Macaque doesn’t really like taking you out around Megapolis. Sure, you’re cute and you make for pleasant company, and you don’t fuss- but that’s why he hates it so much. You’re a good kid, his kid, always lending a hand or offering help to those in need. It was how he had met you in the first place, hobbling to your little ramshackle street set-up, clutching at his bleeding side- only to learn that the “healer” in question was barely tall enough to peer over the counter of the stall.

Still, you had fixed the demon up and sent him off with a length of cloth bandage tied in a bow, a small pouch of sweets, and a glittery Monkey King! (TM) sticker.

After just that one meeting, Macaque had decided that he’d give his life to protect you. Settling into your life was almost second nature, peering down from the shadows as neon-dazed tourists and sniffling children came to you for relief, watching you offer it to them all in turn, never asking anything in return.

…you were a good kid.

“Alright, brat,” Macaque sighs, scooping you up by the waist and settling you into the cart, “we’re getting enough to fill the pantry and leaving. Don’t talk to anyone, don’t get out of the cart, and if you see that brain-dead ape or his goody-two shoes student, tell me so we can head in the opposite direction. Got it? Good. Now… what sounds good to you, huh?”