . . and she’s a peasant! No noble blood, nothing that he can benefit from. The Royal Council would never go for it.

And yet–

“So are the kids all ready for school to start back up?”

His inner monologue is broken at her mention of school, and Kuzco visibly shakes himself out of his stupor. ”They are– well. Most of them. You’ll walk home with them after school like always?”

School? She goes to the same school he’s being forced to go to?! It’s almost too good to be true. She’ll be noble then! A scholar. The council would be okay with it– and he’d have an Empress!

“Of course! Well, I’ll see you later, Chicha! Tell Pacha I said hi!”

Chicha waves her off with a smile and closes the door behind her, turning to face Kuzco and stopping in her tracks when she notices how close he’s standing now. He’s still staring in the direction she left in– which happens to be the door– with a goofy smile, completely smitten and lost to the world at large.

Amused, Chicha waves a hand in front of his face and chuckles when it doesn’t make a difference, before walking around him to head back towards the kitchen. “So, school– “

“Might not be such a bad idea after all!” Kuzco chirps, snapping out of his trance and speeding out of the front entryway with a renewed vigor. He’s off up the stairs to sort out his things for school before she can even turn the water on.

Chapter 19: Uniforms.

Kuzco stares despondently down at the so-called ‘uniform’ laying across his bed, its red and white coloring a stark contrast to the deep burgundy and gold fringe of his bedspread. He’s grown accustomed to wearing fine clothing made of silks, and robes of the highest quality wool available– only the BEST for an Emperor, after all. Not to mention that they’d retained the most skilled tailors in the Kingdom to hand craft those items just for him.

Most of them work tirelessly for him, creating him new pieces weekly. It was tradition in prior empires for the palace staff to burn clothing items after the Emperor wore them, so as not to leave anything behind that could be used to harm or curse him by any evil forces. Kuzco had done away with that idea, for the most part. There are still certain pieces he has destroyed after special ceremonies and events, but most of what is made for him he tends to keep. Not all of the traditions died with those of the previous Emperor’s.

Having grown up in such finery, Kuzco can tell just by look alone that the material used to make these ‘uniforms’ was an inexpensive, cheaply textured wool that was more than likely mass-produced for the student populace and made by hand by peasants. Gross.

What llama brain came up with the idea for a ‘school uniform’ anyways?

“Uh, you did llama brain. It’s your school. Remember?”

Chaca’s words bring him out of his inner dialogue, and he realizes too late that he must have said that last part out loud. Kuzco turns to her with a huff, arms folding protectively against his chest as he tips his head up in indignation.

“Well, I must have gone temporarily ‘llama-loco’ because that,?” A thumb jabs over his shoulder at the offending outfit. “Is the single ugliest outfit I have ever seen. I mean– come on. Why do I have to wear it? Like you just said, it’s my school!”

Chaca rolls her eyes, paying him little to no attention as he heads over to her own bed to get her school bag in order. “We all have to wear it, Kuzco. It’s called a ‘uniform’ for a reason. It’s not even that bad! I thought you liked the color red?”

That much was obvious, as the entire Kingdom was decked out in a myriad of reds and golds and painted with his face. But still. “I do, just– “

“Just put it on, Kuzco. We’re leaving to walk to school in five minutes, and if you aren’t downstairs Tipo and I are leaving without you.” She cuts him off, ignoring the glare he casts her for interrupting him. Without another word she stands, closes her bag and shoulders it as she heads for the hatch in the ceiling “See you downstairs!”

When he’s alone again, he turns to face the offending outfit with a scowl, arms dropping to his sides in defeat. First he’s kicked out of the palace and forced to attend school– and now this?

Where was the justice in the world!

“Stupid peasants and their stupid uniforms. . . “

Chapter 20: First Day of School (pt 1.)

Several minutes of complaining later, Kuzco begrudgingly makes his way down the stairs clad in the red and white school uniform he so despises. It’s exactly as awful as he imagined it to be; shapeless in all the ways that matter, and itchy from the low quality of the wool. The only redeeming quality is the golden sash that comes with it– a stylish touch that matches the gold on the collar and sleeves, and accentuates his lithe frame once it’s wrapped around his midsection.

Contrary to what they previously said, by the time he makes it downstairs Chaca and Tipo have already left for school. So much for walking to school together to make sure he wouldn’t get lost. Pfft.

Chicha turns when she hears him approaching from her place at the table, where she’s picking up the plates from an earlier breakfast. “You just missed them. But since you’re already going to be late, why don’t you sit down and have something to eat. Your Highness.” She tacks on the last part with a raised brow, her empty hand finding purchase on her hip while she watches him.

She’s referring to his crown, of course.

His beloved crown, sitting on top of his head and glinting in the early morning light streaming in through the doorway. Sheepishly, Kuzco laughs– reaching up with a hand to brush against his headpiece. “Glad to see I’m finally getting the recognition and respect I deserve around here.” He tells her, haughtily tipping his chin in the air before he starts the search for his sandals.

If he’s going to be forced to wear this ‘uniform’, the least he can do is remind the peasant student populace of exactly who it is they’re dealing with.

Chicha, however, is not impressed. “Uh huh. Kuzco– you aren’t bringing that to school with you.”

Midway through tying his sandals, Kuzco pauses and whips around to face her with a scowl. While he appreciates her and Pacha letting him live here, and treating him as an unofficial member of the family; she is not, in fact, his mom– and he is not their kid.

“I can– and I am!”

“No you aren’t.”

He may be temporarily ‘on the waiting list’ for Emperor, but he still has some authority! Who does she think she is, trying to boss him around like this? “Why not?” Kuzco whines, regretting it immediately when he can hear just how petulant it sounds.

“Because, Kuzco– in case you haven’t realized it yet, you are NOT currently the Emperor– which means there’s no need to wear that thing. It’s not part of the dress code and besides; isn’t it too heavy to wear all day?”

By this point, Kuzco is pouting– though he would deny it if anyone asked. “Why does everyone always think it’s so heavy? It’s gold.” To emphasize his point, he takes it off and hefts it up a few times, his own brow raising at Chicha in his confusion. “How will everyone know who I am if I don’t have my crown on! It’s the first day of school– I have to make a good impression!”

He pauses, setting the crown down on the table to finish tying his sandals and flaps a hand carelessly in the air beside him as he squats down. “Not that I don’t always make a good impression. I do. Just– it would be better with the crown.”

When he stands up to take the crown back, it’s gone and Chicha is already across the kitchen with it held underneath her arm. “Wow, you’re right. This is pretty light.”

Kuzco huffs in annoyance, and realizing a lost cause when he sees one, snatches his bag from its place by the door and turns to head outside.

What Chicha doesn’t know is that he already called in a little favor with his guards, who are standing outside of the hut and waiting to take him to school with his golden litter, AND Theme Song Guy who will meet them at the school.

Everyone at the school will know who he is one way or another– Royal crown or not!

Chapter 21: First Day of School (pt 2.)

“There are despots and dictators, political manipulators. There are blue bloods with the intellects of fleas.

– There are kings and petty tyrants, who are so lacking in refinements– they’d be better suited swinging from the trees!”

As far as first days of school go, this particular morning would definitely be considered quiet and uneventful.

Students mill around on the school campus in small groups and cliques, with some standing around or sitting at the outdoor cafeteria tables, some reclining against the edge of the llama fountain– all of them catching up on what they missed over the break, and the new idle gossip.

“He was born and raised to rule, no one has ever been this cool– in a thousand years of aristocracy!

– An enigma and a mystery, in Mesoamerican history– the quintessence of perfection, that is HE!”

Amongst the popular topics today are who’s dating who now, which extracurriculars everyone will be joining for the year and who’s coming back, or newly attending Kuzco Academy. There’s rumors going around that Kronk is enrolled, which is big considering what an athlete he is. Coach Sweety is already making plans for him to join just about every varsity team they have.

Rumors swirl that Kuzco will be attending as well, though that’s admittedly far less gossip worthy. For the most part, it’s confusing. He is their Emperor, and has been in the public eye for as long as any of them can remember– what reason would he ever have to attend a public school, even one with his name on it?

Secondary to that, it’s well known around the Kingdom what an egomaniac the Emperor is. If the stories are true, Kuzco will be hard pressed to fit in with any of them; not that he’ll want to speak with the ‘peasant’ class he’s supposed to be ruling over.

That’s gossip for you, though. It’s all pretty boring, really.

“Did you hear about Kronk? He’s starting this year for continuing education– “

“Oh I know! Oh, Kronk. He’s so dreamy, and those muscles!”

A cacophony of noise in the form of blaring trumpets breaks the quiet of the early morning, so startling in the intensity of their sound that it causes several of the students standing around the fountain to drop their books in favor of covering their ears.

In the next moment, guards rush up the stairs of the school, unceremoniously shoving students out of the way to clear room for the entourage making its way through. The students not in the way stare, dumbfounded at the spectacle, looking at one another as if making absolute sure this is really happening. It is.

“OHH YEAH!– “

When the golden litter and the guards carrying it finally clear the final few steps to reach the landing, Kuzco is already standing in the middle of it with the curtains drawn to the side around him and his hands on his hips.

Theme Song Guy chooses that moment to slide in on his knees from underneath the litter, microphone in hand as he swings his arm around to the students standing in front of them.

“HE’S THE SOVEREIGN LORD OF THE NATION, HE’S THE HIPPEST DUDE IN CREATION. HE’S THE HEP CAT IN THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES!”

Kuzco jumps down from the litter, flexing his arms and grinning wildly as the guards carrying the litter head back down the stairs, so the guards who know the dance routine can come up behind him in a row.

“YEARS OF SUCH SELECTIVE BREEDING, GENERATIONS HAVE BEEN LEADING–

– TO THIS MIRACLE OF LIFE THAT WE ALL KNOW! WHAT’S HIS NAME?”

Theme Song Guy points at the students closest to him once he pops back up onto his feet, who stare blankly back at him in return. If it weren’t for the music, you could almost certainly hear crickets in the background– until a lone voice behind the crowd pipes up with a ‘KUZZZCOOOOOOO!’ (Thank you, Guaka.)

With an exaggerated hip thrust, Kuzco breaks into his dance, flouncing all over the landing at the top of the stairs as he goes through the routine with his guards river-dancing in the background. It’s exactly what he had been hoping for– a GRAND entrance, for his adoring public.

He is the EMPEROR, after all. He deserves nothing less! And they all deserve to know who it is they’ll be dealing with for the next few years!

“HE’S THE SOVEREIGN LORD OF THE NATION, HE’S THE HIPPEST CAT IN CREATION! HE’S THE ALPHA THE OMEGA A TO Z!

– AND HIS PERFECT WORLD WILL SPIN, AROUND HIS EVERY LITTLE WHIM. ‘CAUSE HIS PERFECT WORLD BEGINS AND ENDS WITH– “

Kuzco cuts him off with a spin in which he throws his arms out to the side, leg kicking out as he lands the spin and his hands moving back in to point at his own face. “ME!”

Guaka’s voice carries as he sings along with the refrain ‘KUUUUZZZCOOOO’ and Kuzco continues his dance routine, oblivious to the wide eyed, incredulous stares and the laughter bubbling up from the students around him.

Before he can finish entirely they’re all cut off by a loud, shrill voice that resonates over the campus from the entrance to the school; “KUZCO! ENOUGH!”

If anyone would recognize both the music and the dance routine, it would be none other than; you guessed it!

YZMA!

Who, for some reason, is human (again) and dressed like a librarian– with glasses and her hair (or wig, he’s never actually been sure) pulled up into a tight bun atop her head. She’s glaring daggers at him from where she stands with her hands on her hips, and Kronk is standing beside her wearing the same school uniform as he is.

Theme Song Guy has stopped singing completely, limply holding the microphone in his hand and staring up at the decrepit woman from where he’s still sitting on his knees on the pavement. Kuzco’s chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, the shock of seeing her again after her failed plot to try and kill him freezing him mid-stride.

No one moves for a moment, including the student populace who is staring between Yzma and Kuzco like it’s an old western showdown until Kuzco jumps back a few steps, a hand shooting out to point at Yzma while he turns back to face the guards behind him. “It’s Yzma!” He shouts, snapping his fingers at them. “I order you to get her– NOW! I want her thrown in our stinkiest dungeon cell!”

A brave– if not stupid– guard steps forward, wringing his hands. “Uh. . . sir? You aren’t the Emperor. We don’t take orders from you anymore.”

It’s Kuzco’s turn to stare, dumbfounded, at the guard standing before him with the others all silently agreeing by nodding their heads. “She’s a threat to the Empire! She tried to have the EMPEROR-- ME, killed!” He argues, throwing his hands out to the side.

He’s almost angry to the point where he used to throw people out of windows. Almost.

“That’s the thing, Kuzco.” Yzma all but purrs, suddenly beside him (when did THAT happen?) with her hands folded behind her back. “I’m not Yzma. But as PRINCIPAL Amzy, I’m very happy to welcome you to Kuzco Academy– your ‘almost’ Highness.”

“. . . Principal Amzy. You’re kidding.”

She smiles at him, cat like and he flinches involuntarily at the reminder of her as a cat clawing at his face. “I’m afraid not, my dear boy. Now; if you’d be so kind as to stopping this charade, it’s about time,” Yzma whips around to face the rest of the student population, gaze narrowed to slits. “YOU ALL GOT TO CLASS! School was supposed to start 10 minutes ago! MOVE!”

Everyone scatters like roaches, fleeing towards the safety of the school and Yzma smiles cooly at Kuzco before turning to follow them in. He’s left standing there, still panting as he watches them all leave and the guards pack everything up– including Theme Song Guy– to head back to the palace.

Someone clears their throat behind him, and he turns his head to see who it is only to come face to face with the hottie hot hottie he’d seen the day before at Pacha’s and Chicha’s hut. “You know. . . “

She trails off, and Kuzco stares hopefully at her from his awkward position, half facing her from over his shoulder. He can’t help the dopey grin on his face as he watches her, inwardly cataloging exactly how perfect she is while he waits– she’s even hotter up close.

“ –I really thought you’d be taller.”

Chapter 22: Tour Guide

As it turns out, calling in ‘favors’ from his previous palace staff was not looked kindly upon by the Royal Council. Kuzco hadn’t even completed his first day of school before one of the council members came to speak with him, telling him in no uncertain terms that should he expect to resume his position, he should never pull such a stunt again. It was a waste of useful resources allocated for the Kingdom, and his guards have much better things to do than parade him around on a litter while dancing and singing songs for him.

Kuzco just barely refrained from letting him know that was exactly their purpose, if he wished for it to be, and that they did it just about daily when he was still Emperor only a month prior. After his tongue lashing, he was also informed that the Royal Record Keeper would be following him around from that point forward; both to keep an eye on him, and to record his progress with his classes.

It was infuriating.

Despite his age, Kuzco was not– in fact– a child, and didn’t deserve to be treated as such. Just a short while ago, he had been running the entire country and now he was going to be told what to do by a record keeper of all people? Whatever.

His classes weren’t terrible, at the very least– save for a very annoying teacher named. . . Guacamole, or something– who insisted on making his life difficult. He gave out homework, had pop quizzes, and called on him when he wasn’t paying attention– it was torture!

To top that off? Kronk had also enrolled, and was in the majority of his classes with him. While he hadn’t actually, physically tried to kill him, he had helped Yzma and poisoned him for her– so call him crazy, but Kuzco doesn’t feel like he can trust the big lug as far as he can throw him. That’s not to mention the fact that he hasn’t seen Yzma again since that first day, even though he can feel her eyes on the back of his head more often than not.

The only redeeming thing about the whole ordeal was the fact that little miss hottie hot hottie– Malina– was in the majority of his classes too, and he was able to snag the desk behind her for most of said classes.

“. . . And then I said to Curi– Kuzco?”

Head in his hand, Kuzco stares unblinking at her as she rambles on with a dopey smile on his face. Now that they’re in school together, he hadn’t wasted any time on introducing himself (not that he needed an introduction, after his music number) and insisting on having her showing him around the school.

She reluctantly agreed, and has spent the morning between classes navigating the halls with him, and showing him to the different wings of the school where specific classes took place. Kuzco already knew where everything already was– his Royal Mapographer had the blueprints for the school from when it was built, and had made a special trip to Pacha’s hut to lay it out for him earlier that week.

But if playing dumb meant more time with the hottie hot hottie, he’d be happy to pretend he has no idea where he’s at.

“Kuzco– “

‘Look at her, she’s so perfect.’ His inner monologue pitches in, sounding wistful even to him as he continues to stare at her. ‘Perfectly rounded face, perfect little button nose, perfect eyes– ‘

Kuzco has always had a habit of delving into his own thoughts in situations where he doesn’t need to concentrate, having picked it up when he was young and forced to attend boring council meetings and listen to explanations of things that he didn’t quite understand yet.

When you’re a child and you have no friends, who better to talk to than your awesome self? Right?

‘She’s also a straight A student. Captain of the cheerleading squad, and the president of every club. . . ‘

“. . . Kuzco? Hello?”

‘She is such a hottie. A hottie, hot, hottie. Hottie, hot hottie, hottie hot– ‘

“KUZCO!”

He startles out of his daydream abruptly, eyes widening when he finally notices her hand floating in front of his face. Without thinking he launches into his defensive ‘no touchy’ pose, though he’s gentle when he bats her hand away. “Noooo touchy. No touch.”

Malina rolls her eyes, exasperated and lets her hand fall back down to the desk. “Right, I forgot. The infamous ‘No Touchy’ rule.” She even uses air quotes, to show him how ridiculous she thinks it is. “What happened? You completely zoned out there.”

Oh– right. His little ‘hottie’ song. Oops. “Eh heh. . . sorry. I was– “

She’s just staring at him with her arms folded over her chest, an eyebrow raised as she waits for his explanation. It’s yet another reason he already likes her so much; the fact that she doesn’t take any crap from anyone, including him. Whether or not he’d admit it, he needs more people like that in his life– well. Other than his council members, of course.

“You’re such a hottie– I was just picturing how hottie hot hottie your future Empress robes are going to make you.” He finishes, smiling as he leans against his hand a little further to bring them closer together. Malina blinks, staring in return. “How hottie whattie, what?”

“Nooo, no, no. You?” Kuzco points at her with the hand he’s not leaning on, “Hottie hot hottie. Me?” The finger moves back towards himself. “Hottie hot hottie Emperor. Which makes youuu. . .” Finger moves back in her direction, and he’s all but beaming. “My future hottie hot hottie Empress!”

After a pause, Malina sighs and stands to gather her books, casting him an annoyed glance. “You were so wrong so many times there, I lost count. Later, Kuzco.”

He watches her walk away with that same dopey grin on his face– until he realizes she never finished their little tour. Which means, they’ll have to finish it another day. Which gives him more time to be around her! It’s a win-win situation!

This school thing really isn’t turning out as bad as he thought, or at least– it wouldn’t be so bad if Yzma and Kronk weren’t lurking around corners all the time. Creeepy.

Chapter 23: Lunch.

It’s horrifying.

It’s hideous.

It’s– woah. Hold up. Did it just move?!

I know I’m not seeing things, that tentacle. . . thing, just moved.

This has to be some kind of cruel and unusual joke. There’s– no. NO.

It definitely just moved! I know I saw it twitch!

–-Anyways; there’s no possible way the school is actually serving this slop to its students, and calling it actual food. How can they expect ME to eat this. . . this thing? Emperor or not, my palate is way too refined to be sullied with whatever this is supposed to be. I have a whole team of private chefs at the palace, who cater to my every whim–

Hm. I wonder how difficult it would be to bring them in to replace whoever it is who thinks they’re running this ‘kitchen’. Sure, I’m cut off from the Royal funds but technically–

“Kuzco!”

He’s startled out of his inner dialogue by a familiar, if not grating voice and he glances up from the tray of still unidentified food to find the craggly old face of the sarcastic waitress from Mudka’s staring back at him. She’s watching (he thinks) from beneath her eyelashes, an unimpressed expression on her face and a spoon held up like a weapon beside her head. “Are you going to stand there all day honey, or are you gonna pick something? You’re holding up the line.”

Kuzco is stunned for a moment, surprised to see her again– and here, of all places– but he shakes himself out of his stupor in time to set his tray back down on the counter so he can lean in further to glare at her.

“Alright, uh– “ Wait, what was her name again? He knew this. She told them when she introduced herself back at the diner, right before she called him and Pacha a happy couple. “–Whatever your name is. I give up. What is this even supposed to be?”

Blinking slowly, she heaves a world weary sigh and points down at the tentacle thing Kuzco swears has been giving him looks. “Blue plate pair of sleeve buttons, on the hoof and left high n’ dry.”

He can only stare at her once she’s finished her ‘explanation’, his confusion growing steadily into mounting horror. This was real– she was actually trying to feed this to him. “. . . Is– was that supposed to help? Or–”

“Just take one and get out, Kuzco. I’ve got work to do. Seven hundred lunches aren’t gonna serve themselves.” She turns away from him before she’s even finished speaking, spoon lowering to scoop up another one of the sandwiches for the student in line behind him. Annoyed by her dismissal– and her presence in general, Kuzco huffs and picks up his empty tray and turns to leave the lunch line all together.

At this rate, he’d almost take another dinner with Yzma that had the potential to poison him than eat whatever the heck that slop was supposed to be. He was heading straight for the palace after school, to speak with the Royal Record keeper or whoever he needed to about having that waitress fired and replaced by someone from the Royal kitchens who actually knew what they were doing.

Royal funds accessible or not, it was HIS name on the building. This was disgraceful.

Maybe he didn’t need someone quite as dignified as one of his chefs, but–

Oh! Kronk! That’s right, Kronk was here for. . . some reason. How no one else could see that he was well beyond the appropriate age for school was beyond him, but– if he wasn’t here for anything other than to be Yzma’s lackey, there was no reason he couldn’t help out in the kitchen.

Besides– if he remembers correctly, the big lug made a pretty good spinach puff.

He takes a seat by himself at a table inside the cafeteria, setting his tray down on the table and folding his arms over top of it. There were only a few hours left of this torture, then he can go back to Pacha’s house and eat some real, actual food.

. . . Which, knowing Chicha, was some variation of ‘mystery stew’. Yay.

It was difficult to tell what the worst part of all of this was, but the food was definitely somewhere near the top of the list. Eugh.

Chapter 24: Gym Class Guaka

“Okay, students– LISTEN UP!”

Kuzco winces from where he’s reclined against the bleachers at the somehow shrill, yet deceptively deep voice of their gym teacher; a severe looking woman who insists on being called ‘Coach Sweety’ despite the fact that she was not, in fact, a coach of anything.

It’s only the first week of school, and he’s already been made vehemently aware by the faculty and teachers of the school that he wouldn’t be receiving any special attention. Regardless of his status– or, lack thereof for the time being– he was expected to behave like any good natured, peasant student and appear for all of his classes on time, with the proper materials and ready to learn.

Yeah, okay.

It was outrageous, if he’s being honest. He IS. . . was, the Emperor! The Sovereign Lord of the Nation, and the coolest dude around, ruling over them ALL only a month prior– and now he has to turn in homework on how to tie knots, and participate in exercise sessions in gym class!?

Just as he’s seriously debating walking out of the class all together, the students seated immediately around him stand up and begin to stretch in preparation of beginning a slow jog around the track. Kuzco blinks himself back into awareness and takes a quick look around, noting that Coach ‘Sweetie’ herself is nowhere to be seen.

He jumps to his feet as well, pretending to stretch along with the rest of them as if he’d been listening to the coach’s lecture all along. When he’s close enough to one of the other students– a short, round looking boy who seems startled by the fact he’s talking to him at all, he leans in to ask in a hushed whisper; “Hey, what’s going on? What was she saying we’re supposed to do?”

The boy looks like he’s about to faint, his mouth opening and closing several times before he’s able to squeak out a hesitant “Me? You’re talking . . . to– to me?” Kuzco’s no stranger to this kind of behavior in his presence– having been Emperor, he’s more than used to his fair share of loyal, and adoring fans. But regardless of the grand entrance he’d made, most of the other students appear wholly unimpressed with him– or at the very least, they’re hiding their admiration well.

So he’s caught off guard by the breathy, awed tone the kid uses and takes a cautionary step backwards, putting some space between them out of instinct. Just to be on the safe side. “Uh, yeah. Looks like it . . . uh, whatever your name was again. Did you hear what she was saying? Or should I ask someone else?”

Before he can say another word, the boy all but launches himself at him to grab at his arm, eyes wide and panicked at the idea of Kuzco walking away from him. “NO! No, sir! I heard what she said! I can tell you!”

Kuzco flinches and rips his arm out of his grip, hands flying into his ‘No touchy!’ pose before he even realizes he’s doing it. “Koo-cha! Hey! NO touchy!” He orders, curling his fingers as he holds them up in front of his face. “Number one rule? NOOOO touchy.” After a moment of staring at the boy’s hurt expression, his own hands winding themselves around his very wide middle in defense, Kuzco lowers his own hands to brush the offending touch off of his arm.

It’s bad enough that he’s stuck in this school and surrounded by peasants, forced to wear all these dumb uniforms and to actually have to do (or attempt to do) ‘homework’. Now he has to fight off over-eager fan boys?

“I-I’m sorry sir! It won’t happen again!” He promises eagerly, smile returning as if it had always been there and he purposefully stuffs his hands into the pockets of his shorts. Like he wouldn’t be able to help himself, if they’re out in the open. Creepy. “My name is Guaka, by the way! Coach Sweety was just telling us all about preparing for next week’s big challenge; our very first soccer game! She said to make sure you– “

He cuts him off with a flippant hand wave, and whips around to try and figure out where the stoutly woman had disappeared to. “Soccer?! Me?! I can’t play soccer! What if I fell? Or got kicked, or something! There’s no way she can expect me to– “

She’s nowhere to be seen, to his dismay, and when he turns back to face Guaka it’s to notice that he’s taken a few steps closer to him again. “Well sir, the only way you could get out of it is with a doctors note, but I don’t think– “

No good– the Royal doctor would never forge him a fake note, and– wait! “That’s it!” Kuzco cheers, jabbing a finger in the air in celebration. “I’ll come up with a doctor’s note to get me out of it! Glad I thought of it.” He tells himself, reaching over his own shoulder to physically pat himself on the back. “Thanks, Iguana– you’ve been a big help.” He tells him cheerfully, and after a moment leans in to pat him on the shoulder with the same hand he’d just congratulated himself with. “Now I just have to get home and find something of Chicha or Pacha’s. . .”

Without waiting for a reply, Kuzco turns to head down the bleachers and out of the gym, not at all caring whether or not class had already been dismissed. Guaka is still standing there, staring in wonder in the direction the Emperor disappeared in and raising a hesitant hand to press over the spot Kuzco had just touched. “Wow– I helped the Emperor!”

With a smile threatening to crack his face in half, Guaka heads down the bleachers at a much slower pace, following the rest of the students as they meander towards the locker rooms. “I’m never going to wash this shirt again!”

Chapter 25: Thunderstorms.

It happens a few weeks into staying with the Pacha clan and attending Kuzco Academy.

Torrential rain blankets the tropical region of the Peruvian highlands for several days in a row, pounding down against the Earth as if the Sun God himself were displeased with them and showing it through the weather. Water lashes in thick rivulets against the huts in Pacha’s village, threatening the very foundations of the fieldstone and mud based structures. One could almost consider it soothing; rhythmic in its intensity and constant drumming against the modest dwellings were it not for the fierce, howling wind that accompanies it. Several of the huts in the village lose their thatch roofing in the storms, the winds carrying the water reeds and rushes within their grasp and scattering them amongst the surrounding hilltops like confetti.

Peasants rush wildly out into the violent winds and pouring rain in an attempt to fix their roofing, spending grueling hours battling against the conditions to make reinforcements so their huts will not be in danger of flooding overnight.

Ordinarily, in a storm this severe the Palace is notified, and funds and food storages are made immediately available to the villages affected by such devastating forces. Guards and the military are sent out to assist them with whatever else is needed, including repairing any damage to the village or assisting the villagers with searching for lost family members, livestock or pets, if necessary.

With how quickly the storm sets in, there’s little to no time to prepare– and most everybody, including those still living in the palace, are forced to buckle down and wait it out wherever they can find shelter until it passes. Unfortunately for Kuzco, that means that he’s stuck for the time being in the meager accommodations of a peasant's hut, in a remote hilltop village far away from the safety of said palace.

Luckily for him– or unluckily, depending on how you look at it– Chaca and Tipo weren’t home. Call it bad timing, but they had been sent away for the week to a Junior Chipmunk camping and survival retreat with their troop leader, and weren’t expected back for several days yet. Possibly even longer, depending on when the storm finally cleared. Pacha and Chicha were beside themselves with worry, with Chicha threatening to head out and find the group herself if it meant making sure her kids were okay. Pacha talked her out of it thankfully, but with no way of communication there was no telling what it was exactly that they were going through.

This of course left Kuzco alone in his attic bedroom, and any other time he’d be thrilled to have the room to himself, but without the children there to annoy him he’s never felt more alone in his life. Well, almost never.

Memories come flooding back to him unbidden as he stares up at the ceiling, of his wet fur mottled with dirt and debris clinging to his lanky frame as he sits alone on that mound of mud in the middle of the tropical jungle. All at once it’s like he’s back in that moment, whimpering to himself as he stares at his surroundings, a hoof reaching up in a too human gesture of comfort to brush against his opposite arm. Rain pelts against his head and obscures his vision, and he can’t tell the difference anymore between the rainwater and the tears pouring from his eyes, so he closes them against the onslaught of both.

He’s cold all over– even more so than the first night when Pacha was kind enough to cover him with his poncho despite his taunting and demands, and he resigns himself to his fate; that he’s never going to be warm again. The thought numbs him as much as the cold mud beneath him does, and after a moment he gives up and lets his weight fall to the side, bringing his long legs closer to his chest and wrapping his ‘arms’ around them so he can comfortably bring his head and neck down against them as well. It’s an awkward fetal position, but it manages to save the little bit of body heat he has left.

Just as he starts to fade into a restless sleep in the memory, his eyes blink open to the darkened view of the rumbling thatch roof hanging above him. Warmth returns to him as he comes back to himself, both from the blankets pulled up to just underneath his chin, and Wompy bear curled tightly against his chest. It could be days or hours that Kuzco lays there, just staring up at the roof, listening to the rain pelting against it and reliving those awful memories. One of his hands idly pets the scruff on Wompy’s head to remind himself that he isn’t there anymore; he’s not alone and it’s comforting enough to relax him minutely for the time being.

Some time later, a sound akin to the hut itself falling apart around him startles him awake, the loud crash of thunder still booming in his ears as he bolts upright in his bed. The candle he’d been using to keep the room has gone out at some point in the night, and the room is cast in a pitch dark blackness that makes it impossible to see through. A scream rips itself from his throat, burning as it finds its way out of his mouth and in that moment he’s back there again; alone with no one but himself and all of his regrets, in that dark jungle in the middle of a terrible storm. He deserves nothing less– and no one is coming for him.

“Kuzco?! Kuzco!”

Pacha’s voice sounds like it’s underwater when it finally reaches him, and his eyes fly open– when did he close them?-- to dart around the room for its source. Pacha has just finished ascending the staircase to the attic with his own candle, and is striding quickly across the room and towards him. With that realization, Kuzco thrusts the blankets off of himself to stare down at his legs– his very human, not fur covered legs, and the feet (not hoofs!) attached to them.

His breathing is ragged and no matter how many times he swallows he can’t seem to catch a breath despite the relief he feels when he realizes he’s human again. As if sensing where his mind had been, Pacha takes a seat on the bed beside him and dips his head to try and catch his attention. “Kuzco– Kuzco, look at me. In and out, follow my breathing.” He inhales and exhales slowly, and Kuzco follows him the best he can until he can feel his heart-rate start to calm enough to take a steady breath in.

This sort of thing never used to happen to him. The idea of him having a panic attack, or whatever this was, was laughable– he is (was) the Emperor! As such, he wasn’t allowed to have any flaws, of any kind. This could certainly be considered a flaw. A blight on his sunlike radiance, if you will; but after his return, they began to happen far more frequently. Amongst them, was his first dinner after returning to the palace.

An unsuspecting maid brought him a goblet of wine to drink with dinner, and when he’d noticed that she chose the very one Kronk had presented to him the night of his birthday, Kuzco screamed and slapped it out of her hands before she had the chance to put it on the table. His council stared at him like he had two heads, and the maid apologized profusely before bending to attempt to clean it up. Kuzco excused himself to his room until he was able to get a better control of himself, and when he returned it was as if his little freak out had never happened.

Since then, he’s had several events like this that range in severity depending on the subject, and he’s become a master of brushing it off and pretending like it wasn’t a big deal. None were quite as extreme as the one he was currently having, and he was grateful to Pacha for being there for him. “I’m– I’m good.” Kuzco pants, dramatically throwing himself back against his pillows once he can actually take a breath in.

Pacha doesn’t move, and when Kuzco peeks one of his eyes open he notices the llama herder staring intently at him. “That happen a lot?” He questions, not unkindly, as his hands fold themselves in his lap. “Because it looked pretty bad. You were really out of it for a minute there.” His initial reaction is to laugh it off, nudge Pacha in the side until he gets off of his bed and once again pretend it never happened– but inwardly, he’s pleased by both the company during the storm since he was alone up here, and the man’s comfort and support.

Despite himself, Kuzco lets his gaze cast to the side, falling on his beloved Wompy where he’d been thrown in his fit to find his legs beneath the covers. He tugs him into his lap and plays with his arms for lack of anything better to do, and focuses his attention on the doll instead when he replies. “. . . More than you’d think.” He admits, with a low huff. “It’s like I’m back there– alone, on that stupid mound of mud.Y’know, I never realized how much wet llama fur actually stinks.” It’s a sad attempt at deflecting with humor, but it’s all he’s got right now.

“You know it’s okay to have some past trauma about what happened, right? Not many people can say they’ve been turned into an animal and stranded in the jungle before– you can’t be expected to just. . . come back like normal after something like that.”

Kuzco doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. If anyone can understand where he’s coming from, it’s Pacha– who Kuzco has privately come to think of like a father to him. Still, it’s hard to admit when something’s bothering him, and he inwardly hopes that with enough time, if he ignores it, it will all just . . . go away.

When he speaks again, it sounds like it’s coming from someone else. His voice is small, almost childlike and he still can’t bring himself to look up at Pacha. “But that’s just it. That’s exactly what’s ‘expected’, Pacha. I’m the Emperor, I’m not allowed to be weak. Or show weakness or have. . . this problem, whatever it is.” He’d been raised since birth to believe he was a descendant of the Sun God, which makes him a deity in his own right. Deity’s are to be revered and seen as perfect at all times.

Pacha’s big meaty hand finds his bony shoulder, resting there after giving it a quick comforting squeeze. “It will get better, Kuzco. You just have to give it some time. It’ll make it harder if you just keep brushing it under the rug all the time, though.” He tells him. There’s a familiar sting behind his eyes that he refuses to acknowledge, and Kuzco instead forces himself to glare at Pacha in a weak attempt to enforce his ‘no touchy’ rule, that. . . if he’s honest, the man in question doesn’t even have to adhere to, anyways. ‘No Touchy’ seems kind of silly after a guy grabs you by the literal tail to keep you from falling down a cliff face and saves your life multiple times.

“Yeah? And how exactly do you know all of that, hm? Did someone try to kill you to take over your hut, turn you into a llama and chase you through a dense jungle?”

At first, Pacha doesn’t respond besides an eyeroll Kuzco doesn’t really think is all that justified for his legitimate question, but then he’s squeezing his shoulder once more before letting his hand fall all together. “You’re just gonna have to trust me, Kuzco.”

Chills run down his spine at the familiarity of the phrase, and Kuzco glances away entirely in a last ditch effort to avoid crying in front of the llama herder. He doesn’t succeed, and moments later a few tears make their way down his cheeks, which he furiously wipes away with Wompy’s arm and in the process shakes Pacha’s hand off of him for good. Pacha’s kind enough at the very least not to mention it.

“Thanks for that, I’ll log that one away.” He shoots back, keeping his head turned but glancing at him from the corner of his eye all the same. Pacha catches on, and with a chuckle pushes himself up off of the edge of Kuzco’s bed. There was no heat behind the phrase, it’s almost become an inside joke between them at this point– and the friendly banter alone does wonders at soothing Kuzco’s frazzled nerves.

“If you ever want to talk about it, I’ll be here.” With that, Pacha ambles over to the steps leading out of the attic, purposefully leaving the candle he’d brought up with him on the dresser next to the burnt out one.

Rain is still pelting against the roof of the hut, but it seems to have slowed some in its intensity and has assumed an almost comforting, drum-like rhythm. Kuzco settles back against his pillows with a sigh, pulling the blanket back over his legs, and tugging Wompy against his chest. It will get better. It has to. He refuses to let this weigh over his head for the rest of his life– especially not when he graduates and becomes Emperor again.

When he does manage to fall asleep again, it’s a restless one– but at least for tonight, there aren’t any more nightmares.

Chapter 26: The Excuse

“No . . . nope. Not it. Nope. Nuh uh– “

Item after meaningless item is taken from the drawer, examined with a critical eye and then tossed unceremoniously over his shoulder and discarded. Everything from kitchen utensils, scrolls, toys, farming tools– even a llama bit– is deemed useless, and save for the cacophony of noise each of the items makes as it hits the ground, the hut is eerily silent.

Pacha is busy outside with his herd of llamas, corralling them into their tiny shearing pen. Even without his dislike for the furry beasts, Kuzco gives them as wide a berth as he’s able to– primarily because ‘herding llamas’ is absolutely something that he would consider beneath him. Emperor (to be) or not, he had never so much as touched a llama before he was turned into one– he had people for that exact reason.

Sure, on occasion he might find himself in the Royal Stable to admire the different farm animals given to him as gifts, or for more political reasons ranging from negotiations to bribes from outside Kingdoms– but that was about as close as he’d ever come to them in person.

So when Pacha, in his infinite wisdom, asked him if he would be interested in helping him out and learning a little something about how to deal with ‘stubborn’ llamas, Kuzco told him in no uncertain terms exactly how much he hated the idea, and wouldn’t be caught dead coming within a few feet of them. Besides; Pacha was already smelly enough for the both of them. Poor Chicha might have to wear a permanent nose plug if Kuzco started helping out, too.

Speaking of; Chicha had also asked him for a favor that morning. She was heading into the local village market to buy some food items for the week, and had asked Kuzco if he would accompany her if only to carry the heavier sacks of grain and potatoes she planned on buying.

. . . Seriously, what’s with these people thinking that he was interested in anything that had to do with physical labor? It’s like they didn’t even know him.

He was able to get out of that one pretty easily, citing that he had homework to catch up on over the weekend. Chicha didn’t buy it for a second, reminding him that she’d never seen him so much as pull a scroll out of his backpack, let alone actually DO any homework– but she’d give him the benefit of the doubt if he was serious about it.

That left him alone in the hut, with Chaca and Tipo outside playing, or riding llamas or. . . whatever small children do in their free time– and gave him the perfect opportunity to find something he could use to forge a doctor’s note.

“Nope. . . AHA! YES! This is perfect!” A small scroll is pulled out, with several papers with Chicha’s delicate handwriting on display pinned to the front of it, and Kuzco just about kisses it once he’s found it. All he needs to do now is attempt to copy Chicha’s handwriting, write himself a doctor’s note detailing his ‘sickness’, and BOOM, baby! No more gym class!

He slides into the dining table with a blank scroll and the papers he found and gets right to work copying the handwriting until he comes up with something legible.

“To whom it may concern, this is Doctor K. . . . Kay-uzco. . .”

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

“--Please excuse Kuzco from any and all activities that could cause serious injury, including but not limited to anything that could damage the Royal Head. This includes soccer. Kuzco is still recovering from a traumatic injury that resulted in a mild concussion.” Coach Sweety glares at him from over the top of the scroll, brows furrowed as she takes in his calm demeanor.

For his part, Kuzco stands with his hands folded behind his back, forcing his expression into one of indifference as the teacher reads the note out loud to him– and to the rest of the class. Which, hello– violation of privacy. But if it means getting out of this stupid class, it’ll be worth it.

“Is this ‘Doctor Kay-uzco’ a real doctor? This sounds like something you made up.” She asks him, glowering as she lowers the scroll from her face and plants her hands on her hips. “What? Coach Sweaty; I have never been so insulted in my life!”

If anything, her glare deepens. “It’s Coach SWEETY.” She bellows, loud enough that he’s pretty sure they could hear it back at the palace. “Sweety, right. Sure. Point is; I would never make up a doctor’s note! That’s just. . . it’s unthinkable.”

Exasperated, Coach Sweety casts a glance towards the rest of the students, as if asking them what they think about this whole ridiculous ordeal. She doesn’t get a reply of course, only a bored disinterested stare in return, and with an eye roll she settles her gaze on Kuzco once more. “Okay, so what is this ‘traumatic injury’ your doctor is talking about, hm?”

For a brief moment, his mind draws a complete blank. Coming up with an actual injury never even crossed his mind, he was far more focused on crafting the excuse itself. “Uh . . “ Even if he had ever been injured in the past, which would require actual physical activity or effort, Kuzco had the best Royal Doctors in the country looking after him. Save for his blood sugar issue, he’d never have the opportunity to suffer from some kind of prolonged illness, not under their care.

It hits him then as suddenly as it had that day, and Kuzco’s grin is back in full force as he refocuses on the woman in front of him. “Frying pan.”

She stares back for a moment, her brows furring in confusion this time, instead of annoyance. “Frying. . pan?”

“Yep! I was hit with a frying pan. You know, after I was turned into a llama.” Comes his confident reply, and he’s all but beaming at her once he realizes exactly what a perfect excuse it is. “I was busy fighting off. . . uh, assassins! On my way back to the palace. Pacha went inside his hut for supplies and I was ambushed! By ten of them! But I was able to fight them off– “ Here, he demonstrates some of his karate moves, slicing an arm through the air complete with sound effects.

“But one got the jump on me and, WHAM!” He folds his hands together in front of himself and swings them forward, like he’s holding something heavy with both of them. “Right in the side of the head! Nearly knocked me out– but I was still able to defeat them all with my kung-fu skills!”

Somewhere in the background, he can feel Kronk’s eyes on him, squinting and confused. Kuzco doesn’t necessarily care whether or not he remembers– at the time, he’d been trying to avoid them after all– but as long as he doesn’t try to correct him, they won’t have a problem.

It’s quiet while the information is absorbed, but after a moment Coach Sweety heaves a sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Fine, Kuzco. Walk the track while the rest of the class plays Soccer.”

Her only reply is a beaming grin, complete with finger guns, and Kuzco’s jogging over to the track to begin his light exercise. It was only a partial lie– a little white lie, really– and it got him out of the class. One down, several more years worth to go!

Chapter 27: The Visit (pt. 1)

Notes:

Another flashback to just after the events of the movie; Kuzco's first non-official visit to Pacha's, both to see the summer vacation hut AND to meet Pacha's family.

What he doesn't know is that Chicha still has plans to give him that 'piece of her mind' for blowing Pacha off after summoning him to the palace in the first place, since a certain big, heroic peasant-family-man never told her that he was lying. Who DOES he think he is, anyways?

Dappled sunlight filters in through the slit in the silk drapes acting as a curtain for his litter, warming his upturned face now that they’re finally free of the jungle’s thick tree-top canopy. Between the warmth from the sunlight and the gentle rhythmic sway of the litter from the guards coordinated march, it didn’t take any time at all for Kuzco to drift off to sleep once they finally set off from the palace. Weeks have passed since the llama adventure, the majority of that time spent working to formally reinstate him as Emperor, begin a manhunt to find Yzma– and reversing everything Yzma had put into place for the short time she held the position as Empress.

There were a lot of minute details to be attended to– including but not limited to removing new taxes she had put into place, and canceling the orders for statues she planned to have built in her likeness and placed in each of the Empire’s villages.

Having Kuzcotopia removed from the to-do list was the single most important item to be taken care of, of course. Kuzco insisted on halting any plans in the making and redistributing the funds necessary for the project towards the village he had planned to build in– Pacha’s village. New farming and herding supplies, an upgrade for the food storage, and a fund put into place for repairs to huts and the village as needed.

Needless to say, his council and the temporary advisor put in as Yzma’s replacement were absolutely shocked by the sudden change of heart. Several had doubts that this was actually Kuzco, and not a doppelganger of some kind put in place to replicate the fallen Emperor. It took a lot of convincing, and retelling of his dangerous, heroic tale– but eventually they took him at face value. After Pacha’s suggestion however, and a lot of deliberation– Kuzcotopia wouldn’t be completely abandoned after all.

It was still going to happen, just. . . on a much smaller scale. Perhaps in the future he could look at creating his summer-palace in a better location, but for now? A little hut in the countryside (complete with WATERSLIDE!) sounded more than perfect for his needs.

Finalizing the plans for his hut and fixing everything else took up the majority of his time, and he hadn’t been able to send a courier to Pacha and co to let them know when he was planning on stopping by the village to check out the progress made on the vacation hut. From what he understood, it was mostly finished save for a little bit of buttoning up and he couldn’t wait to see it.

He’s jostled as the litter comes to a sudden stop, rocking forward before remaining stationary atop the guards shoulders once more. They bend to lower him to the ground, and still groggy from his nap, Kuzco leans forward and raises his arms in an exaggerated yawn before sweeping the curtains to the side.

The village looks more or less the same than the last time he was here– except, you know. It’s not night time, and he’s not looking at everything from closer to the ground and on four legs. Curious peasants have stopped to stare slack jawed at the royal procession winding its way through their little village. Before Kuzco is fully out of the litter, the guards at either side of the procession blare their horns to alert the rest of the village to his arrival.

Kuzco doesn’t exactly jump, but it’s a near thing and he shoots his guards a glare as he straightens up to smooth out his robes. He’s in his usual imperial robes– but without the long train, primarily because he didn’t want to have it dragging behind him in the dirt. He would’ve dressed more casual, but it’s not like he has a ‘summer wardrobe’ (yet) and besides– it’s all about appearances.

Several of the villagers bow to him almost immediately, dropping whatever they had been holding and lowering their heads. Other’s take a little longer, coming out of their huts or from down the hill to see what all the fuss was about. While it’s a scene he’s used to, Kuzco still vividly remembers what Yzma and Kronk said about no one truly caring whether or not he was dead and it stings a little bit all over again. To them, he’s a figurehead– the face of authority, but not worthy of any actual respect as the spoiled man child he (used to) behave as.

A frown curls his lips and after a moment, Kuzco loudly clears his throat in an attempt to get everyone’s attention. Some of them look up, and he takes a moment to remove his crown in a gesture of solidarity, tucking it underneath his arm and using his free hand to shoot them all a jaunty little wave.

“Uh, hey– hi there. Yeah, thanks. This is great, really– but why don’t you folks go ahead and stand up for me. Kay?” Confused murmurs fill the air, and one by one the peasants stand, watching him with cautious expressions– as if any moment they expect him to single handedly arrest each one of them for not giving him the proper supplication.

Once they’re all standing, Kuzco grins at them and offers them a nod before casting his own glance around at the gathered community. If he’s not mistaken, he doesn’t see–

“ –Hey, has anyone seen Pacha lately? You know, big guy,” He demonstrates by raising his hand, holding it flat in the air above his head. “ –funny hat. Smells like llam– HEY! There he is, my main village man!” Pacha is ambling down the hill with a child on his shoulder, looking as confused as the rest of the village at the gathering. For a fleeting moment nothing happens, and then Kuzco is darting forward to meet the man halfway and throwing his free arm around his middle in a one sided hug.

He’s sure he hears a couple peasants gasping in the background, but his focus is on the big guy in front of him who’s smiling down at him and returning the greeting with a brief pat to the shoulder. They haven’t had much contact since the ‘incident’, but they did part on friendly terms and truth be told– it’s great to see him again. “Hey, Kuzco. Didn’t expect to see you for a while yet.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. So much red tape to cut through, you know how it is.” He pauses then, shoulders raising in a shrug before giving Pacha a gentle punch against the arm. “But, you know me– can’t hold me down for long. So! Where’s this stunning summer vacation hut of mine? I hear it’s coming along great. Thought I might test out the waterslide today.” Kuzco offers, waggling his eyebrows at the child on Pacha’s shoulder– a small boy with short hair, who only giggles in return.

With that, Kuzco’s gesturing ahead of them and up towards the top of the hill with the hand still holding his crown. “Lead the way!”

The rest of the village can only stare in confusion as Kuzco— their EMPEROR, who never visits unless something bad is happening— Pacha and the guards who’d accompanied the Emperor head up the hill towards where all of the construction had been taking place.

Chapter 28: The Visit (Pt. 2) Chicha's Piece of Mind!

Notes:

PART 2! Chicha gives it to him.

Another flashback to just after the events of the movie; Kuzco's first non-official visit to Pacha's, both to see the summer vacation hut AND to meet Pacha's family.

What he doesn't know is that Chicha still has plans to give him that 'piece of her mind' for blowing Pacha off after summoning him to the palace in the first place, since a certain big, heroic peasant-family-man never told her that he was lying. Who DOES he think he is, anyways?

“Do you always have to wear your crown?”

“Nope, not always– I mean I can, if I want to. But if I’m just lounging around the palace? Nah.”

“I bet you’re busy all the time. Like, really busy. You probably attend a ton of meetings too– right? Day in and day out, all the time, meetings after meetings– “

“Heh, yeah. . . yeah I do. They’re pretty boring, actually– “

“Boring?! No way! I bet they’re super exciting! Planning defenses for the palace, how to best share out the funds for the different villages, which cool new rules to put in place– like that time you made it a law that everyone had to wear funny hats!”

Kuzco, who had up to this point been further slouching down against the chair he was sitting in the longer the child– Chaca?-- kept speaking, palmed his face in an effort to avoid appearing as frustrated as he was getting.

He thought the Thing That Never Shut Up was bad– boy did he have some competition. Shortly after arriving at the hut, and Pacha making the necessary introductions, Pacha left to the back yard to finish with the llama’s so he could properly show the Emperor around, and Chicha to the kitchen to prepare them all something for lunch.

That left Kuzco alone with the two children; Chaca who was currently talking his ear off, and a much quieter Tipo who was playing with a toy in the corner. Chaca started in on him almost immediately, with a barrage of questions about everything from what his favorite food and color were, to if he had any special kind of torture for people who broke a law, and what his thought process was behind the wool tax he’d recently put into place.

She was a very intelligent little girl, there was no disputing that– but she was starting to give him a headache akin to the ones he got when his Royal Council wouldn’t shut up long enough to let him get a word in edgewise.

“Yep– heh. That, that was a good one. . .”

“Chaca, why don’t you and Tipo go and clear the table? Lunch is almost ready.” Chicha calls from her place in the doorway, an amused smile on her lips as she surveys the scene. Kuzco can only imagine how it looks; the Emperor slouched halfway down a chair in a peasants living room, robes askew and his crown beside him on the chair while a child talks his ear off.

He’s bored out of his mind by this point, and he welcomes Chicha’s distraction from the constant line of questioning with a tired smile flashed in her direction. Chaca chirps out a pleased “Okay, mom! C’mon Tipo!” and the two of them dart out of the room before Kuzco’s even able to right himself on the bench seat.

“You’ve got your hands full with those two, huh?” He comments, chuckling to himself as he tries to straighten out a kink in his neck from sitting in one position so long. “Better watch out with Chaca– she’ll be coming for my job if I’m not careful.”

Chicha huffs a laugh and heads further into the room, taking the unoccupied seat across from him and folding her hands in her lap. “Yep, she’s definitely a bright girl.” She pauses, casting him her own amused look. “Takes after her mother that way. In fact– I have a few questions for you too, Emperor Kuzco.” She continues, crossing her legs and pinning him down with a look only a mother would be capable of.

Kuzco, unaware of the potential danger– not having grown up with a mother or. . . any parent, to give him disappointed looks– merely rolls his eyes and leans back against the chair once more with an idle hand gesture to indicate she could go on. “Hit me with your best shot, Chicha.”

That response is met briefly with an annoyed expression, her brows furrowing momentarily before she schools her features into something far more calm. “You must send out a lot of summons, don’t you? I can’t imagine how busy that must make you– between those and the requests for an audience with the Emperor himself.”

It’s true; in full, he probably sends out somewhere around 50 summons each morning, all for a myriad of reasons. A peasant who hadn’t properly paid their taxes, someone who broke a law and needed to be dealt with– and on top of that, the peasant complaints and requests that came in daily. From the moment their doors open to the public, there are lines of peasants at the ready for an audience, in hopes of gaining some charitable contribution for their families, or assistance in gaining the proper tools for their farming needs.

It usually drones on and on for hours at a time, until Kuzco is practically falling asleep sitting up in the throne. In a word? It was torture. Plain and simple. “Yep– gotta keep things moving and grooving.” He jokes, an idle hand reaching up to scratch the bridge of his nose. “We get hundreds of them a day.”

Chicha hums in reply, and if Kuzco were paying attention, he might recognize the look she’s giving him now as one of thinly veiled anger. “That must be so difficult for you to handle– what with how incredibly important your time is.” He huffs a laugh in return, the hand just idly scratching at his face flicking out in her direction in an over-dramatic gesture. “Finally! Someone who gets it! Try telling my Royal Council that– they schedule me for all of this and still expect me to be able to go and bless a temple, or meet with village leaders in the same day. Sheesh.”

“So. . . Emperor Kuzco, I know how valuable you think your time is, but– surely it can’t be more important than that of a peasant who traveled for hours to meet with you. For a summons. That YOU sent to them.” Chicha is glaring by the end of her statement, her tone completely dry and with her arms crossed over her chest.

He glances over at her once what she’s saying actually dawns on him, and despite himself he’s a little bit intimidated by this peasant woman, giving him a passive aggressive shakedown in her own hut. He’s got to hand it to her– she’s got nerve, for sure. “Uh– it is, actually. As Emperor, you know– the LEADER of the entire country? I’ve got plenty on my daily agenda, and–”

“I understand that, Your Highness– but what gives you the right to summon a peasant to your palace, which is a several day hike, might I remind you– only to DISMISS him before even meeting with him because you couldn’t plan your schedule better?”

Kuzco’s only response is a blank stare, confusion evident on his face. Surely she wasn’t talking about Pacha, right?

Chicha stands then, moving closer to him– or as close as she can manage with her very pregnant stomach– and points a finger in his face. “It makes me SICK, that you think you can just . . . just play with someone like that, without even giving them the time of day! I don’t care who you are, Emperor, it’s called COMMON COURTESY and you should have at the very least let him stay the night or something so the trip wasn’t a complete waste!”

Kuzco backs up as much as he can into the back of the chair in defense, his hands up in a placating gesture as he cranes his neck and face away from her. He’s never been outright yelled at by anyone like this before– save for Yzma, but that was when he was younger– and he isn’t sure whether to be shocked or angry that she thinks she has the right to treat him like this.

"Okay, hold on–”

“And another thing!” She continues, “That kind of behavior is just. . . just, completely unbecoming of someone who supposedly RUNS our Empire– that you can’t even take a second to explain to someone what’s going on and. . . “

Pacha’s there in an instant, a gentle hand tugging Chicha away from the Emperor– huddled against the back of his chair with his hands in the defensive ‘no touchy’ gesture, but positioned down by his stomach– “Chicha, honey, think about the baby. . . “

“I am thinking about the baby, Pacha! What if something happened to you on the way back from the palace in the middle of the night, hm? What then? It would’ve been all his fault and– “

“That’s not what happened honey!”

Chicha stops then, anger flooding out of her as she turns to face Pacha, and Kuzco is left staring between them in complete confusion. “What?”

Pacha has the good sense to look chagrined, a hand reaching up to brush the back of his neck once he finally releases Chicha and takes a pointed step back. “Kuzco didn’t dismiss me that day, Chicha. I met with him. . . it just, uh– didn’t go so well. That was the meeting where he told me he would be turning our home into Kuzcotopia. Not long after that he had me dragged away by the guards– I just didn’t know how to break the news to you. Or the village.” He admits, casting a glance in Kuzco’s direction at the mention of the summer home– only to find the Emperor glaring back at him with his own arms crossed.

“Gee, thanks a lot Pacha– could’ve given me a heads up before Chichasa–” He starts, and Chicha rounds on him with a look of pure, unadulterated anger in her eyes. “. . . Before I came here that, you know– you like to lie. To your wife. . . and the whole village.” Not his best save, but it’ll work.

Chicha doesn’t say anything else to that statement, merely turns and scoots past Pacha to head back into the kitchen to check on her children, content to give them both the cold shoulder for now. Which leaves Pacha and Kuzco still in the living room,staring at one another in confusion. After a few tense moments, they share yet another awkward laugh and Kuzco takes the time to right himself in the chair he nearly climbed out of, smoothing his hands down the front of his robes as he goes.

Pacha coughs, then; “So– still staying for lunch?”

Chapter 29: Rabbit Face! Pt. 1

Notes:

Back to the story! Part 1 of RABBIT FACE. These snippets will be the 'in between' points from the episode, without directly typing out the episode as it happened. I hope that makes sense.

Almost finished. . . .

His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates, squinting in an effort to read his own writing in the dark of his locker with his shoulders blocking out the light from the hallway. Students amble along behind him, paying no attention to his hunched over frame except for the odd look here or there as they pass. If anything, it’s like they’re making a point to ignore the would-be-Emperor completely, unwilling to give him the time of day if it means feeding his already larger than life ego.

Kuzco’s fine with it– as far as he’s concerned, the less contact he has with the peasants he’s supposed to be ruling over and isn’t, the better. “And. . . . done! Perfect, as usual.” He boasts, tossing his pencil deeper into his locker and holding the paper up to the light for closer inspection.

“To whom it may concern, Kuzco should be excused from the cross country race. . . “

At the risk of sounding like a certain insane, living (questionable) breathing dinosaur– it’s brilliant, brilliant, BRILLIANT!

Over the last few weeks, Kuzco has handed in a variety of notes from his ‘doctor’ for just about everything school related, from excuses to get him out of doing homework, to getting out of gym class– and on one memorable occasion, getting him out of dissecting some poor, strange jungle. . . insect thing. This would just be another to add onto the list, and he then he can spend the gym class watching the cheerleaders practice instead of getting all sweaty and–

“What’re you doing?”

In such close proximity, the voice startles him and Kuzco lets out a highly undignified squeak as he spins around and subsequently slams himself into the lockers behind him. “Malina! Hi! What are– you know, you’re really quiet. We should get you a bell or something. . . “ It’s aimless babble, and he laughs at himself as he tries to fold the doctor's note up behind his back before she can see it.

It doesn’t work, and he follows her gaze as it narrows on the piece of paper in his hands. "Uh huh, nice try. What’s that?” She points at it, and Kuzco holds it up, staring quizzically at it as if it’s the first time he’s seeing it. “Huh? Oh, this is just a. . . a note! For Coach Sweety. To tell her what an awesome job she’s been doing!” He tries, laughing a little as he turns back to his locker, to shove it into one of his books.

“You know me, always trying to bring up morale– “

Malina only stares back at him, unimpressed. “I heard about the cross country race. It’s going to be tomorrow, isn’t it?” How does she DO that? He’s got to work on concealing his expressions better or something, because it’s a little scary– how she just KNOWS what he’s doing all the time.

“I don’t know, but– oh, would you look at the time?” A quick gesture at the nearby sundial, and he’s grabbing the book the note was shoved into and closing the door to his locker. “I’m late to class. Can’t have that– being such a model student, and all. Later!” In the next moment he’s gone, heading towards the gym at a quick clip in an effort to avoid any further questioning. Sure, the race is tomorrow, but if anyone thinks he’s going to take part in it? They’re sorely mistaken.

He’s an Emperor type– not a sweaty, gross. . . . running. Type.

Chapter 30: Rabbit Face! Pt. 2

“Takin’ a break?”

Kuzco almost misses the question entirely over his own heavy breathing, and the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. When the comment does register, and he chances a glance up to the ledge where the two old men sit playing checkers, it’s to see their old, wrinkly faces smirking down at him in clear amusement at his distress.

“It’s called pacing yourself!” He sneers, scowling as he throws an arm out to indicate the rest of the staircase and how much farther he still had to go before muttering a much quieter “you old geezers.” to himself. There’s a reason he was always carried up to the throne by a servant, you know.

As the Emperor, his royal bloodline is above that of the common man– subordinates, noblemen and peasants alike– and as such it’s important to always be seen towering over them all from his massive golden throne when he meets with the public. If he’s being honest, it’s the only part of the peasant complaint sessions he actually enjoys, looking down at all of them as they voice their concerns.

Actually ascending the steps to the throne to achieve that important image is another story entirely. When he was younger, he used to make it up the steps with ease. On occasion, he would even race his servants to the top of the dais, a game he enjoyed to break the monotony of the hours-long session he was preparing for. As he grew into his larger than life, self assured personality however; he began to despite it. It was needlessly exhausting– why should he subject himself to the torture of both overexertion at climbing the stairs, AND listening to the peasants drone on for hours, and hours about their woes?

So began the tradition of him being carried up to the throne by whichever servant was around and capable that day– a tradition that he grew very, very comfortable with over the years. Until his transformation, of course. Since that adventure, he would indulge in it a little bit every now and then when he felt like being lazy– but for the most part he carried himself up the stairs at as slow a pace as he could manage.

Since being booted from the throne, however, the most exercise he’s had has been walking to and from Pacha’s village and chasing Chaca and Tipo around the hut when they thought it was funny to take something that belonged to him and hide it. The little menaces.

Nearby laughter startles him out of his thoughts, and he glances up just in time to see a group of little kids rush past him as they chase each other up the staircase, squealing while they try to avoid being tagged by another little boy. Kuzco can only glare in return at the ease in which they run, his brows furrowed as watches them until they’re out of sight.

“Come on, Kuzco. You can do this.” He tells himself, shaking his hands out once before he pushes himself up off of the stone step he’d been kneeling on. Little stones made indents on his knees in the time he’d been kneeling there, and he takes his time brushing them off and rubbing some feeling back into them. It’s more an effort to stall for time than anything else, but no one needs to know that.

He can feel the old geezers eyes watching his every move, their checkers game momentarily forgotten as they trade jokes back and forth about him. They wouldn’t be laughing if I was still an Emperor, Kuzco thinks to himself, hands balling into fists in his annoyance. Maybe I should call the Royal Guard back . . .

The Royal Guard who he wasn’t even supposed to have in the first place; the Royal Record Keeper made it abundantly clear to him on several occasions that he was not to abuse them for any reason– but he did still have some sway over them. At least for now.

With a final huff, Kuzco rolls his shoulders in determination and sets off at a much slower pace towards the top of the hill, dutifully ignoring the old men as he goes.

Several of the villagers greet him as he passes, and now that school is out for the day there are groups of kids mulling around on the grassy parts of the hills playing games, skipping rope or helping their parents with chores. Were he not so concentrated on making it up the stairs without having a heart attack, Kuzco might actually find it somewhat peaceful. Maybe.

What seems like hours later, but in reality is most likely only a half hour at best, the roof of Pacha’s hut crests over the top of the last set of stairs. “Finally!” He groans, sinking down into his knees on the hard stone while he takes yet another break to catch his breath. If he can’t even make it up the stairs— how will he EVER be able to beat Kronk of all people in a race?

It’s totally unfair— no, even worse? It’s like they’re trying to intentionally throw off his groove!

Maybe he can pay Coach Sweety to pass him without having to actually take part in the race itself. . .

“Hey, Kuzco.” Pacha greets him, leading Misty behind him as he makes his way up the staircase himself. “You just getting home from school?”

Kuzco casts him an annoyed look, offended by his use of the word ‘just’ before schooling his features into something more neutral. “Uh, yeah— had to stay behind to. . . finish my work out! Yeah, I wanted to make sure I got all my reps in today— it’s leg day, you know. That’s why I’m so worn out, couldn’t even tackle the stairs after all that work, obviously. Eh heh.” It's accompanied by an unnecessary flex of his arms, which doesn't make any sense considering he just said he was working on his legs today, but. Whatever gets the point across.

Pacha quirks a brow, completely unimpressed. “Uh huh.”

Kuzco leans over once he notices Misty is without her usual cart, and takes the necessary few steps over to drape an arm over top of the old llamas back. “You know, I could take Misty the rest of the way up for you. Big guy like you? You’re probably exhausted from all that walking. Am I right?”

Is it even possible for a llama to give you a dirty look? ‘Cause if he didn’t know any better, he’d say Misty just glared at him.

Without a word, Pacha tugs on Misty’s rope, rescuing her from Kuzco as he continues up the remaining stairs. “Thanks but no thanks Kuzco, once we get back I’m going to take her out back for a bath. Maybe next time.”

Kuzco almost falls over when Misty moves out from beneath him, and he’s pouting as he watches the two of them walk away. “I could give her a bath!” He calls, cupping his hands around his mouth. “I’ll take one with her! You know what they say, llamas of a flock, or. . . something.”

Pacha’s out of hearing range by the time he finishes, and a despondent Kuzco sighs, folding his arms across his chest.

There aren’t that many more sets to go, but it’s enough. And why does it keep looking like it’s getting longer and longer. . . ?

Stupid Coach Sweety. Stupid Kronk.

Chapter 31: Rabbit Face Pt. 3

Despite what you may think, being transformed into an animal is not as obvious a feeling as you would be led to believe. It takes place slowly and in increments, and it’s easy to miss if you aren’t paying attention or even aware that it’s happening to you.

There isn’t a single, explicable feeling that comes over you when the potion begins to take effect– no adverse taste, especially when it’s covered up by a delicious dipping sauce, and no noticeable tingle or stinging sensation that travels throughout your body to alert you to the fact that something is wrong.

When it does start to take effect, the transformation usually begins with the head, and more specifically? The ears. An irritation reminiscent of a bug or something small colliding with your ear gives you the urge to scratch it, but there’s no other indication that your ears have suddenly grown to three times their usual size besides the itch. After that comes the sudden warmth of something growing on your face, likely the hair or fur that’s now covering it completely. One might think this would be the most obvious change, and the one you would notice the quickest; but unless you’re actively staring at yourself in the mirror, you would be surprised by how little a change it actually is to have hair suddenly appear on your face.

Gradually, the effect travels the length of your body– moving downwards into your extremities, but depending on the type of animal you’re transforming into, there isn’t a large enough change in the length of your appendages to really take notice of anything. There may be a barely perceptible warmth that accompanies it, and with warmth occasionally comes a ‘pins and needles’ like sensation that urges you to scratch, but otherwise it’s hard to tell that anything is out of the ordinary.

In his defense, this is only the second time he’s ever been turned into an animal. The first time, he was hardly conscious long enough after the initial transformation to really catalog any of the changes or feelings that came with it, and when he woke up he had nothing besides a splitting headache to indicate that there was anything different about himself. It didn’t even occur to him that he could’ve been changed into an animal until Pacha pointed it out to him– and why would it? What reason would anyone have to turn his handsome visage into that of an animal? To say that he was in shock upon that realization was an understatement.

This time was no different.

Hopping had, oddly enough, not been that different from walking outright. It was strange using both his feet at the same time, sure, but as consumed by the thoughts of the race as he was, he hardly noticed how strange a sensation it actually was.

It wasn’t until Malina was so kind as to point out his appearance that Kuzco finally noticed anything was wrong– and all at once the panic and sheer horror that accompanied him realizing that he was no longer human came flooding back to him as if it were the first time all over again. Before he realizes what’s happening, he’s back on that hillside with Pacha, the llama herder staring at him with wide eyes and thinly veiled pity as he tries to console him over his changed form and figure out what happened. It’s such a shock to his system that he struggles to breathe for a moment, and his ‘paws’ reach up for his neck as if taking a hold of it will bring it back. The startling realization that he has paws instead of hands stops him in his tracks, and prompts him to take stock of the rest of his being. It’s not until he notices the fluffy bunny tail on his back end that the ringing laughter of the students surrounding him reaches him and the panic is back in full force.

What if this is it? What if I’m stuck like this? He thinks in a panic, whipping his head around to take in all of the jeering, laughing faces around him. These people are peasants– they’re nothing! They should be worshiping him– he’s their Emperor!

. . . Was, their Emperor. Past tense.

If he’s stuck like this, he’ll never win the race. He’ll never be Emperor again, and Yzma–

– Yzma!

Without realizing what he’s doing, and consumed by his ‘fight or flight’ instincts, Kuzco ducks his head and takes off at a run, embarrassed of his current form and ashamed that he’d fallen for such a stupid trick a second time. The first time was bad enough; word spread like wildfire about the ‘llama incident’, and more specifically of Kuzco’s naivety with drinking a potion laced drink. How naive their Emperor could be, accepting anything from a scorned evil advisor and her sidekick on the very day he had fired her. It was and remains one of the better shared stories in the Empire, and along with the amends Kuzco had to make for his past behavior, he also had a reputation to rebuild with his people. Before the whole ‘school’ thing, anyways.

Malina’s cries of “Kuzco? Kuzco!” fall on deaf ears as he hops as fast as his little legs can take him away from the rest of the students, with no clear direction in mind– only the need to escape the mocking by any means necessary.

How could I have trusted him? He thinks, fighting against the sting of tears in his eyes. Of course he’s still working for Yzma, and of course they would try something like this! It’s no wonder now why he hadn’t seen her for several weeks, aside from the occasional passing glance when he noticed her masquerading around the school as ‘Principal Amzy’. Kronk had been trying to talk to him more too, in what he naively thought was an effort to befriend him or make up for his association with Yzma’s plot to kill him. He should have known better.

I can’t be stuck like this– not only will I never win the race, but I’ll never graduate! A rabbit can’t be Emperor!

He had no reason to believe the potion would wear off this time; without the human potion, his previous llama form would have been permanent. Even if he had managed to stop Yzma and convince everyone that he was really Emperor Kuzco, there’s no telling how long he could have continued to act as Emperor in that form. His life would have effectively been ruined– and were she to take over and rule or not, she still would have won.

WILL win, really.

Kuzco finally becomes aware of his surroundings again once he nearly slams into the wall of the boys locker room, and he braces himself against it and wedges into the corner as far as he’s able to. On the way there, he vaguely noticed students pointing at him, laughing and calling him names but he didn’t stick around long enough to actually hear what any of the insults were.

He’s hyperventilating again, his breaths coming in quick gasps and in his mind’s eye he can see Pacha in front of him, telling him to calm down and slow his breathing. It’s not nearly as easy without the man actually here to follow along with, but after several minutes of just focusing on his breathing, he’s finally able to calm down enough to not feel like he’s going to pass out.

Can a rabbit even pass out?

I’m pathetic. A sad, pathetic little rabbit– and with me out of the way, there’s nothing stopping Yzma from claiming the throne.

Not even a full year into this ‘school’ experience, and this is his first real test to prove himself worthy of the throne– and he’s already failed.

This is it. It’s over– Yzma won.

Some Emperor he turned out to be.

Then, Malina's voice drifts in, breaking him out of his thoughts with a soft. “Uh, Kuzco. . . ?”

Chapter 32: We still on for hanging out? Friday night?

Notes:

Technically the final chapter from Rabbit Face! Always wondered when exactly the potion wore off and if (since it was the first one used on him since the llama incident!) Kuzco thought it was permanent!

Also, I just want to thank everyone for reviewing so far and giving me such positive feedback on this story! I'm so glad so many people are enjoying it, I'm really having a blast developing Kuzco and providing insight/headcanons for things I always thought or wondered about that happened between episodes. I can't wait until I (eventually) get into season 2! Also thrilled to hear people still watch the TV show! Thank you all so much for your support and kind words! ^^

“What am I gonna do?! How am I supposed to rule an Empire with a bunny tail!” Kuzco dramatically flops backwards into the couch cushions behind him, draping a paw across his face and kicking his feet a couple of times for effect. He aggressively ignores the sensation of his tail being squished against the couch beneath him in favor of his dramatic wailing and complaining, which hasn’t stopped for the last hour or so since they’ve been here.

“I mean, sure I won the race– yay me! But now what?! Yzma still won! My life is over!"

True to her word and according to her only mildly out of pity, Malina kept their promised ‘hang out’ session Friday night. Kuzco was the first to arrive, if only because had basically followed (see; hopped after) her home from school. Her parents were conveniently not going to be home that night, leaving her to take care of things on her own– and leaving them with the hut ALL to themselves!

. . . At least until Kronk arrived. The buzzkill.

“Your life is not over, Kuzco. Unlike the time you were turned into a llama,” Malina starts, glancing up from her homework scrolls to stare at him. Kuzco lifts a paw to cast her a withering glare at the mention of that traumatic incident– though it comes across far less intimidating the second his whiskers twitch along with it. “— We know exactly where Yzma is this time!” She continues, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the school. “And she has to have more human potion, she changed herself back from being a kitten, right?”

Kuzco huffs and attempts to sit himself up, only to fail when his paws are too short to gain enough traction. He rolls over onto his stomach instead, and pushes himself up that way. “Yeah, but why would she give me that potion, Malina? She hates me! She wanted this!” He pauses, rolling his eyes. “Well, okay. She didn’t want me to win the race. But this is the next best thing!.” He corrects, shrugging his small shoulders.

At least in this form, his ears don’t really move. When he was a llama they twitched and jerked at every little reaction. “A rabbit can’t rule the Empire! She’ll have to take over as Empress, and I’ll be stuck like this!” Which of course, sets off a whole new round of hysterics. “Waaaaah!”

His nose twitches as his eyes fill with tears, and he tugs at his face with his paws. “Rabbit face!”

Malina sighs and props her elbow against the table, leaning her head against it. “I thought this was supposed to be a study session, Kuzco. I’m supposed to be helping you with your Kuzcology homework. Not playing therapist.”

His mouth drops open to reply and he freezes, eyes widening at the very sudden, very strange sensation of pressure threatening to suffocate him. All at once it feels like he’s floating, and Kuzco drops his paws to stare down at his tiny, fur covered body only to notice. . . nothing out of the ordinary. He blinks, but before he can comment on it he’s startled by the sudden appearance of pink smoke surrounding him on his place on the couch.

In the matter of seconds, the smoke finally clears and Kuzco glances down at himself again only to realize he’s staring at the stark red color of his uniform shirt and his long, very human legs. “Hey, I’m me again!” He cheers, pulling his shirt out and away from his skin as if he can’t believe it’s really there, before hopping off of the couch and twisting around to stare at his back end MINUS the fluffy bunny tail. “I’m back to ME!m Beautiful, young, handsome, muscle-y ME!– NOT A RABBIT, ME!”

Malina is ignored for the time being where she sits at the table, watching with an annoyed expression as the Emperor– their supposed ruler of the entire Empire– happily dances around her living room praising the fact that he doesn’t have a tail. She should probably be a little more concerned over the fact that a human-animal transformation just happened right in front of her, but honestly— she’s over it. “Are you done yet?”

“Nope! I’m just getting started! Uh huh! Uh huh– uh huh, uh huh, uh– “

Kronk chooses that moment to walk into the hut, arms full of different homemade snacks, and a sack filled to the brim with scrolls of his own.

“Hey guys! Hope I’m not too late, I was making study snacks—“ He flashes them both a grin and stops dead at the sight of a very human Kuzco mid-dance in the living room. “Kuzco, you’re human again! That’s fantastic!” Kronk greets, as if he weren’t the one to turn him into a rabbit in the first place, and Kuczo can only stare at him as he slowly lowers his arms back to his sides.

“Uh, yeah big guy. I’m me again. A hah.”

Kronk nods emphatically and heads towards the table to set everything down. “Guess that means you won’t have a craving for this carrot cake I made— but between you and me? You should try it anyway.” He tells him, setting the aforementioned cake on an actual cake stand down in the center of the table. “It’s worth it. Delicious.”

Chapter 33: Squeaken squeak squeaker

Question #1: ‘Squeak squeaken squeak squeaker.’

Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me. Squirrel Language Class? Seriously–

– What’s the point?!

Kuzco groans and tips forward to lean his forehead against the desk, eyes slipping closed in an effort to prevent his slowly budding headache from getting any worse with his mounting frustration.

According to the Royal Record keeper, Squirrel Language Class is a required course that he will need to graduate and become Emperor– despite how completely ridiculous and unnecessary it actually is. What good will it ever do HIM to know how to say ‘Squeaky squeaker squeaken. . . squeak?’ Don’t they know he has a royal translator for that sort of thing? Not that he’s ever going to need the translator to negotiate a deal with the Squirrel Kingdom, or whatever. Hah. Squirrel Kingdom. He’s hilarious.

It’s also highly unlikely that he’s ever going to need to converse with the stupid, flea riddled little tree rats for any reason and he sure isn’t going to save an actual person's life by knowing how to say ‘where did I bury my acorn?’. “This is ridiculous.” He grumbles, the words coming out muffled against the table top.

Back when he was a child and just after he’d lost his parents, the Royal Council suggested Kuzco take part in activities with children his own age, to become acclimated with other people and to potentially learn something that could better shape him as the future Emperor. One of the suggestions was to join a group, and Junior Chipmunks was at the top of the list. Junior Chipmunks is a ‘scout’ group, one that’s famous for their ability to converse with all of the woodland creatures– which there were a ton of, since they lived in the middle of a jungle. Obviously. They also taught other basic skills, like cooking, archery, sewing, navigation and survival.

Yzma wouldn't allow it, outright refusing and insisting the council had lost their minds. What use could he, the future Emperor POSSIBLY have for conversing with peasant children and learning how to sew!? In reality it was more than likely that she preferred him sheltered so that she could mold him into the figurehead she wanted him to become so that she could take over in the future, but her indignance on the matter prevented the council from being successful– and Kuzco was never forced to join such a pointless cause.

Idly, his mind wanders back to the furry little rat he met in the jungle just after he’d been turned into a llama. If he remembers correctly, he’d tried to give him an acorn? And was highly offended when it was chucked back at its stupid little head. What was its ‘name’ again? Something with a B. It probably would’ve been helpful for him to have known this back then, maybe he could’ve prevented the little rat from siccing those jaguars on him and almost having him KILLED.

He still has the occasional nightmare from being chased through the jungle by those bloodthirsty beasts, thanks for nothing tree rat.

Kuzco lifts his head with a huff, planting an elbow against the table and leaning his chin against it while he glares down at the paper as if it had personally offended him. Which in all honesty, it had. Maybe he should try to find Kronk– he’s a ‘Junior Chipmunk’ scout leader. . . thing. He’ll probably know all the answers. Or Malina! She’s a smart hottie, he wouldn’t be surprised in the least to find out she was fluent in it.

After several moments of just staring at the blank page before him, Kuzco shrugs and starts to fill it in to the best of his ability. The only ‘phrase’ he vaguely remembers from class is ‘Where did I bury my acorn?’ Hah. How lame. But, it’s better than nothing. Maybe he’ll get lucky and Moleguaco will see all the writing and assume they’re different answers.

He’s very much looking forward to the day when he graduates, and no longer has to worry about any of this stupid homework or school stuff anymore.

Squeaken, squeaker– puh-lease.

If he never sees another squirrel again, it’ll be too soon.

Chapter 34: Acorn.

Have you ever heard the expression 'If you keep your face that way for too long, it's going to stick like that!'? Well, if there's any truth to the rumor and the possibility that it could actually happen; Kuzco is in trouble.

His scowl is near permanent at this point as he marches towards the rope bridge, his hands white knuckling the straps of his backpack. He hasn’t looked back once to make sure the squirrel was following him still, not that he’s needed to– he can, and has heard him chattering uselessly at him the entire way from school.

“Goguh goba?”

Bucky tried to climb up to his shoulder earlier on in the walk, and Kuzco quickly shook him off and all but kicked him away into the tree line– fiercely reiterating his NO TOUCHY rule which especially applies to rodents who at any point have tried to KILL HIM. Since then, the tree rat has made it his mission to teach him every miniscule word he can think of during their walk, including the squirrel speak for leaves, rocks, birds, trees etc. etc.

Kuzco has been ready to pull his hair out since they left the school, and the worst part of it all? It’s still early. This rat is supposed to stay with him for the entire night, and right up until he takes the ‘retest’ tomorrow. “At least Malina’s coming over tonight, she’ll know what to do with you.” He mutters darkly, stubbornly keeping his gaze straight ahead and refusing to look down to see where the rodent currently is.

“Goguh goba!”

A sudden sharp pain slams into the back of his head, and he yelps and presses a hand against the painful spot, before whipping around to face him. “What’s the matter with you!? You can’t just throw stuff at people!”

How is it possible for a squirrel to look so smug? Bucky is smirking at him, tossing an acorn up and down in his paw from where he stands on a nearby log. He sticks his tongue out and blows a raspberry at him after the fact, and Kuzco is vividly reminded of that time not so long ago he’d done the same thing to the stupid rodent in this very forest.

His expression darkens as he rubs his head, and his eyes roll skyward in annoyance. “Ha ha. You’re hilarious. Glad to see you aren’t still hurt or upset about that one, Bucky. Not like you didn’t get your revenge when you almost had me killed by Jaguars!” Bucky rolls his own eyes and ignoring his dramatics, holds the acorn up again for him to see. “Goguh goba!”

“No! I don’t want an acorn you little rat!” Bucky chucks this acorn at him as well, but Kuzco is able to dodge it– and after he's successfully done so, he jabs a finger in Bucky's direction with a loud “HA!” only to find him gone.

He glances around out of curiosity– not any real concern for where the squirrel scampered off to, and shrugs when he doesn’t find him. “Maybe the little gopher finally took the hint and hit the road. Good riddance.” After another moment of looking around, Kuzco shrugs and adjusts his backpack, giving its straps a quick tug before continuing on to Pacha’s village. If he walks with a lighter step, excited at the prospect of seeing Malina again tonight for a private study session, it's no one's business but his own.

What he doesn’t know is that Bucky is in fact still with him, and is currently relaxing with his tiny paws behind his head in the cradle of Kuzco’s backpack. So much for the 'no touchy' rule. It’s about time he gets something out of this budding rivalry.

Chapter 35: The Re-test

Notes:

I was going to head straight into the sick episode, but this one felt a little unfished for some reason. Sooo here's Kuzco and Bucky fighting some more!

If this rat chucks one more thing at his head, he’s going to wait for a cart to come down the road again and throw him in front of it.

After the cart fiasco, Bucky and Malina did their best to pour over her Squirrel-to-English dictionary so they could teach him a full squirrel vocabulary before the re-test the next day. Malina even stayed late enough to join them for dinner once Pacha, Chicha and the kids returned home, which Kuzco insisted on calling a date– in squirrel speak, no less!-- and Malina vehemently denied. Can you believe that?

By the end of the night, he was ready to squeaken squeak squick squaba skwick.

BUT— at least it was finally over. Kuzco was confident in his ability to pass the test, which means Bucky will finally get lost, he’ll get to become Emperor and Malina will fall madly in love with him over his impressive multi-lingual abilities. Okay, . . . so maybe the last part was a little bit of a stretch, but one can dream. Right?

Bucky continued to pester him the entire way to school the next morning, pointing at random items from his perch on Kuzco’s shoulder and tugging at his hair until he answered when he was ignored. Kuzco would mutter a disgruntled but appropriate “Squawk.” “Squeaker.” depending on the item, and swat at the little rodent, who would only chitter and jump off of his shoulder when he actually came close to hitting him.

Malina is waiting for him at the entrance to the school, and flashes him a smile that near instantaneously brightens his morning before confidently greeting him with, “Squeaken squawk, Kuzco, Bucky.” He just barely resists the urge to roll his eyes, recognizing her ‘Good morning, Kuzco.’ for what it is and instead mutters a “Squawk.” at the same time as Bucky chirps in with his own friendly greeting. It finally pushes him over the edge, and Kuzco can’t help but grunt; “Get lost you little tree rat, you’re throwing off my groove with Malina!”

It’s accompanied with a frustrated swat towards where he’s sitting on his shoulder (again), and Bucky snickers as he scurries down his side and leg and into the school on his own. He technically doesn’t need him any more, but he didn’t know if Moleguaco would need to see proof of life for him to pass the test so he very reluctantly put up with bringing him back to the school that morning. Very reluctantly.

Malina, who had been watching the interaction with disbelief, narrows her eyes at him in a glare and places the hand not currently holding her books against her hip. “Kuzco! What’s the matter with you? If it weren’t for Bucky, you would never have passed this class! You should be thanking him!”

Kuzco is too busy smoothing his hair from where the rodent kept tugging it to notice her annoyed look, but scoffs all the same at the mention of owing the squirrel anything. “Nooo, if it weren’t for you and your impressive book thing I wouldn’t have passed the class— which, I haven’t yet. By the way.”

“Right, because Bucky staying up all night with you and making sure you knew the difference between ‘acorn’ and ‘hut’ didn’t help at all.” She rolls her eyes and sensing that the argument was useless, turns to head into the school— with or without him. “You are unbelievable Kuzco, you know that?”

Satisfied with the state of his hair, he drops his hands to tug on the straps of his back pack, pulling it taut against his back as he follows her. “You say I’m unbelievable, and then you walk away— I don’t get it.”

Chapter 36: Pour Mud on Yourself

A quick glance around the side of the shed confirms all of his worst suspicions; the little pests are nowhere to be found. There’s a bucket laying upside down in the dirt next to the door of the shed, and he picks it up to look underneath it, then tosses it over his shoulder once he realizes Tipo wasn’t hiding underneath it. Kuzco takes a moment to blow out a frustrated breath and leans against the side of the shed, his head on a swivel as he keeps an eye out for any movement during his short break. “They couldn’t have gotten that far yet, right? It’s only been a few minutes. . .”

Earlier in the morning, and in an effort to cure their boredom, Chaca and Tipo suggested they play a game of ‘hide and seek’ once their chores were finished for the day. Kuzco, who had never grown up with kids his own age and therefore, had never taken part in any of these kinds of ‘games’ had no idea what that meant, but Chaca reassured him that she would teach him and he would be a pro at it in no time.

It took a few games of them taking it easy on him and hiding mostly around the downstairs of the hut for Kuzco to get the hang of it, and once he did, the kids suggested they take the game outside where there were more hiding places. That’s when the trouble started. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think they were teaming up on him– every time he had the opportunity to hide, they always found him first and in what felt like seconds after they were finished counting. Even the time he hid in between a group of sleeping llamas! Or in the potato storage cubby!

Whether or not they had years of experience, something had to be up. No one was THIS good at this kind of game!

Then, it was Kuzco’s turn to find the two of them. With how many hiding places he had found, he was pretty confident that they wouldn’t last all that long while he was searching. He’s not an expert, obviously, but even outside there were only so many places you could hide on the top of a hill.

After his countdown, in which he could hear giggling fading in the distance as Chaca and Tipo ran to find their spots, Kuzco whirled around to try and catch the two of them scrambling for a spot only to find. . . .

– Absolutely nothing.

Llamas chewed aimlessly on grass in the fields behind Pacha’s hut, and the occasional monkey ran by, forever chasing after bugs– but there was nothing to indicate there were any kids around, or that there was anything out of the ordinary. Kuzco started with the spots he thought to go to first; the back of the hut, the little pantry Chicha kept, the shed; but it’s been almost a half hour now, and he has yet to even hear a peep from either of them.

When looking under the lawn chair he likes to lay out on proves fruitless, Kuzco decides to try the field where the llama’s graze, taking his time as he makes his way down the grassy ledges to get to the base where the little pond sits at the bottom of the valley. There’s rocks down here they could be hiding behind, but after a few minutes of searching and shooing llamas away to look underneath them, Kuzco admits defeat and plants himself on the edge of one of the rocks, with his chin in his fist. “Stupid hiding game. ‘Let’s go play outside, there’s more hiding spots out there– it’ll be fun Kuzco!’” He mocks, adopting a high pitch, squeaky voice reminiscent of Chaca’s. “See if I teach them any of my cool games from the pal– “

He’s abruptly cut off when the very odd, startling sensation of something cold covers his head, dripping down into his face, shoulders, back and legs. Kuzco jumps to his feet, glancing down at himself in a panic to try and figure out what it is, only to realize that it’s . . . mud. Thick, smelly, COLD mud– covering him from head to toe. “MUD?! What– “ Bubbly laughter sounds behind him, and he turns to look over the top of the rock he was leaning against only to see Chaca and Tipo crouched there and holding identical (empty) buckets. “We got you! You should have seen your face!” Chaca cheers, high fiving Tipo who only laughs harder when he sees the damage he did to Kuzco’s ‘perfect’ visage. “You look like a drowned rat!”

To say that he’s furious is an understatement; Kuzco can’t remember a time he’s ever been so mad. He spent hours on his hair this morning! Brushing it out, sliding oil slicked fingers through the luscious locks until each strand fell perfectly in place– and it’s RUINED because these little brats thought they could pull one over on him. “Pouring MUD on the seeker wasn’t part of the game!” He bites out through gritted teeth, hand swiping aggressively at the mud on his face to try and clean it up. “Noooo, but you were taking so long to find us, we wanted to make sure you weren’t falling asleep!” Tipo giggles.

“I wasn’t falling asleep! You guys were just . . .cheating! Somehow. I couldn’t find you anywhere!” He takes a step closer, with half a mind to throttle them, and apparently sensing his frustration, Chaca and Tipo scream and take off up the hill towards Pacha’s hut. “Get back here! You’re paying for my dry cleaning bill!” Kuzco shouts, racing after them.

Truth be told, he’s sick of this dumb, boring peasant-y lifestyle! The food, the llamas– the MUD. Kuzco wants his OLD life back, where his idea of a good time was floating aimlessly in his indoor lake, or having servants fan him while he listens to music all day. This ‘new’ life of his is majorly throwing off his groove– and he worked really hard to get that back!

There’s got to be a way to have it both ways, and be able to bring some of his awesome palace lifestyle to Pacha’s hut, and boring old peasant-ville. Maybe he should call for a meeting with the royal record keeper. . .

– AFTER he gets his pay back on Chaca and Tipo for their new ‘pour mud on yourself’ game, of course.

Chapter 37: Crayons.

Notes:

|| Hello, folks! Just wanted to post a small update to let you know that I'm still alive, and that I still have every intention of continuing to update this piece! The last two months have been chaotic and stressful for me, and I'm working hard to bounce back from everything that happened! My attention has been very sporadic lately, but I'm going to do my best to kep a more regular updating schedule here and elsewhere where I write.

I just wanted to thank you for your patience, and for the kudos and reviews I've been receiving! They mean a lot and have been awesome motivation to get me writing again, so thank you!

On with the show!

Taunting laughter trails off as Chaca and Tipo leave his line of sight, the two of them disappearing over the top of the hill once more in their rush to get away from him. For his part, Kuzco has already stopped dead in his tracks further down the hill, panting as he leans against the side of a large rock and glares balefully at their retreating forms. His hair is crunchy and stiff from the mud, standing at odd angles on top of his head and his tunic is cold and stuck to his back. It’s disgusting, to put it mildly, and he grumbles as he uselessly shakes his arms out to try and get the mud off of him one final time before admitting defeat and trudging up to Pacha’s hut to clean himself up.

Pacha and Chicha are inside when he enters, and the hut is near silent except for the soft sounds of Pacha turning the pages of his news scroll, and Chicha moving around in the kitchen just beyond the living room. Kuzco’s entrance isn’t exactly loud, but his annoyance exaggerates how forcefully he shoves the door open and it’s enough of a disturbance for Pacha to glance up from his news scroll in surprise. If he had a greeting at the ready, it’s forgotten entirely when he notices just how unkept and messy the usually prissy Emperor’s appearance is. “I, Kuz– what. . . what happened?” It’s obvious he’s trying not to laugh, and a withering glare is cast his way as Kuzco stomps his way past him and over to the staircase. “Not a word, Pacha.”

Chicha, however, doesn’t let him get too far; silently entering the room once she notices Pacha’s odd question, she watches as Kuzco makes his way through the room and tuts loud enough for them both to hear her when she takes notice of all the mud. “I know you aren’t about to walk through the house AND go upstairs with those muddy sandals on Kuzco. I just finished cleaning in here!” An emphatic gesture at the near spotless room follows, and then she’s back to glaring at him with her hands planted against her hips.

In all honesty, it hadn’t even crossed his mind. Grimacing, he glances down at his muddy sandals as if seeing them for the first time, and slips them off where he stands at the base of the stairs. An afterthought strikes him, and he pauses to look around for a moment before finding a discarded poncho– Chaka’s, probably but it serves her right– laying on the ground which he quickly tugs closer and places his sandals on top of. “There, happy? I’m taking a shower.”

Peasantville is ruining him.

Chaka and Tipo are menaces, Chicha is a cleaning monster, who’s food should be outlawed– but don’t tell her he said that– school is actual torture, and he’s bored to tears. If he doesn’t do something to get a piece of his old life back soon, he’s going to absolutely lose it. It takes a solid four wash and rinses to get all of the congealed mud out of his hair and a change of clothes later before he finally deems himself presentable enough again to go out in public.

If anyone knows what can be done about this situation, it’s the Royal Record Keeper– he knows the laws and proclamation scrolls like the back of his hand. There isn’t a doubt in Kuzco’s mind that he’ll be able to figure something out– some kind of caveat that will help him find his way back to the palace, or at the very least make living at Pacha’s more tolerable. Maybe there’s even a clause somewhere that states annoying peasant children with a penchant for mud should be banished from the Kingdom. Wouldn’t that be nice.

Having gotten used to walking from Pacha’s village to the city, it doesn’t take him long to reach the palace steps and upon noticing him, the guards . . .

– don’t even flinch.

It’s like he’s not even there– and that hurts, more than anything. Kuzco rolls his eyes as he ambles up to them, only somewhat out of breath from all of the steps– and seriously, who’s bright idea was it to have all of these again?

“ ‘Hello Emperor Kuzco, how are you today? Would you like us to fetch your golden litter, so you don’t have to walk up all these stairs?’ " He mocks in a deep tone of voice, puffing himself up to look as muscular as the two guards are. Then, back to normal; “No, not at all guys! I can handle it, really. All this unwanted exercise is worth it to see your bright and smiling faces again.” Kuzco sneers, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he shoulders past the guards at the top of the steps– or, attempts to shoulder past them.

Suddenly, there are two staffs in front of his face, crossed at the tips and blocking his entry. “You are not permitted access to the palace without proper supervision.” One of them announces, and it takes every ounce of his willpower not to scream. “I’m here to talk to the Royal Records Keeper– that counts as being ‘supervised’ in my OWN PALACE, right?” An angry shove pushes the staffs away, and he steps back to glare the guards into submission only to see the one on the right finally glance down and acknowledge him. “Do you have an appointment?”

Utter and complete disbelief gives him pause, his only initial reaction to blink at the guard a couple of times before finally uttering a low “Did you just ask me if I have an appointment? . . . with WHO? Who’s hosting the audiences while I’m not there, smalls?”

Recognizing the tone of his voice, the guards share a confused glance before the one speaking with him offers a disconcerted shrug. “Yes? You must request–“ Likely somehow sensing the danger, the Royal Record Keeper himself dashes out from wherever he had been hiding out at inside the palace, shooing the guards away and gesturing Kuzco forward. “O-Oh! Kuzco! What a surprise, of course you don’t need an appointment! Come in, come in–”

Kuzco straightens his poncho with a huff, glaring at the guards as he passes them and follows RRK into the palace, intent on finally receiving some answers.

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There aren’t words to contain his excitement once everyone finally falls asleep for the night. Blankets are haphazardly tossed aside as he slides out of the bed, focusing his attention on Chaka and Tipo’s bed to make sure he doesn’t wake them up. “It’s gotta be here somewhere . . .“ He mutters, quietly moving items around until finally settling on Tipo’s school bag which he immediately begins to rifle through. Scrolls, papers, toys– “AHA!” There it is, the box of crayons he uses for Kuzcogarten, right there in the bottom of his book bag.

Kuzco sits on the floor and picks through it, squinting at each color in the dark– he would have grabbed a candle, but he was afraid the light would wake them up– until he comes across the orange-ish red one.

The ‘Royal-health-in-jeopardy rule’; it’s perfect! Not only would he be allowed to miss school to avoid making his ‘sickness’ worse or giving his illness to someone else– he would also be allowed to live as lavishly as he did back in the palace while he recovers! He can see it now, the attic all decked out with the red and gold drapes of the palace, servants at his every beck and call, the Royal Chef here to kick Chicha out of the kitchen– he can hardly wait!

Sometime later finds Kuzco huddled underneath the blankets on his bed, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he draws what he hopes are convincing circles on his face. He sneaks out from under the covers once he’s finished to survey his work in the mirror, and cackles at the sight of his perfectly blemish-free face coated in sickly looking orange spots. “Kuzco, you sly dog! You’re a genius.” He praises, flashing himself a wink before heading back to his bed for the night.

This has to work; he has to do SOMETHING to make this all better, and even if he has to bribe the twin terrors, he’s going to make sure this plan goes off without a hitch.

‘Royal treatment, here I come!’ He thinks, folding his arms behind his head and grinning up at the ceiling of the hut.

Chapter 38: Grandma Pacha's Mystery Beetle Strew

Do you know what the downside of actually being sick is, as opposed to faking an illness?

. . . . The actually being sick part.

Spotitiosis is harmless, mostly. Aside from the vibrant purple spots coloring your skin, it does come with the usual ‘sick’ symptoms such as feeling overly tired, having a headache and feeling like your face is on fire– but it isn’t even close to being the worst illness you could have. To put it mildly? It’s unpleasant.

If you ask Kuzco to describe it however, he’ll complain loudly and in detail how much it feels like he’s actively dying.

Chicha is at her wits end trying to keep the Emperor occupied so he’ll stop whining about every little inconvenience, but it’s near impossible regardless of what miracles she performs. First he’s too hot, then he’s too cold, he’s thirsty, he wants his comic scrolls, he wants the bon bon’s and fanners from the palace back– it never ends.

He’s worse than an actual child, which is impressive considering she’s had to take care of both of her children when they’ve been sick in the past, who are in grade school and Kuzcogarten respectively, and neither one of them have ever been quite this needy.

She sighs as she takes the pot of stew she's been doctoring off of the fire, giving it a final stir before setting it to the side to cool. It’s the fourth batch of Grandma Pacha’s Mystery Beetle Stew that she’s made so far, and while it’s not hard to make, it is time consuming. Between making the stew and tending to Kuzco, she’s had little time for anything else today– and was grateful when Pacha offered to take the kids out to the pasture to help him with the llama’s when they got home from school earlier so she could have a little bit of peace.

With yet another bowl of the stew plated, Chicha makes her way into the dining room to give it to Kuzco, who’s reluctantly seated at the table with a blanket draped over his shoulders. He still has his bathrobe underneath the blanket, and it makes her sweat just looking at him– but that isn’t necessarily the reason she stops dead in her tracks between the kitchen and dining room threshold.

Kuzco managed to nod off at the table again, his chin propped up by the heel of his palm with his elbow resting against the table’s surface. He’s snoring softly, something she’s heard him vehemently deny that he does, and his lashes flutter peacefully against his cheeks. She’s abruptly reminded as she stares at him that despite the title, power and money– Kuzco, their Emperor (while in school or not) is still very much just. . . a kid. A kid who needs an abundance of guidance and an attitude adjustment, but a kid all the same.

He’s not even out of his teenage years yet– and the idea of having such responsibility heaped onto him from such a young age, and going through everything that’s happened in the last year or two . . . she can understand why he’d miss the comforts of the palace. Underneath all the bluster, ego and selfishness, Pacha insisted to her when he first came to live with them that he had some good in him. From time to time she’s seen it herself in the little actions that he does when he thinks no one else is looking, but more often than not on purpose for the praise that comes with it. It’s becoming more natural for him by the day, not that he would ever admit to that either.

All in all he really isn’t that bad of a kid. Annoying and unbearable at times, most definitely– but she thinks she’s starting to see what Pacha saw in him during their grand adventure.

Chicha snaps herself out of her reflections with a shake of her head and continues into the room, setting the bowl of stew down with just enough force to cause a resounding ‘clang’ against the table. Kuzco startles awake with a snort, looking around wildly for a moment before his eyes settle on Chicha, and then fall to the steaming bowl of stew sitting in front of him.

He lets out a loud groan and pushes the bowl away with one hand, while the other folds against the table to act as a pillow for the dramatic display he makes when his head falls down against it. “Gods, another one?! Already?” It’s petulant and whiny, and exactly what Chicha had been expecting from him, and she’s unable to withhold her eye roll if she tries.

“Yes Kuzco, another one. Two bowls every hour for twenty four hours, remember?” She asks, taking the seat across from him at the table.

Because his head is down, he’s unable to see the amused smirk on her lips when she continues. “You do want to get well enough to return to school, right? Or should we just let Yzma know that you’re handing the Kingdom over to her because you’re tired of eating stew?” Chicha only blinks when he raises her head to cast a glare at her, that amused smile still prominent as she assumes his earlier position with her chin in her hand. “It can’t be that bad, Kuzco. You’re. . . just under halfway there.”

That garners her another groan, and Kuzco finally hoists himself back up to stare despondently into the bowl in front of him. “Great pep talk, thanks for that.” She can see the gears whirring in his head, so she waits for him to continue. “So. . . I’m not great at math but that means I’ve only got a little over 24 bows of this sh– “

Chicha sharpens her stare into a glare at the beginning of what she thinks sounds like foul language, and Kuzco is smart enough to catch himself and switch tracks. “ –uh, stuff. Stew! Only a little over 24 bowls of stew left before I can stop?”

So he’s a glass half full kind of guy, that’s good to know.

“Yes Kuzco, that’s exactly what it means.” It doesn’t cheer him up entirely, but it’s enough for him to pick up the spoon and edge the bowl closer so he can start in on it in earnest, and that’s enough to satisfy her for now. She stands from the table and watches him for a moment– making sure he won't try to pour it into a vase again like the last time, and then makes her way back to the kitchen, her safe haven.

Another bowl of mystery stew, coming right up.

Chapter 39: Unless of course you aren't REALLY sick?

Notes:

Helllooo, and sorry again for the disappearing act! I've been re-watching the show and coming up with all kinds of new ideas so I'm hoping to post much more regularly now!

I'm also planning a collab with my Malina elsewhere, it's a roleplay we're doing that we plan on turning into a fic. I'm in the process of editing and piecing it together now and should post some of the early chapters soon!

If you'd like to see more writing, including some other roleplays you can catch me most frequently on my Tumblr. Link is in the profile.
Otherwise, enjoy!

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For reference for the story, Kuzco is about 10 years old here!
I always thought there was more to the look Yzma flashes Kuzco when she implies he wasn't really sick in the fever episode! Here's the context.

Raised voices alert him to the presence of others just outside of his chamber doors, including the distinctive voice of a certain dinosaur which rises above the others. “What do you mean he’s still in bed? He’s late!” Kuzco gasps, turning to shove his comic scroll beneath his pillow and out of sight before sliding down to his back and pulling the covers up to just beneath his chin. Mere seconds pass before the doors slam open, with Yzma appearing in the center of them with her arms outstretched like some kind of harbinger of doom, as harried servants scuttle in around her.

“You’re sick?!” She demands, striding up to his bedside and taking a seat on the edge of it. “You’re too. busy to be sick today, Kuzco. You have meetings to attend, and a ceremony later on. There’s also preparations for the Clash of the Families–”

In his defense, every time he’s faked this previously, Yzma had always left it up to the servants and brushed him off as not her problem. She had no issue taking sole ownership of decision making in the future Emperor’s stead, and told the servants to take care of him by whatever means necessary so she wouldn’t have to risk getting sick herself.

Kuzco found it incredibly easy to fool the servants, learning to feign a cough and being too weak to get out of bed so they would bring him things and then leave him alone, but not acting quite sick enough to necessitate getting the Royal Healer involved. It was a piece of cake.

He coughs, his smaller hand moving to cover his mouth and sinking deeper into the lush covers on his bed. “B-but Yzma, I’m sick. Super sick, yep. I can’t even eat without feeling like I’m gonna hurl it all up again! I actually think I’m dying.”

A mischievous gleam lights up Yzma’s eyes, one that an older Kuzco would recognize later as an opportunity and something he would learn to mimic himself, but she schools her features and adopts a concerned frown, leaning forward to press one of her cold hands against his forehead. “Dying? You can’t be dying! Whatever will the Empire do without its Fearless Emperor?”

Servants flitter in and out of the room in droves, some of them bringing in blankets and other necessities, and some removing old clothes and his abandoned tray of food. “Crumble and fall apart? Wither away to nothing? Build statues of me in my honor– wait, they already do that. Either way, it's tragic! That’s why I think I need to stay in bed, and rest as much as possible.” He tells her matter-of-factly, nodding his head along with the statement. “I might even need to cancel the tutoring session scheduled for later on– oh, but I can keep the massage! It’ll probably help me heal faster.”

As if to emphasize how weak and helpless he is, Kuzco flops back against his pillows with a sigh, lifting an arm to press against his forehead; his best ‘woe is me’ attitude on full display.

Yzma tuts and pulls the covers up a little further once he’s done, smoothing her hands along them and tucking them in against his sides– and Kuzco does his best not to squirm from how hot it makes him. “Why of course! Rest and relaxation are key to a quick recovery, but if you’re dying we’ll also need to have the Royal Healer in as soon as possible to examine you!” She turns to look at some of the idle servants, and snaps her fingers for their attention. “Someone summon the Royal Healer right away! Prepare our young king a bath, and have someone in the kitchen make him some of that special stew for rare ailments.”

While Kuzco is no stranger to being pampered, and enjoys letting the servants wait on him hand and foot – the thought of so much attention when all he really wants to do is read his comic scrolls makes him itch. “Hah, n-no. That’s okay! Don’t bother the Royal Healer, there’s no need to go through all that trouble.”

“Nonsense! You are the future Emperor, your health is paramount Kuzco. We need to get you better!” Yzma stands, smoothes her hands over her robes and heads to the door to wait for the healer when Kuzco speaks up again. “No, really! I think I’ll be okay if I just, you know. Sleep for a while.” He sits up, stretches his arms over his head and over-exaggerates a yawn. “Yep, I think a nap is exactly what the royal healer would suggest! Better get on it–”

Hiding an amused snort behind a scowl, Yzma spins around to face him with her hands on her hips. “What’s the matter Kuzco, don’t you want to get better as soon as possible? Unless of course. . . you aren’t really sick.” She offers, leaning forward a little and letting her grin show if only to see his reaction.

Little Kuzco’s eyes widen, panic setting in and he realizes he’s stuck. “. . . N-no! Of course I am! You really think I would lie about this kind of thing?!” He scoffs.

After a moment in which they both just kind of stare at each other, he sighs and accepts defeat. “Fine, bring the Healer in. I’m going to try to get some shut eye..” Kuzco waves a hand in the air in dismissal, mind already reeling with ideas for how he can escape getting found out. Maybe he can hide out in the Royal Gardens for the day– that should work.

Yzma rolls her eyes but forces a smile on her lips as her hands clasp together in front of her. “Great, thank you, your majesty. I’m so glad to see that you’re taking your health so seriously.” If it’s obvious that Yzma knows what he’s up to, she doesn’t say anything else about it– only flashes him a cold smile as she turns to leave.

Later on when she and the Royal Healer find him and discover that he was, in fact, faking his illness, Yzma takes pity on him and lets him rest for the rest of the day– though she makes a point not to advertise the fact that she’s being nice. It’ll ruin her heartless reputation. The only ones who have to know about that are the two of them. But make no mistake, she’ll be far wiser to his schemes in the future.

Chapter 40: As Emperor, I can't have any of those 'flaw' things.

Notes:

Kuzco is 12 in this *flashback* to a time when he was still too young to take the throne, but being heaped with responsibilities and expectations regardless. My head-canon has always been that Kuzco is supposed to be the 'ideal' Incan, the human embodiment of Inti and an example for his adoring public to follow-- even if he is as skinny as a twig. Yzma's insistence on this fact, and everyone in the palace always telling him that he's perfect coupled with Kuzco being plied with gifts and toys and whatever he wants contributes to his later obsession with himself, and his all-encompassing selfish arrogant attitude. He's Emperor, and he believes he's better than everyone for a REASON. Because it's such an ingrained habit, it's not something he'll be able to just change overnight. Especially while he's in school. If they aren't praising you, praise YOURSELF.

That's the moral of the story, kids.

Tense, judgy faces stare back at him from across the room, each expression more hard and unyielding than the last. Yzma is amongst them, sitting at the end of the table with a look of cold disinterest on that ancient, wrinkled face of hers that only she could be capable of. “It’s an outrage! He can’t go out like this.” She spits with venom in her voice as she gestures at him before turning to face the council member directly opposite of her.

“What will the peasants think? That our Emperor, a descendant of Inti, is unable to tend to himself for an hour alone outside, even with the assistance of royal aid? That he goes out looking for fights? How can they think someone so careless can rule the Kingdom?!”

Low murmurs of agreement sound around the table, and Kuzco casts his gaze towards the floor in an uncharacteristic display of shyness, with one of his hands coming up to rub his opposite arm. He can feel the Royal Records Keeper’s presence behind him, along with the nanny who had been tasked to keep track of him, and the scribe who is transcribing this entire ordeal. In a room full of people, he feels completely alone as the council talks amongst themselves about what they should do with him.

Kuzco had tried to defend himself earlier, insisting that it wasn’t the nanny’s fault and that he purposely got away from her, but how could he have possibly known what would happen if he went into the city on his own when he’s always been kept safe to the point of mundane boredom within the confines of the palace. Almost immediately the council shut him down, their faces stoic as they told him in no uncertain terms that she had been tasked with the responsibility of keeping an eye on him and that this entire mess was her fault.

From the moment he was old enough to speak, Kuzco has had it beat into his head that he was the next in line for the throne; the true Emperor, set to take over the Kingdom as soon as he came of age with his father missing from the picture. It wasn’t until he hit double digits that the true grooming began, and all of his time began to be spent undergoing lessons, rituals and meetings to prepare him for his inevitable future role. Like any adolescent, Kuzco found it hard to focus and preferred to be on his own, especially if it meant being outside. He regularly threw fits when a meeting went on for too long, or he started to get tired of listening to Yzma overseeing the peasant complaints and trying to follow along. It was necessary, of course– one day it would be him on that throne, but it was sooooo boring.

Yzma never had any issue giving him what he wanted if it meant getting him out of her old lady hair, ordering nannies to keep him busy so she could uphold her agenda for the day. As long as he was content and more importantly NOT her problem, she was happy– and so, he had learned early on not to bother her with aimless requests, and instead found his way around curfews and pestered the nannies into letting him do what he wanted when he could get away with it.

Which is exactly how he had ended up in this mess.

In a droning, uninterested tone, the Royal Scribe had been going over the ‘schedule’ for the day, what meetings or lessons he has, when he will need to meet with Yzma to discuss what she plans to do with a new tax (that he ultimately has final say on, even though he understands exactly NOTHING about it) and the upcoming plans for the festivities taking place in a local village. Something about a potato growing contest? No thank you. Kuzco decided rather quickly after that, that he would rather put pins in his eyes and had waited only as long as it took for the scribe to leave to sneak out of the room, and then the palace. Warm, somewhat balmy early morning air greets him as he first steps outside, and Kuzco takes a moment to breathe it in while he contemplates his options. Complete and total freedom is at his fingertips, there’s a whole Kingdom to explore without the guards trailing him or official matters to bore him to tears and he intends on enjoying it to the fullest.

Despite how often he’s been seen in public with Yzma and boasted about as the future Emperor, very few people take notice of him as he finds his way into the Imperial city and starts to wander through the busy city streets. Peasants sell their wares, haggling with each other over everything from pottery and foods to farm animals, and Kuzco is in awe as he watches them and takes in all of the intricately designed items for sale. The occasional person turns to their neighbor to whisper about the unaccompanied child, but he pays them no mind and for the most part is left alone. It’s his first time in the city, and one of the first times in his life he isn’t the center of attention, and the longer he can keep it that way, the better.

Kuzco watches as a fight between two peasants breaks out over a llama, and he stares openly at them as their raised voices turn into flying fists and a scuffle that quickly becomes reckless. While other peasants cleared the way for them as they threw each other around the street, Kuzco moves closer– which is exactly how he ended up slammed into a wall himself, with a hit to the face by an errant elbow that will most certainly cause a darkening bruise and open a small cut above his eye. Two female peasants gasp and rush forward to pull him away before he can be pulled back into the brawl, but that’s the exact moment that the Royal Guard appears, and — recognizing Kuzco immediately— head straight to his side to pull him away from the confrontation themselves.

Lips twist in a grimace as he struggles and fails to hold back the sobs threatening to escape him from the pain, and his hands press over his face to hide his injury from the guards who try to check him over. It must be obvious who he is at that point, as the peasants fighting stop to stare, and the few that were rushing to his aid all take several steps back and away to give them space. Before he can so much as give any of them another passing glance, he’s being whisked away to the palace by the guards to tend to his injuries and resume his Royal duties for the day.

One visit from the Royal Healer later for a few bandages and some salve, and Kuzco is back in his robes and standing before the council, wringing his hands as he awaits his judgment. It isn’t fair that the nanny is being punished for his insolence, but he’s hardly in a position (at least, in this current moment) to argue with the council who is already disappointed in him.

“Kuzco!” Yzma’s shrill voice cuts through his thoughts like a knife, and Kuzco blinks himself back to awareness as he stares up at her. “You cannot behave like this. Do you understand? As Emperor, it is imperative that you appear to be perfect and untouchable to your constituents at ALL times. You are a descendant of the Sun God; that makes YOU a God, and God’s do not have weaknesses, or imperfections!”

He swallows and nods his head, wincing when the movement makes his head ache and dutifully ignores the murmurings from the council at the table. “I need an answer Kuzco; DO you understand?”

“Yes, Yzma. Sure--whatever. I get it.”

Yzma scowls, folding her spindly arms over her chest rolls her eyes in annoyance. “Very well. Go get cleaned up; you will NOT be able to make your appearances today with that bruise on your face, but I expect you to be ready for your lessons later on. Go away now.”

Without another word Kuzco turns, huffing as he strides out of the room with a different set of servants trailing behind him. At least he got out of seeing the winner of the stupid potato contest for the day. Next time, he’ll make sure to plan it out a lot better.