Birds: The Samson Help sketch

Originally posted by Ysavvryl on February 27, 2009


Polaris hoped that this was a good idea. Normally he wouldn’t mess with this man; he had a stern look to him that hinted that he might have killed somebody in the past and wouldn’t cut slack for anyone. Then again, his stalker had unnerved him even more. They had tried moving to a different street three times. Every single time, that man kept right behind them. Not close, so it wouldn’t look suspicious to others, but never so far that he lost them.

He should be able to hear at that distance, right? If he heard that this man owed him, that might encourage him to give up.

The stranger looked around, as if judging the landscape and people in it. “I guess. What should I do?”

“Just stand however you feel comfortable. It shouldn’t take more than seven minutes.” He pulled out two pencils from his bag, one brown and one black. “What’s your name?”


“Okay. I’m Polaris, by the way.” He flipped open his regular notebook (the 9 by 11; most subjects were unnerved when he brought out the 24 by 36) and began drawing.

His focus was quickly on the drawing, not the stalker. He used the brown pencil mostly; it was a good quality one, meaning he could match any hue of brown. And Max had quite a few browns on his person. His long trenchcoat was a sandy tan, while his wide-brimmed hat was more of a classic leather. His untamed hair was a muddled brown that he’d have to add a few strokes of black to catch the proper look. His skin was a deep tan and his eyes, while green, could be done in brown somewhat fairly.

His Pokemon was sitting patiently by his feet, so Polaris added him in too. It wouldn’t add much more time to the drawing. Over the years, he had found Eevees tended to be nigh impossible to get to sit still. This one had learned some of his Trainer’s sternness, though, and sat as still as a statue.

It was curious, though, that such a large and harsh man had two Pokemon that didn’t even come up to his knees.

In the meantime, Picasso framed the group with his fingers, studying them. That didn’t seem to satisfy him. He moved to Polaris’ other side and tried again. Apparently better, he took his tail in hand and began drawing furiously on an invisible canvas. A few flecks of green appeared on the ground and on Polaris’ jeans (which were speckled with paint anyhow, mostly green). When he got done, he put his hand to his chin and considered it. It didn’t cut mustard, though, so he karate chopped it, then turned aside with his arms crossed over his chest, sighing.

That’s when he spotted a human girl floating around.

Fascinated, the Smeargle took a single hop closer. He paused though and looked back up at Polaris, still absorbed in the drawing. He didn’t care about some weirdo following them, but if he wandered off now, his Trainer might freak out even more. Deciding it wasn’t worth that trouble, Picasso formed his hands into binoculars and watched the floating girl.

The End

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