the runaway complex [on hold till further notice]

one

dedicated to @doctorhorrible because she's just an utterly amazing writer and i aspire to write like her someday. you know, hopefully soon(;

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[ONE- OLIVER]

I am running late again.

Goddammit, I bite my lip as I weave through the familiar crowded streets of the unreasonably proud New York City.

Despite its arrogance and diminishing beauty, New York City has always been held to a high acclaim. Even with its raucous and rude inhabitants, smog-covered skies, polluted homes, vicious traffic jams, and animal infested streets, this city always attracts a mind-blowing amount of people, all here because of its "magnificent" wonders and fulfilling, rich history.

And even on rainy Monday night, such as today, tourists swarm the sidewalks, swaddled in rain attire, from the ridiculous rain boots that stomp away resilient puddles that have yet to fall into the sewers to the large, frivolous umbrellas held up high like a banner in the midst of a war field. Now, imagine, thousands upon thousands, of those, in addition to backed up taxis and cars, honking mindlessly, their sounds being drowned out by the boisterous rain.

All of which now block my way home.

Of course, that is mostly my fault since I go against the flow of people. Not a smart decision any day in New York, especially when the streets are packed with tourists as they walk slower than molasses could fan out and especially if it's raining as it is now. One would think tourists would want to avoid rain, but it seems to have drawn more of these pests out.

Nonetheless, I have to get to my destination and quick before I am given another irritating talk from my brother about getting back to the house, or should I say apartment, on time, so I take the only way I am absolutely positive will deliver me to my front-door step the fastest. Even if that means bracing the claustrophobic, aggressive main streets and sidewalks.

"Move," I command an Asian couple as I part their hands away. They scowl and the man says something in an Oriental language that sounds quite familiar to me as I had been a menace to several shop owners down in Chinatown. I only wave my hand behind me as a sign of recognition. I also manage to not get in a shot of a boisterous, blonde family, in view of Radio City Music Hall, but they yell at me anyway and I just ignore them, shaking from the cold, slick rain and ready to literally kill off every tourist in the area.

Many natives, such as myself, try to avoid these nuisances, but it's hard to since you're basically surrounded by them all. Those picture-taking freaks, God, what's the point of a picture in the fucking rain? That's when you most definitely know you're by tourists. No native of New York would be caught dead taking pictures of the city, especially in the rain, since that's pretty much ridiculous. Tourists probably think that even in the rain, New York City is a wondrous site. Sure, let's go with that.

My cellphone buzzes in my pocket suddenly and I yank it out, answering without looking at the caller since I already know who it is, since it's the only possible person I know who has my phone number, "What do you want?"

"Hell, Oliver, if I had known you'd be all bitchy, I wouldn't have called to warn you that you have less than ten minutes to get back to the house," my brother's smug, drawled voice informs me.

I duck in-between two, fairly large white men pointing out at something in the distance and turn the corner, "I'm well aware, thanks, Sydney."

He chuckles and over the speaker I can hear something sizzling over a pan, "Well, that's why I specifically said not to get a job all the way on the other side of town, but, no, who listens to your wise, much more attractive older brother, huh?"