#I think Macaque would wear a tail coat | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kitkat1003 · 4 years ago

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Who Are You Really?

Spirit Masterpost (Ao3 link there)

Chapter 2: Find A Way In

Summary: This town's got quite the cast of characters

Spirit spends the next couple of months on reconnaissance. They hop over rooftops and monitor the town where the supposed successor lives. They hadn’t had the time to ask for a description after getting their orders from the Demon Bull Family, and they’re afraid to go back to the trio with their query.

Something about that home is broken. Spirit has spent enough time in a broken home to know it’s not a nice place to be in for long. Best to stay away unless they’re needed.

The town that the successor lives in is pretty lively. They only assume this is where the successor lives, though, because the successor had arrived to fight Demon Bull King rather quickly and would likely need to be close by.

They watch the city from the rooftops. Bright colors, people, loud noises—they would hate to be down there, lost in the madness, but from a far enough distance it’s tolerable.

The people are so...loud. There’s so much stuff here. So many things, sights, sounds. It’s awful pretty, especially the glowing stuff. Spirit tries touching it, but it’s really hot. Whatever it is, it burns.

They’re sitting on top of a skyscraper, taking a break with some cheese tea they got because they were curious about it, when the sky shifts. The weather begins changing without reason. That gets them to jump down, because it sounds like a storm is brewing and the higher up you are the more likely you are to be hit by lightning. Getting hit by lightning does not sound appealing.

They duck down into an alleyway, shifting into human form just as Red comes onto the myriad screens all over the city.

Spirit has to give him credit, it’s certainly a foreboding speech. They don’t do well when giving speeches. Often when they’re sent to intimidate or kill they either write up a script on their way there or stay silent. Whichever is more effective, anyway.

They lean against the wall as mortals panic, pulling out their nifty little phone. It’s sturdy, which is good, since they can be a bit clumsy with their things.

‘Red’ They type out. They gave him their number when they got a phone, excited to have one. He’d texted them a lot of boxes. They don’t know what the boxes mean, but they hope they’re nice.

‘I heard your speech up on the screens! It was very articulate and polite, and threatening! I think your dad will be mighty impressed with you.

Do you need my assistance? Please let me know. I’m in the area, so I can come quickly!

From,

Spirit’

They rock back and forth on their feet, turning their head to the side and watching as the mortals all vanish into their buildings, the streets becoming empty in minutes. Spirit has to admire the speed of it. Maybe they got more vigilant after the attack by Demon Bull King. It’s only been a few months since the attack, long enough to set in some sense of safety but short enough that they would still be on edge. Spirit knows the timeline of overcoming traumatic experiences. They start to fade out of the forefront after about half a year if you’re lucky.

Their phone buzzes. It’s from Red!

They blink at the deluge of boxes, using the little arrow buttons on their phone to scroll down.

‘i don’t need anyone! Thnx for the compliment’

Spirit blinks a few times, and shrugs. Red never is very eloquent in text form, and they’ve heard that brevity is the soul of wit! Whatever that means. Spirit isn’t quite sure. Plus, they can understand the desire to do everything by yourself, especially when you’re doing something to prove yourself to someone.

Since the town is pretty much deserted, Spirit takes the time to walk around, get to know the place. They know it plenty from a bird’s eye view, but whenever you scope out a territory it’s best to know all the angles. They trace the different side streets with their eyes and memorize the street signs. They might make a diagram, to make sure the layout sticks in their head.

They’re pretty calm, until they feel the ever ethereal power that comes only from one source.

The Monkey King.

Something like primal terror freezes them in place for a split second, before they race away running as far away from the outpouring of heavenly power that comes with the Monkey King’s presence. They can’t even think about where they’re going, feet pressing hard against the messy street pavement. T, crunching on glass and debris without thought because they just need to get away. They know who Monkey King is. They know that they would mean nothing to such a monarch, to such a being. They have no favors to spare, nothing to keep themself safe, so why wouldn’t he jump on the chance to get rid of them?

Considering their reputation, considering the times they’ve colluded with Monkey King’s enemies, there’s no reason to believe he’d let them live, if he saw them. No reason to think that he wouldn’t leave them a bloody stain on the pavement the moment they appeared in his line of sight.

Or worse, he’ll \tear out an eye for your insolence. He clearly doesn’t have a problem pulling out organs, from what you’ve heard in the stories, and with what he did to Macaque? He’ll ruin you. Well, at least you’d finally have a normal amount of eyes, right?

Their breaths come in short bursts. They climb up to the roof of a short building, curled into a little ball, and shut their eyes.

They don’t manage a single normal breath until they feel the energy of the Monkey King fade out. He must have left, back to his mountain. Good. That means they won’t die today, which really is something! Every day they manage to live is kind of a surprise, really. They’re consistently shocked by their ability to keep going.

They carefully sit up and glance down at their feet. Bleeding, apparently. Not a surprise, given how they weren’t careful when sprinting through the street, but annoying nonetheless. They pull out the pieces of glass, clean off the wound with some antibiotic ointment they keep on them at all times (Mom used to make it herself with stuff they scavenged in the forest, and now you can buy an even better version in the store for cheap), and wrap their feet in gauze.

Once that’s done, they lay back, spread eagle on the roof, staring up at the cloudy sky as they try to regulate their breaths. They’re not exactly steady yet, but at least now they can breathe. Soon, though, the sky clears, and Spirit has to squint to keep the sun from burning their retinas. Their phone buzzes in their pocket, and they pull it out, holding it up so the shadow of it falls over their face, blocking the sun a little.

‘The garbage noodle boy will pay!’

They type out a reply.

‘Red.

I don’t know who the noodle boy is, but I’m sorry he made you upset. Did you have to leave the weather tower? Do you need anything?

Let me know!

Spirit.’

They get a bunch of boxes and a very hard to follow explanation, but eventually they parse it out. Noodle boy is the nickname Red has for Monkey King’s successor, and apparently he came in and kicked Red out of the weather tower.

Spirit asks if Red needs help with his next scheme, but Red declines. That’s fine.

Spirit knows when they aren’t wanted.

As the sky clears, people begin to peer out their windows, and a few brave souls actually leave their homes. Within an hour, the city is back to its bustling state, if a little slow as it tries to reset from the panic. Spirit watches this happens with a fascination one would have with watching ants build a colony. Well, not in the sense that mortals are just like ants, but they are simple in many ways and complicated in others. Peril is unknown to them in a way Spirit never could understand, and to see them grapple with the appearance of it and work it into their community and lives is ever fascinating. Mortals are very tight knit, after all. Everything affects the collective.

Demons are typically solitary creatures. They create small clans, sure, but they do not settle, create towns for themselves.

Spirit flits between the different factions and never settles themself. They have a few caves that could become homes, if they stayed, but they never do. Not when there are favors to hand out, places to explore. Besides, an empty home isn’t a fun one to return to.

They’re about to head out, disappear into the forest areas outside of the town for the night, but the roof door to the building opens.

“Hey,” comes a gruff voice.

Spirit freezes. They turn their head around, slowly, eyes wide.

The figure that stands before them is a stout pig demon, wearing what appears to be a chef’s coat. He’s got stubble, sharp blue eyes, and small tusks that peek out over his upper lip. He stares at them without animosity. Mostly interest and confusion.

Spirit, at a glance, suspects that they’d be able to take him, should he attack. A second glance, more a read of a soul, proves otherwise. Whoever this is, there’s a power they’re hiding. A lot of power.

“Don’t see a lot of monkeys around here,” The demon says.

“Sorry,” Spirit replies, immediately. “I-uh-I didn’t know this was your roof, I was just sitting up here for the view-I-I’m leaving, so—”

They don’t want to get in a fight. There’s no point in trying to throw on glamour, appearing human. And they don’t know how to really explain themselves, either.

The demon raises his hands in a peaceful gesture, trying to put Spirit at ease. It doesn’t exactly work, considering it reveals the demon’s claws. Dull as they are, Spirit is sure he knows how to use them. But they do recognize the sentiment.

“Hey, hey, no need to apologise, ‘s long as you’re not causing trouble,” he gives them a sort of half grin. “Just figured I’d see what you were up ta, if you were alright. Not often I find anyone hiding on a roof for a good reason.”

Spirit stares. They don’t exactly know how to react in this situation, so they just. Don’t. Their tail curls around one leg and they wish they could just. Run. But then he might chase them. That wouldn’t be good at all.

“Uh.” He scratches the back of his neck, seemingly uncomfortable with the silence. “I’m Pigsy.”

How...appropriate? Spirit fights a giggle, because of course his name is Pigsy, what else could it be? The smile worms its way onto their face anyway, and their ears twitch as they look anywhere but at Pigsy.

Pigsy smiles back and chuckles a little.

“Yeah, I know it’s kind of on the nose. Not my first choice of a name, but apparently it’s everyone else’s,” he snorts.

This time, Spirit does giggle, their nose crinkling with the motion as their smile reaches their eyes. They relax a little. If Pigsy is at ease enough to joke, it’ll probably be okay. They’ll probably be okay.

“You, uh, mind telling me your name?” Pigsy asks them, and they freeze again, suddenly shy.

They fidget, then sigh. It would be rude to not tell him, even though they wanted to keep a low profile, but Pigsy is asking nicely, and he doesn’t seem mean. What’s the harm?

“Spirit,” they reply.

With a wave, they leap across the space of the street between the two buildings, sliding down the back side of the building. It’s easy enough to slip into human form and disappear into the crowds towards the outskirts of the city.

They sleep leaning against a tree. It isn’t terribly comfortable, but Spirit is used to that.

The next month is spent really getting to know the town. It’s a huge place, and Spirit wants to be aware of every nook and cranny, just in case. They’re a bit on edge, too, because Monkey King was here, which means he’s unafraid to come back. If they’re around when he does, that wouldn’t be good.

But if they know all the secret passageways, just maybe, they’ll be able to outrun him. From what they hear, the Monkey King cares about mortals, so he’d probably try and mitigate collateral. If they disappear into a crowd, or get underground, they’d likely escape.

They have plans. They make them whenever they stop on a skyscraper and let the wind blow through their fur, when they look down at the steep drop and think about catching a hand over a thousand years ago, when they think about every step to the present. They have a plan for every street corner and alleyway, should they be caught. They have to. It’s the only way to survive.

Their plans come to a halt when they feel a soul split. Well, not split, because that’s not possible, but at the very, least spread out. All kept together by a thin, golden tether that ties them to their source.

It starts as just one tether. Then two. Three, seven, fifteen, thirty-eight, a hundred—Spirit goes dizzy trying to count them all, up on the tallest building in the town. The weather tower’s roof basically has seats built into its design, if you push a window open and sit on the glass tile, so it’s fun to climb on top of it.

Eventually, they have to see what is happening, because the city is dancing with golden lights scattered across it, and it’s making Spirit dizzy.

A group of tethers coalesces in a single building, an anti gravity arcade. Spirit hasn’t gone in, because they like when their feet stick to the ground, and the amount of noise and bright lights is enough to leave them dizzy for decades. They hop to the roof of it, peering over the ledge to see just who is inside.

“Monkey King?”

Spirit whirls around, and comes face to face with a mortal, wearing a bright orange jacket, red pants, a white shirt with a target on the chest (which, not that Spirit would say, is a bit odd, and is asking for a chest injury), and a red headband.

Then, an identical copy of that mortal appears. Then another.

Suddenly, Spirit is surrounded.

“Uh,” they start. “No?”

Regardless of their valiant effort to make it known that they are not the Monkey King, they’re dogpiled quickly, grabbed by tens of hands and carried into the sensory hell that is the anti-gravity arcade.

Considering they’re not being hurt, and considering they can’t move their arms, Spirit doesn’t struggle much. They just shut their eyes, coiling their tail around their leg and staying as limp as possible. Resistance seems a bit futile, and if they’re malleable instead of stiff they’re less likely to be damaged during their, uh, transport.

“I’m really not the Monkey King,” they try again, though their voice gets muffled by the many, many figures holding them.

The group stops. There’s a buzz of chatter before one voice cuts out above everything.

“Alright, alright, what’s the haps? What’s got y’all making me step away from the porty?” The voice has a very casual lilt to it, but it’s recognizable as the same voice of all the other mortals.

“We found the Monkey King!” One of the clones pipes up.

“You what?!”

“We got him, boss!”

“You—okay, okay, lemme see! Drop him!”

Spirit is dropped onto the ground unceremoniously, and the crowd parts so they can look up to this supposed leader.

He looks like the rest of the group, but his orange jacket is tied around his waist and his shirt doesn’t have the target on it the rest of them do. He’s got his pants bunched up at the base of his boots, blue headphones hanging off his neck, and when he glances down at them, Spirit sees a flash of a sharp tooth poking up over his bottom lip.

“Sorry,” they say. “I’m, uh, not the Monkey King.”

The ringleader groans, leaning his head back.

“Of course you’re not,” he says, though the tone doesn’t indicate that he’s angry at them, which is nice. He turns to the group standing behind Spirit, and glares. “C’mon, boys! I told ya if you saw the Monkey King, you report back to me. No goin’ after him, no makin’ a fuss. If this was the real deal, he’d’ve had you poofed quick! The Boss might not know how to make us go away yet, but the King definitely does.”

He gives a quick, cursory glance over the group.

“We lose anyone?” he asks.

The group shakes their heads.

“Good. Now, next time, listen to me!” he shouts.

Spirit flinches at the sound.

The group, thoroughly chastised, all mumble apologies. The leader sighs.

“Alright, alright. Half of you keep on look out, and the rest of you go and play. We got the arcade to ourselves, after all,” he waves them off, and they scatter.

Once they’re gone, he turns to Spirit. Spirit stiffens and very carefully picks themself up.

“Sorry ‘bout them,” The leader says. “They’re not the brightest bunch, and any monkey demon is gonna get them excited. I told them to look out for the Monkey King, not kidnap him, but you spread one brain cell thin enough and things are bound ta’ get lost in translation.

Spirit glances around. They look to be backstage somewhere. The hum of pounding bass is muffled, but they can still hear the music. There are no flashing lights, which is nice.

“Haven’t seen or heard of ya’, though.” The leader speaks up again, drawing back Spirit’s attention. “What’s your name?”

“Spirit,” Spirit replies. “And, um, it’s okay. They weren’t very rough handling me, so it was fine.

“Um,” They can tell the leader isn’t an original, they can see the tether, but they have to ask. “You’re, uh, like them, right?”

The leader shrugs.

“If by ‘like them’ you mean a clone? Sure,” he leans in close toward them. “But, uh, keep that on the DL, you know? Don’t want it gettin’ spread around.”

Spirit blinks a few times. So, clones. That isn’t surprising. Macaque can make clones from his shadows, and he told them that Monkey King can make clones out of hair. The successor must have inherited that power.

The thing that does confuse them, is

“DL?” they ask.

The leader raises a brow. “The down low?”

“Uh…” Spirit fidgets and glances at their feet.

The lingo makes no sense. Is it a new thing? They’re really bad at keeping up with trends and dialogues. Their ears burn with embarrassment. They must look really stupid.

“Just don’t go tellin’ nobody, alright?” The leader clarifies.

Spirit nods.

“Okay! But, uh, why are you hiding?” It doesn’t seem to make sense. If the successor made the clones, why do they feel the need to run from him?

“Cuz the Boss made us, made us do a bunch of his dirty work, and I don’t think he’s gonna like that we got tired of it.” The leader glares out toward where Spirit assumes the rest of the arcade is. “Free will ain’t something clones are supposed to have. I’m a little more, uh, on the wild side. The rest of the boys are pretty simple, so I keep ‘em close so they don’t get into trouble. And hey,” He smiles, all sharp teeth. “Can’t have a porty if you don’t got a roaring crowd.”

Well then. That certainly changes things. Spirit has never wondered about the sentience of clones, considering they’ve never interacted with them for long. Macaque’s shadow clones are more extensions of himself than they are sentient creatures, and they never talk. But, if clones really do become sentient, it’s a rather cruel thing to strip that sentience away, right? So long as they aren’t hurting anyone, anyway.

“That’s fair,” they shrug. “But, um, if you want to really stand out, maybe some new clothes will help?”

“That a fit check?” The leader smirks.

“A what?”

“Nevermind,” The leader waves a hand. “What you got in mind?”

Spirit tilts their head to the side in thought.

“I think, um...your aesthetic,” they start. “It doesn’t fit with, uh, the others, so I could get you some new clothes. Accessories. As a favor?” They shrug, a bit self conscious.

The leader is pretty confident, and Spirit is decidedly not. It’s awkward to think that they could be of service.

A blade has a use, but if you have claws that are just as sharp, why buy the tool?

The leader considers this, and then shrugs.

“Sounds good, 3 eyes,” he agrees.

Spirit blinks. “It’s Spirit,” they clarify.

“Sure.” The leader shrugs them off. “Exit’s down the hall to your right.”

Spirit nods and dashes off. Slipping into human form is easy as a new set of clothes, though they always have to be wary of their tail, wrapping it around their waist like a belt so as not to arise suspicion.

Sure, demons live in this town, but the ratio seems 10:1 and Spirit prefers to blend in. Besides, if they get mistaken for Monkey King again, they might just scream, if only to startle the crowd so they can get away.

They flit between stores, looking for something fitting for a character like that clone had been. Spirit isn’t good at fashion, Macaque picked out their outfit after all, but they do have several eyes for flashy things (two, the third isn’t as entranced by such things). They grab a pair of visor glasses, pink to accent the blue. They have these weird lines through them, probably to see through. Spirit thinks they��d be mighty useful to counteract all the bright lights.

Then they look for something orange to replace the jacket, since it seems to be a fixture on all the other clones. They find a kind of garish orange tiger print coat. It’s pretty wild, and, well, the leader said he was pretty wild. They toss it over their shoulder and head back toward the arcade.

They come in the same back way, because anything to spare themselves the sensory overload of the arcade is worth it, though they feel eyes from all around watching them as they approach the backstage.

Two large bouncers step in front of Spirit, as they approach the backstage, and Spirit nearly trips and falls in their haste to back away. They’ve never been a fan of looming figures, and even though they’d probably be the same height as the bouncers if they stood up straight, they’re far too used to hunching down to do anything else.

“U-um,” they manage a whisper, clearing their throat before they continue, trying to speak up above the din of the music blaring in the other room. “I-uh-I-the boss, uh, wanted me to get him some clothes, so…”

They hold up the items they found as proof, giving the two bouncers a shaky smile.

The two share a look, before one walks toward the stage, leaning down for a moment to talk to someone before straightening back up.

“3 eyes!”

Spirit fights the urge to wince at the nickname, because they don’t like that they only have three eyes, they don’t like the reminder. Instead, they sigh and smile awkwardly, waving as the leader saunters over.

“Hello,” they show off their pickings. “I thought these would fit. Since, uh, neon pink and blue go well together, and, um, I thought this jacket could, uh—”

“It’s way better than the old one!” The leader snatches both items out of Spirit’s hand.

The shades go on his face quick, and he tosses his old jacket so fast it’s a blur as it hits the wall. He slides the new one onto his shoulders and leans back, hands in his pockets.

“Do I look good?” he asks, then continues without waiting for an answer. “Nevermind, course I do! Look at me!”

“I am,” Spirit agrees with a half shrug.

“Nice work, 3 eyes! The fit fits!” He chuckles, and did his teeth get even sharper in the half an hour or so Spirit has been gone? They can’t tell.

He plays with the sleeves of the new coat, and glances down at his feet.

“Anyway, uh.” For a moment, he’s almost shy. “Picked out a name for myself. Figured keepin’ the old one made no sense and all.”

“Oh?” Spirit keeps their tone carefully neutral, tilting their head to the side.

“Yeah. Porty.” Porty gives them a wry grin. “If I say it weird, might as well be my brand, right?”

“Sure?” Brand? Spirit thought a brand was when you put hot iron on something. Macaque wanted them to do that to a cow he found, but they couldn’t. It was too mean.

“Anyway,” Porty’s voice cuts through their confusion. “I gotta get back to my DJ stand. Wanna stay for the porty?”

Spirit lets out a nervous laugh.

“Oh, uh, no thank you,” they say, and when Porty frowns, they scramble to explain. “Not that I don’t, uh, like parties-I—” Well, they’re no good at lying. “I just have uh, really sensitive eyes and ears. It would be too loud and bright for me,” Spirit lands on something truthful as they finish, giving Porty a hopeful smile.

Porty’s expression stays carefully neutral, before he bursts into a sharp toothed grin that stretches wide across his face.

“That’s fair, but don’t be a stranger, kay? Us wild ones gotta stick together!” He nudges their arm.

Spirit thinks Porty is awfully nice and cool, but he talks in ways that make their head spin.

“Got it,” they reply in lieu of asking for clarification, and they disappear out the back door as the music swells again.

They write Porty’s favor into their book just as they start to see the tethers vanish. One by one, like dying stars flickering out, they disappear. Spirit watches, wide eyed, as each of over a hundred vanishes.

There's a pit in their stomach, as they think of the giggly, desperate for approval, mostly kind clones suddenly ceasing to exist. Thinks of the many voices going silent.

Macaque would tell them that clones are a means to an end, a weapon to be discarded after use. But the successor didn’t discard them after use, he used them and left them, abandoned them. And now has the audacity to get rid of them when they’re becoming too sentient for his liking?

Spirit doesn’t know the circumstances. It’s rude to judge a person over things Spirit doesn’t know the full story of. But they didn’t hate the clones, and Porty, for all his faults, seemed to just want to make a good time for people. Not the type of good time Spirit would enjoy, but they know others might.

Curled up on the roof of a skyscraper, they watch the lights disappear. The arcade, a veritable lighthouse of stars, loses its many tethers in an instant. The mass of light vanishes as if blown away by a gust of wind, until there’s only one left.

The final one, Spirit knows.

It disappears like the rest.

They break into the arcade that night, and find the coat and glasses on the floor, abandoned. The arcade is dark and there is broken glass all over the floor, but Spirit steps around it, eyes only for the coat and glasses. The things they got for him. To prove that he was more.

Now all that’s left.

They pick the two items up gently and bury them out in the woods. Maybe Porty wasn’t a real person, maybe he was a means to an end that got out of hand, but Spirit can’t fault anyone who lets them do them a favor. And besides, sometimes all that’s left of people are memories, and Spirit wants to remember.

They remember Mom, and they know they’re the only one who does. They can carry that weight for the clones, too, if no one else will.

They get a call from the Long family a month or so after meeting the clone, and isn’t it funny how one of the most affluent, mystically inclined families lives just on the outskirts of the town that Demon Bull King was sealed in? Spirit wonders if they settled here for that reason, perhaps guarding the staff that the Monkey King left behind, since Monkey King had left it there without any thought.

Spirit doesn’t hate anyone (their father doesn’t count, because they made sure he wasn’t anyone ever, just a memory in Spirit’s mind, forgotten by time as his body burned on its pyre) but they severely dislike the lack of responsibility Monkey King takes. Not only did he seal away Demon Bull King (Spirit is aware that Demon Bull King was destroying villages and causing a stir, but Monkey King took Red away and what parent wouldn’t be angry?), but he didn’t even stick around to watch over his seal! He just left it, like the staff alone would be the end-all.

Spirit would be too anxious to ever leave something that could even possibly be broken. Maybe they’re paranoid, but they would have at least stuck around, or left a guard, or something!

Honestly, it isn’t surprising that Red managed to break it, eventually.

They arrive at the Long residence to a sight of a broken down door and demolished artifacts scattered across the entrance hallway. They blink, three eyes darting around to try and drink everything in.

“Ah, Spirit,” Comes a prim voice.

Spirit jumps, and turns to find a couple, dressed in green and gold, staring at them. They’re dolled up, makeup and everything. Spirit bows, polite.

“Hello,” They greet. “You’re in need of a favor?”

“Yes,” the woman answers. “Yesterday, there was an attack on our home by the Demon Bull Family. Many priceless artifacts were destroyed in the process. We would like you to salvage as much as you can from the wreck, and clean up the rest.”

So grunt work. That’s fine. Typically Spirit is called for that sort of thing, if there are secrets involved. And when you have priceless artifacts, you don’t want just any random person handling them. Spirit doesn’t think they’re terribly trustworthy, but if someone asks them to be, they can be. Keeping their mouth shut is easy because people don’t usually come to them for conversation.

Macaque told them once that they were awfully chatty, but that was when they were younger. They grew up. They usually only talk to themselves now.

“Okie doke.” They nod, turning back to the wreckage.

This should take them a few days, if they pull a few all nighters. They’re pretty bad at sleeping anyway, so at least this time it’ll be on purpose.

They pointedly don’t think about how they told the Demon Bull Family of the artifact that was here. They pointedly don’t think about how the Demon Bull Family likely attacked this home for said artifact. What people do with the information they give out is none of their business. It’s not their fault.

Well. It is. Spirit isn’t stupid. Actions have consequences. A domino falls and starts a chain reaction. Regardless of intent, the first domino is the issue.

And Spirit pushed the rest of the pieces down, so the aftermath is their fault.

They start with the biggest pieces of the wreckage, moving out broken stone and whatnot, so that salvaging the finer pieces will be easier. They’d ask where they’re supposed to move the large pieces of stone, but the two mortals didn’t seem to like them, so they just bring it to the side of the house. Out of sight for the moment.

They start collecting pieces of broken artifacts, sorting them into different piles for reconstruction later. They cut their fingers a few times and decide to wrap up their hands in gauze to spare the rest of their fingers from mutilation.

While they’re doing that, someone comes up behind them.

“Hi!”

Spirit jumps a full foot in the air and stumbles to regain their footing, nearly slipping on the dusty tile before steadying. The gauze not yet secured sticks haphazardly to their sleeves, and they fidget with it as they turn around fully to see who it is that interrupted them.

It looks to be a girl around their age—a little younger, they think. She’s got the same fine makeup as the two adults who Spirit wagers are her parents, though hers is made less refined in application, instead more youthful and in the form of self expression. Her green varsity jacket fits in line with her parent’s outfit, green and gold, but the rest of her outfit is a bright white only seen in the marble of the home’s interior.

And then there’s the dragon blade, strapped to her back. She seems comfortable with it there, which leads them to believe she’s the new wielder. Which certainly gives her presence weight.

Spirit lowers themselves to appear non threatening and demure, and they wave, awkwardly, before continuing to affix the gauze to their hands.

“Hello,” they reply.

“I’m Long Xiaojiao.” The girl bows politely in response. “But you can call me Mei.”

“Mei,” Spirit repeats, getting used to the word on their tongue, getting over the confusion of someone actually coming up to talk to them when they’re on a job. “I’m, uh, Spirit.”

“Nice to meet you!” She smiles sunnily up at them.

Spirit stands and fidgets, a little, trying to figure out how to respond. They don’t know how to interact with people much. Interacting with Red is easy, they’ve known him for centuries, but with new people, it’s hard. They’re terribly awkward, and they’re a monkey demon with three eyes. It isn’t as if they can have conversations with mortals without that becoming a factor.

In fact.

“You know, I haven’t seen a monkey demon before. Do you know the Monkey King?” she asks.

Spirit winces. “No,” They respond, quietly. “He-uh-from what I hear, he’s kind of a recluse, and I don’t interact with many monkey demons,” Spirit shrugs, trying for a smile.

Mei doesn’t seem perturbed by their lack of knowledge, shrugging nonchalantly right back, and Spirit relaxes a fraction. Like with Pigsy, Mei doesn’t seem to have many expectations on Spirit’s behavior, or requirements of knowledge and or ability. So far, anyway.

Then again, that could be because they know not to expect anything from Spirit. Spirit is well known in the demon world to be as worthless as they are useful, and Mei is from a powerful family that Spirit has done favors for before. The two of them probably knew of Spirit already. That’s why they’re good at knowing that Spirit knows pretty little.

“Yeah, that’s fair. My friend MK’s met him, since he’s his successor, but from what I hear from MK, Monkey King doesn’t talk to a lot of people.” She drops the information down in front of Spirit as if it isn’t a bombshell.

Spirit blinks a few times, trying to process the information. Huh. So, this girl knows the successor. Interesting.

“MK?” they ask, curious.

Information is important. If they perform a favor for Mei, that might get them an in with the successor, which means they’ll have something against the Monkey King and then they can be safe.

“Yup!” Mei whips out her phone, dragon phone case and everything, and shoves the screen up at Spirit, bright light pressing up towards their eyes.

Hand reaching toward their face, reaching digging scraping pain—

Spirit’s back hits the wall. They don’t remember backing up, just like they don’t remember their breaths picking up, nor do they remember starting to shake. Eyes wide, they glance around, until they lock eyes with Mei, whose phone is still held up in the air near where their face used to be.

“Oh,” Spirit murmurs, ears rising up from their previously downturned position. “Sorry.”

Mei drops her arm, brow furrowed in concern.

“I, uh,” Spirit scrambles to explain, because they don’t want her to tell her parents that they’re easily startled, that they’re not good enough, because that could ruin their reputation, that could stop the favor from being kept, it could ruin everything. “I don’t like. Things thrown at my face. Without warning.”

“Oh,” Mei says, softly, gently, glancing at Spirit with something softer and kinder than pity.

“Sorry,” Spirit mutters again, standing up straight.

They shuffle off, getting back to work at getting the many cracked artifacts off of the ground. They don’t usually have visceral reactions like that around other people. The last they can remember is when they were with Red. He’d waved a hand too close and they’d jumped back. He didn’t apologize, because Red hates admitting fault, but he did hover over them for a moment, as they regained their bearings.

Mei scuffs her boot on the tile, and then idles over.

“Nah, I get it,” she waves off the apology, though Spirit does question how she could possibly understand when they never told her why. “Hey, do you have a phone? I could send you the picture!”

Spirit turns to her, glancing down at the earnest smile on Mei’s face.

“I don’t know if my phone takes photos,” they reply, pulling out the brick of technology out of their pocket.

Mei’s face drops in shock at the sight of it, hands jumping up as if to snatch it from Spirit’s grip. They hand it to her instead, because Spirit can tell she wants to hold it, and Mei looks at it like one would the priceless artifacts shattered around the hall.

“This is...ancient,” she says, delicate, like she doesn’t want to insult them. “It doesn’t even show emojis!”

“What’s an emoji?” Spirit asks.

Mei drops her face into her hands and groans, before perking back up.

“Can I upgrade it?” she nearly begs, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Befuddled, Spirit doesn’t immediately agree. Should they? They already made Mei upset because they freaked out, it would be rude to deny her something that brings her joy, even if it could come at the expense of Spirit’s phone.

Even more confusing is that, rather than think them stupid for having an inferior product, Mei just wants to fix it up for them.

“Um,” they start, haltingly. “I like that my phone’s pretty indestructible, and I’ve had it for a while. Aren’t, um, newer phones more fragile?”

“Not when I make them,” comes Mei’s cheeky reply. “I’ll even use the materials from this one as a base! It’ll be the same, just better! And I’ll be able to send you photos!”

She puts on what Spirit can tell are puppy dog eyes, and Spirit caves instantly. Mei needn’t use those on them; Spirit knows they’re a pushover.

“Okay,” they acquiesce.

Mei cheers.

“Perfect! I think I have a charm that will look nice on your phone, too, so I can give you that!” She rocks back and forth on her feet, looking up at the ceiling in thought.

Spirit smiles to themself, setting a collection of pieces on one of the pedestals spared of the destruction. Tonight, they’ll have to get special glue somewhere to make the cracks nearly unnoticeable. There’s a demon marketplace a few miles outside of town, so there will probably be some there.

They walk over to the other side of the hall, glancing over at Mei, who follows them. She fiddles with her phone, and a cursory glance of her screen shows that she’s researching the model of Spirit’s phone for reference. Huh. Spirit didn’t know phones could do that.

Their eyes travel from Mei’s phone to the legendary blade on her back.

“You can wield the Jade Dragon Blade?” they ask, aiming for nonchalant and landing on incredulous. They’re not a good actor.

Instead of puffing out her chest and acting proud, something Spirit would find more characteristic of Mei based on the twenty minutes they’ve spent around her, Mei hunches down a little, looking shy.

“Yeah, I just found out. It’s, uh, pretty cool.” She shuffles her feet, seemingly reluctant to acknowledge her newfound importance. “I was never really, uh, what was expected of by my family, so it’s kind of a surprise that I can use it.”

There’s a lot to unpack there, Spirit knows. High expectations for children of powerful families are to be, well, expected, but it doesn’t mean it’s pleasant. Spirit doesn’t have to see the tired slump of Mei’s shoulders, with the weight of something wearier than just exhaustion, to know that. They’ve known it since they saw the fervor and desperation Red worked, the way he swallowed hurt at dismissal.

It’s a bit sad, they think, that they see it in Mei, too.

“I, uh, I know how to use a bunch of weapons,” They offer off handedly as they continue to work. “I could teach you some things. If you want?”

Macaque taught them to use a wide variety of weapons, before they settled on their combat sickles, so they know how to use general blades. They aren’t a sword master, but they’re sure they could teach Mei the basics.

Mei perks up again.

“Really? That’d be super helpful. I think my parents kind of expect me to already know how to use a sword, since I can wield this one, and if I told them I don’t know they’d get me some stuffy tutor or something,” she rolls her eyes at the idea.

“Once I’m done with this,” Spirit gestures the mess of the entrance hall. “We could meet up somewhere to start? Call it a favor.”

Spirit tries not to seem too excited, but opening up a new line of favors with someone is always a fun experience. A new layer of safety, a new token, even. If they’re lucky, Either way, to have Mei’s name in their book would be awful nice.

Mei opens her mouth to accept, but the hard slap of heeled slippers against the marble floors makes them both freeze.

“Xiaojiao,” comes the cold voice of Mei’s mother. “Spirit is here on a job. Don’t talk to them.”

“But—”

“Either find someplace else to be or stay in your room. Now,” Mei’s mother is unrelenting, eyes sharp.

Mei gives Spirit a commiserating smile, and then bounds down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

Once she’s gone, Mei’s mother turns on Spirit, a snarl on her face. Spirit knows the Long family is one of dragons, but maybe they might have forgotten just how protective dragons are of what is theirs.

“Never,” The voice is a hiss, and Spirit hunches down, curling in on themselves. “Never talk to my daughter. You keep away from her.”

Spirit trembles, and nods. They didn’t want any trouble, really! They just wanted to help. And Mei owing them a favor means they could interact with her without being as scared as they are, in general.

But, then again, they suppose having a reputation like theirs does work against you.

They work until nightfall, managing to get most of the hard work done. There’s still the matter of reconstructing artifacts, which means they need special glue. So they depart late at night to the demon market a few miles out of town.

It’s more a flea market, not exactly as concrete as some of the other shopping centers Spirit has perused. It’s actually kind of new, popping up because now that the Demon Bull Family is up and running, demons are crawling in droves to get a piece of the new economic boom.

They find a stand a half an hour into their walk that has the type of glue they need.

“Oh, well there’s a familiar face,” The shopkeep says when Spirit steps up to the stall.

Spirit tilts their head to the side, but doesn’t comment. “I would like that glue, please,” They practiced saying it a few-fifty-times in their head before stepping up, so they would get it right. They point to the jar they want with a small smile on their face, to be pleasant.

“Alright,” The shopkeep, a fox demon by the ears and swishing tail, takes the jar and wraps it gently.

Spirit reaches into their pocket and pulls out their coin purse, but when they do, the shopkeep laughs.

“No, no, your money is no good here,” The shopkeep says. “Let me return a favor, to you.”

Spirit blinks a few times, but it isn’t a surprise. People try and return favors all the time, as if they could ask for anything of Spirit and then return the favor on their terms. Spirit may do anything for a favor, but they don’t let anyone decide when that favor is returned for a reason.

White splattered red, a smile made dull with crimson spilling over lips. Returning the favor, returning the favor and dying and never coming back and it’s all your fault why didn’t you stop her—

They sigh, stand up straight, and put on the intimidating smile like Macaque taught them to. Wide eyes but with a glow that is more a promise than an effect, and a grin with just enough teeth to show that it’s sharp. It feels weird on their face, but it always works.

“No,” They respond, voice ever quiet. “I’m the one who deals in favors. I make the terms. And I want to pay.”

The marketplace has gone silent. The shopkeep is frozen in place. Spirit smiles.

“A-Alright,” the shopkeep finally says, rattling off the total.

Spirit blinks once, letting the glow in their eyes vanish. Their shoulders fall as they fumble with their coin purse until they pull out the total. The shopkeep hands them the bag, and Spirit waves cheerily, turning around and heading toward the exit of the market.

The demons in the market give them a wide berth, but Spirit prefers that. They like their space.

The whole project for the Long family takes a total of three days, two of which are without sleep. Spirit is used to not sleeping, whether it be from the usual nightmares or a lack of forethought to go to bed, and so they manage. Being without sleep leaves them jittery and off kilter, but Mei has seemingly taken her mother’s warning to heart, and Spirit is undisturbed as they work.

They like reconstructing the artifacts. The heads of the Long family tell them that the family can handle the actual reconstruction of the house, which is a relief considering Spirit knows very little about architecture. Putting artifacts back together is just like putting together a puzzle, and Spirit loves a good puzzle. Gets their brain working.

Macaque had puzzles, but his were always more...violent. Spirit prefers these ones, with the artifacts and without danger.

When they’re done, they’re regarded with distaste but not disappointment, which is nice. Spirit is pretty sure most people they do deals with don’t particularly like them, because no one likes owing people something. That’s not Spirit’s problem though! They always allow people to refuse, but people like convenience, and Spirit is malleable, quiet, unobtrusive, and generally willing to be used as any sort of tool. They’re more an object than a person, on the job, and that’s good! It means Spirit is good at whatever they need to be.

They almost forget that they’ve given Mei their phone, because they’re leaving the property when she shouts their name.

They jump a full foot in the air, turning around.

“Hey!” Mei comes sprinting across the courtyard, skidding to a stop in front of them. “You almost forgot your phone!”

She holds it out, and it looks very little like what Spirit expects. Gone is the black brick of an item, replaced with a wide, reinforced screen. The case is sturdy, black with purple accents. Spirit feels the familiar material in the black sections.

There’s a little purple lotus charm dangling from one corner.

Spirit holds the phone gingerly, almost afraid they might break it. They tap on the screen, and it glows! Spirit taps it a few times, but nothing else happens.

“I have no idea how to use this,” they say, looking over at Mei with wide eyes.

Mei laughs, kind and not at all cruel, which is confusing in and of itself. Spirit half expected her to think them stupid for not knowing. But Mei directs Spirit to a stone bench by a pond in the gardens, and carefully explains how the touch screen works, and how to get into the different apps, like contacts and messages.

“I put my number in there,” Mei says, pointing out her contact. “So that way we can text each other!”

“Oh,” Spirit stares, and then smiles, small and shy and pleased. “That sounds nice.”

How often is it that someone wants to talk to Spirit? How often is it that Spirit is told how to contact someone for fun? For something besides work? They can only recall Red bothering which is somewhat depressing, but it does nothing to stop the swell of elation that makes their hands shake with the desire to move, at the thought of a new friend.

But to flap their hands like that is childish behavior, so they grip their new phone tight instead.

That doesn’t stop their tail from wagging beneath the bench, though.

Once Mei is done teaching them the basics of modern phone technology, she stands, giving them a sheepish grin.

“I should get going. If mom finds me here with you, she’ll get real cranky, again,” She smiles. “Text you later?”

Spirit stands, and their shoulders don’t ache so much. Subconsciously, they feel the wherewithal to stand tall, for the moment, when Mei gives them such a blinding grin.

“Yeah!

They send their first emoji to Red, a little purple heart and the message ‘Red! I just learned what emojis are! I hope you like this one! From, Spirit.’

Red responds with a bunch of flame emojis, and a single red heart back, stuffed between the fires. It makes Spirit giggle. Has Red been sending little fires in every text? It’s certainly on brand, though they feel it might be a little redundant. Maybe it’s his theme?

They get a text from Mei.

‘Hey! I got a race a couple of months from now. Wanna come watch? Call it a favor ;D!’

Spirit rocks back and forth on their feet excitedly.

‘Mei,

Sounds fun! See you then :)

From,

Spirit.’

They add a little purple heart emoji to the end of the text, and receive a barrage of green ones in reply.

Spirit smiles.

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #Yin Spirit #kitkat1003 #monkie kid oc #monkie kid mei #monkie kid pigsy

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