Eyes of the Artist (Final Fantasy XV FanFiction) DISCONTINUED

Chapter 2: Runaway Artist

The evening sun streamed in through the western windows, tinting the colors with a slight orange and yellow glow. I stand next to the door leading outside for several minutes, just staring at the bright colors as they play across the concrete floor. The large, heavy gym bag is hanging from my left shoulder, making my arm ache slightly from the weight of the paint supplies.

Finally, I pull myself from trance of the colors, turn, and head out the door. As expected, there isn't a lot of activity outside. I get less stares than I did during the morning as I head down the street because of the smaller crowds. It doesn't take me too long to reach my destination. I turn down a narrow, empty alleyway and immediately see what I was looking for.

The artwork was extremely dull and faded, but the original masterpiece was still visible. The fairy had long, wavy red hair that ended with a greenish blonde, adorned with a large lily, draped with beads. Her dress was emerald green at the top, blended to a bright tael and turquoise, before the long ribbon-like dress swirled purple around her bare feet. Her wings were large, resembling blue butterfly wings that were slightly larger than her. In her thin, elegant fingers was an exotic flute like instrument. To me, this picture represents beauty, hope, and grace.

I put my bag down carefully, open it, and pull out the rope first. Obviously, this picture isn't small; it takes up most of the wall. I make a loop at one end of the rope, then examine the roof of the building above the painting. Finally, I see a small pipe, twirl the end of the rope, and fling it over the little metal tube. I give a hard tug and watched, satisfied, as the loop tightens around the pipe. I test the strength, and easily see that the rope will hold my weight. This is a way for me to be able to climb the wall and reach the top of the faded picture without carrying an obnoxious ladder or hauling around heavy items to stand on. With that, I grab some paints, and begin to work on the top.

The reason I work from top to bottom is because painting the other way around risk footprints in the fresh paint. Footprints will not only ruin the painting, but give the government a way of tracking me. On a lesser note, dirt on the painting would not be very pretty either.

The restoration process is long and slow. Being the perfectionist I am, I take extra care to detail the finer points of the mural, paying close attention to the lines and brush strokes, trying to keep everything balanced. This sort of thing tests my patience every single time, yet I continue to go through with it. I don't want this picture to fade completely. The thing is, the sun is still setting, and the people who hang around at night are starting to come around. If I can't get the picture done in the next hour, I risk ruining the painting by blind work, or getting caught.

The painting process is made harder by the fact that I'm going up and down the rope to get different paints and brushes. The continuous movement causes my hood to fall back, making my pale face and crimson hair visible to anyone who looks.

"Crap..." I mutter softly to myself. I'm still hanging to the rope with it wrapped around my left arm, my hand holding a brush. My right arm is full of paint tubes different shades of blue, their lids removed so I can reach the paint inside. My feet are planted firmly onto the wall, next to the middle of the fairy's wings. I've been working for maybe an hour, and I can feel my body cramping up from the effort of going up and down the rope, and carrying several items at once. So, you can imagine how I felt when the sounds of a car parking just outside of the alley made me feel.

I look down towards the end of the alley, conveniently the end I entered from. I can see the very front of a black car, the late evening sun reflecting off of it. The glare from the sun's reflection makes it hard to see, but I can make out the shadowed figures of four guys entering the alley. I can tell they are heading towards me, and my grip on the paint brush tightens with nervous anticipation. With the sun behind them and my hood down, it's obvious that they can see me clearly.