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Mk was unfortunately no stranger to the interminable, banal drama of his mentors.
Every time he went up the mountain, without fail, it seemed that Macaque and Monkey King had found some previously unknown way to piss each other off, and honestly, he was starting to tire of their semiweekly rendition of “the real monkeys of Mount Huaguo.”
The simian Dr. Phil was almost never logical to boot.
One slice of peach left for Macaque? There should’ve been two! Nevermind that Macaque didn’t even like peaches, and routinely mocked those who did, calling them, in no uncertain terms ‘lazy, imbecilic chuckleheads’.
And Buddha forbid that the little monkeys of the mountain, after a long day of playing, slept nestled in Macaque’s arms, rather than Monkey King's, even though when they did cuddle up to the king, Monkey King would grumble ad nauseum about getting the fine white fur off of his clothing for the next four to eight business days.
And so on, and so forth it went, every day, for the past however long it had been since the two had made their bared-teeth “”reconciliations”” with each other.
Today’s feature on simian Dr. Phil seemed no different, and MK almost didn’t butt in, but to be honest, he was tired. Truly,
He had fought and bested the demon bull clan, Overcome trials, and the calabash, and the Samadhi fire. He had beaten the Lady bone demon and Azure lion alike, and still walked past to fight the Nine-Headed Demon!
But despite the years of character growth, and his hard-won patience and endurance, he couldn’t for the life of him best the urge to simply smack the heads of his mentors together like a pair of particularly dinged up cymbals until they finally saw reason.
“Can you two just make up already?” The words were out before he could contain them, and, based on the scandalized faces on the pair, MK could tell that what was about to come was one of the rare instances where hero and warrior put differences to bed, in favor of scolding their protégé.
“Wha? Kid, where did that come from?” Monkey King spoke first, using the tone that many now referred to as his ‘nagging hen voice’ due to the sheer frequency with which he used it in scoldings. Mk took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He did not particularly care to see the faces looking back at him as he made this complaint.
“Ok look, I get that you guys have bad blood between you. But honestly, you need to just fight, or do something to get your aggression out that isn’t arguing, because if I hear one more pointless, stupid argument over literally anything between you two, then I’m honestly gonna lose my bricks.” He pointed at Macaque first, finger jabbing into the quilted chestplate.
“You! I get that Monkey King hurt you, real bad in the past, but I really don’t want to hear any more of your senseless griping over every little thing he does. It’s irritating.” He swiveled his finger to his other mentor with a vengeance, advancing towards the king as fast as he could without falling on the sleek tile underfoot.
“You! I understand that Macaque has hurt you, me, and a lot of other people. I get that he can be overdramatic, flighty, rude, and overall just a general pain in the butt! However, when you do things to deliberately mess with him, I honestly wanna tear my own fur out!” He swung out both arms now, grabbing both mystic monkeys by the cape and scarf respectively, and dragging them into a huddle with strength he would usually reserve for a moment of hysteria.
“You two need to make up. Like, yesterday. Understood? Otherwise, I’m gonna find some new mentors, who can actually train me without fighting over it!”
Mk’s intentions for this intervention was no doubt noble. But, as Monkey King exchanged a look with Macaque, a chill crept up MK’s spine. He recognized those expressions. He had seen them only a few times before, usually preceding ten hour drills of shaolin sets, or, worse yet, scrubbing the floors until they were nigh reflective.
“He wants us to get along, huh?” Macaque’s voice was teasing, as it had been when he was still a villain, and MK shuddered at the memory of the forms from those days- the ones where nothing was restrained, and his everything would pulse and hurt the next day.
Monkey King matched Macaque’s smile beat for beat, and MK realized, quite suddenly, that giving two impossibly powerful immortals a way to torment a mortal was not a particularly intelligent decision on his part.
“Monkey King, wait-“
“Nonono… MK’s right, Macaque. We have been neglecting our dear pupil’s training. Perhaps a more intense regimen would be more to his taste?”
Macaque nodded along solemnly, but no outward action could disguise the raw, almost malicious glee in his eyes.
“Perhaps we could combine our methods? With your insistence on training him with repetition, and my skill with teaching forms, we may be able to teach him twice as fast.”
Monkey King nodded sagely, as though the pair were not plotting something against their own, then pulled back from their huddle and stood, stance wide, tapping his lower lip with an exaggerated thinking face.
“How much should we train him, hmm? Twelve hours, do you think?”
Beside the king, Macaque stood firm, stance narrow, arms crossed.
“I was thinking thirteen hours, actually. To build character. Don’t you agree with me, Wukong?”
“I do indeed agree with you, Macaque! I’m so glad we’re finally getting along.”
Mk could only bleat ineffective protests as his mentors, the two people he knew who hated each other the most, put their differences aside for the coming day, in favor of making his life hell.