Macaque had been confident for years that Monkey Demon cubs were not common. He hadn't seen any in ages, and MK was the closest he'd seen in almost 500 years. (And even then, MK was almost an adult.)

So, Macaque was hardly worried about it. Barely crossed his mind most of the time.

Until tonight, apparently.

The storm was rough. Rain slammed into the windows and walls of his dojo. Dark clouds swirled and spun and split and lightning struck the ground.

Macaque was cozy inside. As old as the place was, it was sturdy and stable, and kept warmth. So, he was rather comfortable laying in the rafters and phasing in and out of sleep.

Until the door opened.

Macaque sat up, ears swivelling as he focused on the entryway, where the door was pushed shut by a figure who either was inherently tiny, or had to be a child.

They're sopping wet from the rain outdoors, old, raggedy clothes drawing tight around themselves and soaked through, and Macaque watches as the poor thing curls up on the floor in the corner, and tries to maintain warmth.

And yet, under the scent of city smog and rain, he catches it.

The scent of a Monkey Demon cub.

...Well shit, he was wrong.