Maigo- A BNHA OC Story

Yellow

   Ugh. Just my luck. 

   He crouches on the very top level of the tallest building in the area. The harsh wind rips his scarf away from his figure, lightly grasping his neck. His dark hair billows behind him, like a flag snapping in the breeze. It is hard to tell what color his clothes are- something dark, maybe green? They hide his true form, making him look scrawnier than he really is. He would be invisible if it weren't for the yellow goggles over his eyes.

   He looks down on all that dwell beneath him, quite literally. The rain beats at the back of his neck, fingers drumming on a desk. It pours down his face, seeping into every crevasse, every hollow. It runs down his shirt, dripping off the hem, creating a mini rainstorm for the cement just below him. It pools over his heavy black boots, but they're so thick he hardly notices. Of course they're thick- it wouldn't be rational for a pro hero to be unprepared for something as trivial as weather.

   Sighing, he watches what little people flock below him. No one should be up at this hour. Pay close attention. Something could happen at any moment.

Yeah right.

   This is when lowlifes come out to play.

   He watches. Looks for concealed movements, listens for murmured conversations. Anything that will grant him a break from his gargoyle-like perch.

   A woman rushes by on the streets below, her arm fruitlessly tries to shield her from the downpour. A dog barks when its owner finally manages to reach their apartment door. Whines from an open window audibly illustrate someone's nightmare. A baby wakes, then cries itself to sleep. Three birds shoot past, looking for shelter from the onslaught of water that won't let up. Two blocks away, the 24-hour convenience store's lights begin to flicker.

   The man turns his head to face the new strobe lighting. Have they forgotten to pay the electric bill? It wasn't normal for them. He shifts his weight, leaning in closer. Waiting. Watching. Listening.

   All is peaceful. The cheery glow from the lights illuminates the street outside, bouncing off the puddles, splashing onto the stores across the street. Inside it looks warm and dry. Shelves stand at attention, blocking the back of the store from view. Freezers on the back wall dispense a thin fog around themselves. Every single item stands at attention, hoping for a buyer to come and whisk them away. The checkered floor tiles shine with wet footprints. Some are large, some are small. One pair is alone, leading right to the cash register.

   The portly man behind the counter smiles towards the ground, his mouth moving, speaking to a shorter being. He reaches out his hand, then brings it back as if he's holding something. Opens the cash register, closes it, hands money back to the small thing.

   But he didn't put any money in the register to begin with.

   The man on the rooftop watches even more intently.

   The cashier walks out from behind the counter. He waddles toward the door, opening it with one large, meaty arm. His words fight to be heard over the static of the rain.

   "Take care, little missy! Are you sure you don't need an umbrella?" he chimes.

   A bright spot dashes out the door, around the corner, down the alleyway, before plunging itself headfirst into a pile of filled garbage bags. The man on the rooftop looks back to the store. The cashier is still standing there, waving goodbye in the other direction.

   But no one is there.

   The man on the rooftop looks back to the alleyway, just in time to see the same bright spot poke its head out, then dart back in. Like a light-colored turtle in a smelly, grimy shell. The man has just enough time to register a color before the thing is gone forever.

   Yellow.