Temp didn'tconsider himself much of an artist, but after working on his egg for a while, he was happy enough with it!
He only wished he had to skills to make a lovely ocean scene instead.

[nospaces]

LUKA'S ENTRY

Luka does her best to immortalize her darling pokemon in soft pastels and springtime shades of pink. The hollow eggshell given is a difficult canvas but she makes it work, using egg dye like watercolors to paint flowers and her team of cuties. It's not half bad! A little try-hard, perhaps, but Luka has always heeded the call of aesthetics over everything else.[break][break]

When it's almost done she presses her paintbrush too forcefully against the shell, or squeezes it too hard, and it cracks. A hairline fracture that quickly spiderwebs across her carefully painted designs, flaking off pieces of the shell. And Luka sits quietly for a moment, staring at the ruin of her hard work. Frustration boils to the surface of her skin and she nearly crushes it in her fist. But instead she swallows down a lump in her throat, hums thoughtfully, and hurries to find some glitter glue.[break][break]

The philosophy of kintsugi has always appealed to her. Embracing imperfection, refusing to give up and discard something precious. Cracks are mended with bright gold, the egg carefully balanced on gleaming legs to prevent further harm. When it's finished, Luka thinks it's even nicer than it was before.[break][break]

Just because something is a little broken doesn't mean it can't be beautiful.

[break][break]

Gavin's also not much of an artist, but while sitting with Tempest Quinn and discussing the ocean, he does his best with blues and whites to capture the marvel of Sootopolis' bay beneath a midday sky. He decides against trying to add Pokemon; that would only underline his lack of further artistic ability.

So, hey. Listen.

August's young, broke, and can't actually remember if you're supposed to wash rice before you cook it. He accepted the egg with little fanfare- the object nearly the size of his own head. And then he started reaching for cheese. And tomatoes.

He can't exactly remember if he's the one who manhandled the food stand away from its owner, but the resulting omelette was big enough to feed a few people- and he wasn't averse to sharing the fruits of his labor. [break]

CALVIN'S EGG

Calvin was definitely not anywhere close to being an artist. The brush is clumsy within his hand as he squints at the pale egg, and the paint bleeds and splotches with every stroke. Still, he can't deny that it's fun— It's nothing special, except it is, because he has put not only his beloved Flapple onto the shell, but himself. Which has to be worth bonus points, right? He holds it up proudly to Streusel, letting the grass-dragon-type inspect it, and then yelps when his partner Pokemon attempts to eat it.

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EGG PAINTING CONTEST

EARLY HALLOWEEN

“THAT’S PRETTY POG! WOW. YEAH!”

the unwarranted compliment causes fernando to turn his attention to the speaker. it’s a random trainer off the streets, unfamiliar, and most likely someone just enjoying the spring festivities.

“that’s Melody Miro isn’t it? i listen to all her songs. yeah!”

“ah. now that you mention it…”

“haha! i love the new look. can’t believe she’s still single. whoa! you should totally cyber her silly, fernie.”

“…”

much to his chagrin, all it takes one scowl to scare them off. he leaves the egg on the bench, propped up in between the wooden bars, left to watch as everyone passes by.

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SLATEPORT EGG CONTEST

BARNABY'S ENTRY

PR AT THE PARK

From his stylishly decorated booth (reminiscent of springtime blooms), BARNABY FINCH schmoozed with the public and handed out his eggs. The eggs were dyed a pastel pink, adorned in glitter, and stamped with a little CUTIEFLY holding spring flowers. In the center was Barnaby's Instagram handle, where potential fans could view his content and learn more about his journalism work.

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He hadn't touched a painting set since November, and it'd been even longer before that lapse in judgement. Now he's at it again. After milling around and passing the little eg contest back and forth, Gelatto had shoved him in to collect an egg and some paint. It's not the highest quality oil, nor is this area the most ideal for silent meditation but the vibe was infectious. Seeing so many people of all skills and lifestyle creating sort of made him want to make something too. So he sat, and thought about it, and painted.

It's awkward at first. His hands shake and he's nervous to put color to canvas again, but Gelatto lays his head on Mint's lap to soothe him. With that reassurance he's off, and he eventually forgets how long he's there or how bad of a concept Noemi may say this is. His trip with Tempest Quinn serves for inspiration as he remembered the pirates and the storms. His feet go numb, but he finished anyway. Gelatto lets out a small yip of approval. Mint doesn't...quite hate it.

"Micha, the only reason I've painted this long, is because I try to just paint for myself. Not an audience...also don't drink your paint cup water. Again."

Per usual, luciano fisk is right. The breeze picked up ruffling his hair, and he pretended it was him for a moment. He hoped he and @ciprina were doing alright... Click. He took a photo, sent it to Temp for a laugh and got up. He didn't sign his name, or leave his contact info not wanting to be asked about it.