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Third Floor Common Room, Saturday Morning

So there was booze in the taps.

It wasn't exactly Dante's choice of booze - warn wine with spices and shit? Whatever - and he was beginning to get the impression the alcohol content wasn't as high as he liked it to be. Of course, that was easily solved with a swig from a bottle of rum every now and again.

By mid-morning, he'd managed to fill a large pitcher with the stuff. He draped himself over the sofa with a big mug in hand, the rum on the floor (he hadn't wanted to add it to the pitcher itself because, enh) and turned the television to the least Christmassy thing he could find. (It was a weird horror flick about elevators.)

His birthday was in five days. He was hoping to ignore that.

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"I'll help you along," Dante said, and his grin showed real teeth this time. "First one's called Baltimore, the second..."

"Kuzcotopia!"

Nope.

This was Dante's unimpressed face. "Washington DC."

"Kuzcotopia is a better name anyway, though," Kuzco said sulkily.

"No, that sucks," Dante said brightly.

"When I have my own themepark--and I will--I'll name it Kuzcotopia and I won't invite you," Kuzco said.

"Sounds PG as shit," Dante said, pulling a face. "Pass anyway."

"Your loss, buddy," Kuzco said. "There's gonna be a water slide."

"Aw, no, not a water slide," Dante said, making his eyes real big.

"You're mocking me."

No shit, Kuzco.

Dante thought about it for a second.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"You're mocking an emperor," Kuzco said. "Back home, that'd get you thrown out a window."

Kuzco's universe was weird.

"I've had worse," Dante said, smirking.

He had.

Dante's universe was just plain fucked up.

"Oooh, like what?" Kuzco asked.

Don't ask for being awful pointers, Kuzco.

Dante just shot him a Look.

"No?" Kuzco said. "What a shame."

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