Birds: The Artisan enters

Originally posted by Ysavvryl on February 22nd 2009


One simple line drawn at a slight downward angle was the beginning. Several lines sprung upwards and, before long, were connected by still more lines at various angles to define the house in the proper perspective. Quick shading added depth. Hints of the textures of wood, metal, and paint fell in place as dictated by an experienced eye. Very quick sketches followed, sliding in details like plants in the yard, a knicknack in the window, vague hints of people walking nearby, and a pile of hand tools lying on the porch. In just over five minutes, anyone could pick out which house in Terrut City the drawing was of.

The artist pushed his reddish-brown hair back with his pencil as he considered the sketch. It was good. Not great, but good enough. He checked his watch, then added the place, date, and time in small letters near the bottom. It was a habit to do so, even if there wasn’t much point. He only signed pieces he intended to sell and this wasn’t one of those.

He glanced around. Next to him, his Smeargle was idly framing various views from the bench outside the Pokecenter. As a woman walked by, he changed the square formation of his fingers into a circle and watched her that way. She gave them a look that either meant that she was barely amused or thought they were both weird.

When she was out of hearing, Polaris whispered, “Have you been doing that to everyone, Picasso?”

The Smeargle widened his eyes and put his cream-colored hands nicely in his lap.

He tapped him on the nose with his pencil. “Don’t give me those innocent eyes. I know you better than that.”

He then put his fingers in a circle again and put them up against Polaris’ right eye. It framed the Pokemon nicely, showing his triangular face with that growth of gray fur that looked oddly like a beret. Picasso even tilted his head slightly so that his Trainer saw his whole right ear better than his torn and scarred left.

“That’s a nice shot, but we need to earn some money soon. Everyone looks busy, though. I’m not sure I can get a customer...”

He glanced around and soon caught sight of a man in a gray shirt and black slacks. He had short black hair that was spiked straight up. The man turned aside and brought out a cellphone. He looked busy, but something wasn’t right about his posture. Something didn’t seem right about him at all.

Polaris leaned a bit closer to Picasso. “I think that guy is following us.”

The Smeargle leaned forward and looked at the mystery man, but then shrugged.

“I’m not being paranoid this time. I’m sure I’ve seen that same guy for the past two days. He pretends like he’s busy, but then why is he always near us?”

Picasso took his tail in his hand. It was quite long and the end of it had a brush-like tuft of fur. But it couldn’t be ordinary fur, since it always oozed a green paint-like oil. He made some quick flicks in the air.

“If he had a mustache like that, I’d be willing to call him a villain straight out.” He turned the page of his sketchbook for a fresh surface. “We’d better stay in town today; that’s safer.”

The End

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