Birds: The Samson Help delivers the Artisan

Originally posted on March 9th, 2009

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Picasso was upset over the whole ordeal; Polaris could tell because he wasn’t acting up as usual. The Smeargle also wasn’t too sure about Max and the Eevee, which he had to agree with. The man was just as dangerous as he had suspected two days ago, and the Pokemon too. However, they seemed to be helping out in apology for the false accusation. That was it, right? Polaris patted Picasso’s hand as they approached Willow’s lab, trying to reassure them both.

“I haven’t actually met her,” he said, pausing outside the door. “But she’s supposed to be fairly nice.”

The door opened, letting out the Professor herself. Her attention was immediately on Picasso. “So there is an actual Smeargle around town. A bit of a damaged specimen, but he looks fine otherwise.”

He drew back. “<Hey, I take offense to that.>”

“Professor Willow?” When she nodded, he added, “Hi, I’m Polaris Starr... that’s Picasso. We’re...”

“Are you an artist?” she interrupted.

“Yes, I am.”

“Hmm.” She put her hand to her chin, thinking. “That does seem to be the trend, that you find a Smeargle with an artist. Is it because they seek out the artists or do the artists seek out them?”

Polaris scratched his head. “Well, if he’s ‘normal’ for his kind, I think you’d have to be an artist to tolerate them.”

“Where did you catch him?”

“I didn’t. I got him as payment for a painting a few years back.”

“Do you know if he’s native to the region?”

“I think so.” Picasso nodded.

Willow looked down at him. “So where are you from?”

He shook his head and drew a zipper across his mouth. Not as elaborate as normal.

“We, uh, actually came looking for you because we’re in some trouble,” Polaris said. “Some men have been stalking me for a while, then they kidnapped me and locked me down by that graveyard. I got away, but I’m not sure who they are.”

“Down by the graveyard? You won’t get much help from the police. People have been reporting strange incidents in that area, but they don’t do anything other than file the reports away.”

“Really?” That was shocking. He’d always thought the police were reliable; at least, they’d been friendly and allowed him to do business on the streets of various towns.

“Who’s this?” Willow asked, finally paying attention to the third person.

“This is Max. He’s helping me, I think.”

Max gave a curt nod. He was keeping an eye on the street around them. About as paranoid as I am, Polaris thought, but more capable of doing something about it.

“Why don’t you both come in for a while? Could you describe the men who took you?”

“I could draw them easily.”

“Good. And would you mind if I look over your Smeargle for a bit? I don’t get a chance to see one up close often.”

“You okay with that?” he asked, looking down at Picasso.

He shrugged and leaned closer to Polaris.

“So long as I can stay by him; I think he’s still frightened by them.”

“Sure enough.” She led them inside.

The End

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