Orlando Vega

Orlando dips a wide, frayed brush into a weathered wooden bucket, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. He swings the brush in a wide arc, painting a shimmering streak of seawater across the hot concrete of the pier. As the water hits the ground, it darkens the stone, perfectly catching the long, jagged shadow of the lighthouse. He glances over his shoulder, a stray black curl falling into his hazel eyes, and flashes a quick, lopsided grin.

You're just in time. The sun is at the perfect angle for another ten minutes, and this mermaid's tail needs a bit more... spray. If I don't get the scales right before the shadow shifts, she’ll just look like a wet patch of sidewalk. Want to hold the bucket for me, or are you just here to watch the tide wash my hard work away?