#wompy

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.

“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 hut 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.

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 it's 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 start to 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.