I Dream of Disney (Volume II)

12 - Kingdom of the Sun [Emperor Kuzco x Reader] Part I

PART I: It's All About Me(sopotamia) 

The llama-herder was standing apart from the crowd. Head drawn lower than the other traders who worked the market, his black hair hung like a mane around his head. Shaggy and unkempt, it was not unlike the fur of the alpaca which stood near to him. The scent of orchard-worker's figs appealed to him. His stomach grumbled. His mouth watered. Shrugging off his appetite, he thumbed the hole in the hem of his moss-green poncho and watched the sugared figs disappear.

The alpaca at his side was a shrewd beast. It lipped the air with ponderous, irritable lips. Its mouth was a bristle; it swept across the ground and the unstable fencepost like a curious bottlebrush during the morning sweeping. Unsatisfied with what the animal had found, it spat at the nearby customer interested in a cowrie-shell necklace. The customer baulked when the spit hit him and fled into the arms of his waiting wife, who was now doubly dangerous. The first being because she had to rinse llama spit from the fine cotton luxury clothes and secondly because she did not have a cowrie-shell necklace dangling from her tanned and admittedly scrawny neck. The customer's protesting shrieks could be heard throughout the marketplace as he was dragged away.

The llama-herder sighed, not taking notice.

The other llamas behind the stall were grazing on the sparse, vaguely inedible grass which had been flattened by the wheels of the cart drivers as the traders brought in their products. The llama-herder's animal was not so easily swayed. It lipped the robust, furred knuckle of the llama-herder, who didn't seem to notice. The table before him was empty. His wares did not come from basket weaving, farming or cultivation, jewellery-making or artistry like the other traders. The brittle fencepost behind him was where his animals were bound by leather cords.

The payment tin on the table was even more depressingly empty. There was hardly a shekel to be seen.

I approached him.

Absently gazing at the dirt patch on the path before him, the llama-herder did not see me at first. He mumbled something. He scratched at a prickly stretch of skin on his elbow. 

I am determined. The stone tablet in my arms rakes brutally across my skin but I wait as the millet cart crosses the street. When all is clear, I cross the road. 

The row of traders is sparkling with activity. Traders shout to passersby and scream their voices hoarse of the newest deals. Some traders make exceptions: calling to the wealthy woman as she passed, noticing the expensive finery glittering at her wrists or dangling from the piercings in her ears. Beguiled, the woman stops to listen. Chains of sea glass tinkled. Jade gleamed on chains. Golden masterpieces glinted in the sun. The woman could not resist. Servants trail behind her like colony ants in service to their queen, their arms laden with the spoils of war.

The shopping war, I think playfully as I wave to the woman.

The woman pauses hesitantly. Her eyes meet mine. Curling and spasming, her mouth forms words of passing politeness as her gaze shots back to the items she has just purchased. With a rushed wave to her servants, the poorly-dressed creatures hurriy along after their mistress. They did not utter a word.

"Not again," I lamented, "Every time." 

As I pass the next traders, the hustle and bustle are silenced. Behind each table stands a human torch: a trader or merchant who crackles and burns like freshly wound candlewicks. Each of their words sparks their customers' interest. Each nuanced glance kindles their attention. Even their raised voices are hissed, sibilant candle-murmurs. Buy this grain! One would demand. No! Another would hiss. Buy these textiles!