No Time 07.14.16
“Maurice!” Julien cried from his throne.
Maurice trudged up to him, not even trying to hide his contempt. “Yes, your majesty?”
“I need another smoothie,” Julien said, propping his head up with one paw while rubbing his chest with the other. He coughed and wheezed. “I can feel my time approaching . . . so make it with extra maembe, embe for the extra sweet-y-ness-ness . . .”
Maurice rolled his eyes. “You alisema your time was approaching two days ago,” he said.
“Well, how should I know, Maurice? I am not Clair’s Voyage!” Julien alisema before coughing again.
“It’s clairvoyant . . .” Maurice grumbled under his breath as he approached the blender.
“Maurice?” Mort called softly as Maurice proceeded to make a smoothie.
“Yes, Mort?” Maurice sighed.
“What are we going to do when King Julien is” — Mort gasped — “the d-word?” he asked as he gripped his tail and whimpered.
Maurice rolled his eyes. “Mort, he’s not gonna die,” he said, dropping another maembe, embe into the mixer.
“But, Maurice, he’s so sick!” Mort cried softly. “Do wewe think there’s a cure?”
Maurice groaned under his breath again. “No, there’s no cure, but it’ll pass.”
Mort sniffled. “How do wewe know?” he asked, on the verge of crying.
Maurice sighed impatiently. “Because he doesn’t have a life-threatening illness,” he insisted.
Mort gripped his tail tighter. “Then what is it? What makes him cough and sneeze and wheeze so much? If it has no cure then how will he be healed?” he asked, whimpering.
“Maurice!” Julien cried from the throne, his voice even zaidi nasally when he yelled. “What is taking so long with my smoothie? I could be dead before wewe come back!”
Correction, Maurice thought, you’ll be dead when I come back . . .
He turned the blender on and turned to Mort. “Look, Mort. I promise you, Julien will be fine. He’s just being a drama king. Why don’t wewe go score some zaidi cough syrup from the zoo hospital, hm?”
Mort looked over at Julien, who was writhing in his throne, and winced. “Okay,” he alisema before hurrying off.
Switching off the blender, Maurice returned to Julien with his smoothie. “Here wewe are, King Julien,” he said, handing up the smoothie.
Julien sniffed. “It’s about time,” he alisema impatiently. “I thought I saw a light for a dakika there.”
Maurice rolled his eyes. He swore he was getting close to being able to see his brain back there. “That’s because wewe stared at the sun for ten dakika and now your seeing spots.”
“Oh,” Julien cried out after a sip of the smoothie, “so now your some kind of doctor, hm? What do wewe know?” he said, sipping some zaidi of his smoothie.
“No, but it doesn’t take one,” Maurice argued under his breath.
“Hey, lower mammal!”
Maurice turned as Skipper and the penguins hopped over their ukuta carrying Mort. “You wanna explain why Sad Eyes was trying to break into the zoo hospital kwa digging under the wall?” Skipper asked, holding up the small lemur.
Maurice slapped his palm to his forehead. After taking a moment to gather himself, he looked back up. “He was supposed to be getting some cough syrup for our terminal king,” he mumbled.
“Terminal?” Kowalski inquired. “What on earth does he have?”
Julien writhed in his kiti cha enzi again. “A ghastly disease! A disease to end all diseases! An illness most fatal! I may not live to see another sunrise!” he cried, dramatically holding his arm up and looking into the sky.
Maurice took a deep breath. “What he means is . . . a cold. He has a cold.”
[Words: 596]
“Maurice!” Julien cried from his throne.
Maurice trudged up to him, not even trying to hide his contempt. “Yes, your majesty?”
“I need another smoothie,” Julien said, propping his head up with one paw while rubbing his chest with the other. He coughed and wheezed. “I can feel my time approaching . . . so make it with extra maembe, embe for the extra sweet-y-ness-ness . . .”
Maurice rolled his eyes. “You alisema your time was approaching two days ago,” he said.
“Well, how should I know, Maurice? I am not Clair’s Voyage!” Julien alisema before coughing again.
“It’s clairvoyant . . .” Maurice grumbled under his breath as he approached the blender.
“Maurice?” Mort called softly as Maurice proceeded to make a smoothie.
“Yes, Mort?” Maurice sighed.
“What are we going to do when King Julien is” — Mort gasped — “the d-word?” he asked as he gripped his tail and whimpered.
Maurice rolled his eyes. “Mort, he’s not gonna die,” he said, dropping another maembe, embe into the mixer.
“But, Maurice, he’s so sick!” Mort cried softly. “Do wewe think there’s a cure?”
Maurice groaned under his breath again. “No, there’s no cure, but it’ll pass.”
Mort sniffled. “How do wewe know?” he asked, on the verge of crying.
Maurice sighed impatiently. “Because he doesn’t have a life-threatening illness,” he insisted.
Mort gripped his tail tighter. “Then what is it? What makes him cough and sneeze and wheeze so much? If it has no cure then how will he be healed?” he asked, whimpering.
“Maurice!” Julien cried from the throne, his voice even zaidi nasally when he yelled. “What is taking so long with my smoothie? I could be dead before wewe come back!”
Correction, Maurice thought, you’ll be dead when I come back . . .
He turned the blender on and turned to Mort. “Look, Mort. I promise you, Julien will be fine. He’s just being a drama king. Why don’t wewe go score some zaidi cough syrup from the zoo hospital, hm?”
Mort looked over at Julien, who was writhing in his throne, and winced. “Okay,” he alisema before hurrying off.
Switching off the blender, Maurice returned to Julien with his smoothie. “Here wewe are, King Julien,” he said, handing up the smoothie.
Julien sniffed. “It’s about time,” he alisema impatiently. “I thought I saw a light for a dakika there.”
Maurice rolled his eyes. He swore he was getting close to being able to see his brain back there. “That’s because wewe stared at the sun for ten dakika and now your seeing spots.”
“Oh,” Julien cried out after a sip of the smoothie, “so now your some kind of doctor, hm? What do wewe know?” he said, sipping some zaidi of his smoothie.
“No, but it doesn’t take one,” Maurice argued under his breath.
“Hey, lower mammal!”
Maurice turned as Skipper and the penguins hopped over their ukuta carrying Mort. “You wanna explain why Sad Eyes was trying to break into the zoo hospital kwa digging under the wall?” Skipper asked, holding up the small lemur.
Maurice slapped his palm to his forehead. After taking a moment to gather himself, he looked back up. “He was supposed to be getting some cough syrup for our terminal king,” he mumbled.
“Terminal?” Kowalski inquired. “What on earth does he have?”
Julien writhed in his kiti cha enzi again. “A ghastly disease! A disease to end all diseases! An illness most fatal! I may not live to see another sunrise!” he cried, dramatically holding his arm up and looking into the sky.
Maurice took a deep breath. “What he means is . . . a cold. He has a cold.”
[Words: 596]
