The brush danced over the canvas, orange tendrils trailing behind it as it moved to curve upward and then to the right. Again this motion was repeated, filling that tendril in with even more color and depth. Two more times the brush was run over the same spot, a white hand manipulating it until the color came out fully to the artist's satisfaction.
Round orange eyes studied the picture, the strange mishmash of reds, oranges, and blacks giving the impression of a fire that was playing over the canvas. To some observers, it was nothing but a series of lines and colors, but to others, perhaps flames could be discerned. Or maybe it was flowers. Either way, it was abstract, and Vergil Speicher wanted to leave it open to viewer interpretation just what they saw within its depths.
"Phew... I think it's time for a break." The voice was deeper, rich and baritone like, and certainly didn't seem to match the diminutive form that set his palette down on a small table beside the canvas. Vergil Speicher was a gecko-like creature with pure white skin, as if it had been bleached multiple times. He stood on two legs, being an anthro, and had a tail about the length of his body stretching out behind him. As for his height, he stood only about three and a half feet tall, though from his head some prominent white feathers jutted out backwards, almost like a headdress of sorts but being as natural to him as hair was to humans. Well... perhaps not completely "natural." Vergil looked nothing like others of his kind. His white skin, head feathers, and large orange eyes were atypical, being the result of heavy genetic manipulation.
Tapping a finger on his long, angular snout, the gecko gave one final glance at the picture, and decided it truly was time for a break. He needed some fresh air... and he most likely had to report to his station soon. Vergil was one of those newer pilot recruits who was still considered "green" but was showing great potential, and much of his work days were spent in intensive training.
Snagging his keys from the same table the palette rested on, he locked his small apartment on the way out, pushed the down button in the hallway, and began riding the swift elevator down to street level. It was time to start the day "proper."
