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Posted: Jun 10 2018, 10:29 PM
A day never truly begins until the sun rises from its nightly slumber, and crawls from beneath the sheets of the horizon to wake the rest of the world. There was one pair of individuals, however, who had decided to get a head start, and were currently walking amongst the trees of the Eastern Great Forest. Apparently, they were in no rush to do so, as the pace the two traveled could be compared to a slugma on a cold day. These pedestrians, a smeargle and a human, were wandering in no particular direction (although, the human made sure to keep track of their position so that they would be able to make their way back home). The walk was something of morning ritual, and more so for the pokemon; Turk had the habit of taking off early in the morning without bothering to wake his trainer, and to avoid having to search for the Painter each time Kendon opted to join him instead.
For someone unused to such daily exertion, the human was keeping up considerably well. It helped that Turk was a slow walker, and often like to take pauses as something caught his interest. These walks were the greatest source of inspiration for him, as it allowed him to observe many things in a short span of time. The reason why he walked so early in the day was also of note: sunrise allowed him to view the same scenery in varying lighting, which he found would highlight different aspects of a specific subject’s beauty. He didn’t mind the human tagging along, as he hoped the experience would be beneficial to him, and was very proud to show off one of his artistic processes. He noticed the man didn’t appear to do much drawing outside of communicative purposes, and thought that constant exposure to the forest scenery might spark something within him.
In the human’s defense, there was a bit of a misunderstanding between the pair. While Kendon would not disagree with being called an artist, his primary mode of art was more literary than it was visual. Not that he could blame him; when they had first met the two had bonded over the sketches in his journal. Since then, he had been drawing continuously in an effort to speak to the pokemon. He hadn’t had much time for writing since he had arrived in Terrene. He had had to juggle an abrupt loss of memories on top of a dangerous, new environment. After some frightening encounters with wild pokemon, the young man had been faced with the issue of shelter, food, and income (most of which, unfortunately, he still hadn’t figured out). Now that things had settled down, and the immigrant was more accustomed to his current circumstances, maybe he could allow himself a little break.
“Hey, um, Turk? Mind if we take a break?” Kendon motioned over to a nearby tree and gave his partner a guilty look. They had been walking for about an hour or two and, despite the leisurely pace, the human’s muscles were nearing their limit. The smeargle let out an exasperated huff, slightly annoyed he’d been interrupted, but scanned the surrounding area before giving an approving nod. At least the scenery was still nice enough to provide inspiration. The tree his human had chosen was right next to small, winding stream, just opposite a smallish clearing. A soft light danced upon the water’s surface, leaving ripples and splashes in its wake.
The two artists trod over to the chosen tree and slowly sat down, leaning against its trunk. The pokemon gazed forward, lazily yet perceptively, while the human immediately put his head down as he removed a journal and mechanical pencil from the inside of his jacket. He clicked out some lead, turned to an empty page (and frowned at how far into the book he had gone), and proceeded to write down some thoughts about his partner. If he couldn’t retrieve his old memories, he would at least record his new ones, in case whatever had caused his amnesia struck again. Besides, writing… it helped him parse out his thoughts. They tended to get muddled, whether it was because he was thinking too quickly or thinking about too many things at once, and writing helped to slow things down, bring things into focus.
Several minutes of silence passed before Turk took an interest in what his human was doing. He leaned slightly over to get a better view of the page, straining his neck a couple inches upward. He had always liked Kendon’s drawings, simple as they were. They weren’t particularly inspiring, but they got the point across, and in any case the Painter wasn’t one to sneer at the style of another artist. To his surprise and delight, it appeared that the human had sketched out a picture of the smeargle. To his his surprise and confusion, that wasn’t the only drawing on the page — rows and rows of strange squiggles spanned the paper below his portrait, and even carried onto the next one. He turned his head as he struggled to find some sort of pattern or meaning, but the only thing he was able to grasp was that some of the squiggles looked similar to each other.
He frowned, severely disappointed in the writer. What was he doing? What was the point of these markings, if not to convey a scene or produce a stunning illustration? There was no… no beauty in it at all! To be completely honest, Turk had always been a little jealous of Kendon for owning the book — to be able to carry around a medium on which he could store a number of paintings. On the other hand, the smeargle would always have to leave behind his works of art, or watch it degrade and disappear forever. And yet, the human was filling his canvases with this useless garbage! He slammed his paw on the journal, staring at Kendon accusingly.