Wow I managed to finish a oneshot. So anyway I'm addicted to Grand Bazaar now. I love Angelo; I guess I can relate to him somewhat because I'm an ~arteest~ too!

I've seen various official names for the main girl, but I didn't particularly like any of them :P so I ended up choosing my own, which is Aria. It means air in Italian, so it's also symbolic haha.

Hope you like it!

Inspiration

Angelo tapped the paintbrush against the crook of his arm as he considered his next move. Every now and then, he extracted his hand and let it hover uncertainly over the paint palette which sat beside him on a small side table. He had his choice of blues, reds, yellows, black and white, and every other shade in between. All he needed was to finally make that first stroke.

The canvas remained blank.

Angelo let out a sigh. It had been that way for weeks now.

The urge to create was very much there, but the burning question was what to create. His muse hid around Zephyr Town, in the natural beauty of the flowers, the river and trees. But lately, when he'd go out searching for inspiration, all he'd come back with was a bad sunburn. His workshop reflected his struggle: the floor was littered with balled up pages and half-finished clay models, and he'd even taken a palette knife to one of his canvases.

Every time Angelo sketched or painted, sculpted or carved, the end result just didn't satisfy him. Something always looked off or awkward; not that anyone else could see it – Daisy especially still marvelled at the precision of his pencil strokes and his ability to recreate real life onto paper. Something was always… missing.

Artist's block – the bane of his profession.

Angelo placed his paintbrush down on the side table. Surrendering, once again. There was no use in forcing himself, though. Nothing aggravated a creative slump more than that.

After putting his materials away, Angelo wandered about his house at a loss of what to do. He paused in front of a bookshelf, running his fingers over the golden embossed letterings on the spines. Perhaps he'd read a book and catch up on his art history?

Just as he pulled a book from the shelf, there was a quick knock at the door before it suddenly swung open, "Hello~? Is anybody home?" – Barging-in unannounced was a common occurrence in Zephyr Town, not that he minded.

Angelo swerved around, forgetting about his frustration and the book he held in his hand. The blonde woman in the entranceway had her back to him, in the process of shutting the door. The scent that wafted inside with her made Angelo's stomach growl.

She turned around. Angelo smiled and raised his hand in a wave, "Hey, Aria."

Aria held out a small container, "I brought you some lunch!"

It was his favourite omelette rice.

Aria, the local farmer girl, had moved to Zephyr Town last Spring. She had arrived just at the right time, when the situation with the bazaar was looking its bleakest, and so the whole town had welcomed her into their close-knit community with open arms. It took her a while to get a hang of things, but with patience and persistence, she built herself a respectable farm and helped to reignite the town's spirit.

Their first meeting had been painful – literally; Aria, who had been too engrossed with chasing a grasshopper, didn't see Angelo sitting in the shade of a tree and had tripped over him. But from then onwards, they found themselves fast becoming friends. When Angelo told her of his fondness for natural beauty, Aria began giving him bunches of wild flowers. When she discovered his sweet tooth, she'd drop by with foreign candies and chocolates bought at the bazaar, which they shared while they walked around town. She listened to his artistic ramblings, even though she admitted she didn't really understand; it was the passion she enjoyed hearing. And sometimes, when they sat together near the banks of the river, she'd fall asleep, her head resting on his shoulder. It was those moments he loved the most, just being near her, surrounded by beauty and peace.

"So how is it?"

Angelo jolted out of his trance, his fork half-way to his slack-jawed mouth. Aria was staring at him expectantly.

"Oh. It's great like always!" He said hastily, before shovelling the forkful into his mouth, "Mmmm delicious."

She smiled, "I'm glad."

Angelo had also been there when Aria developed an interest in culinary arts after her first time at the annual town Cooking Festival. She began bringing homemade dishes over almost everyday. Which worked out perfectly for Angelo; he often forgot to eat when his muse was on fire. This meant he had to experience the more… interesting results of her cooking experiments, but thankfully, Aria had come so far since then – though, Angelo had been skeptical at first, suspecting that she was merely buying food from the Zephyr Café.

"How's the painting coming along?" Aria asked.

"Let me present to you, my newest masterpiece," Angelo gestured a hand towards the easel in the corner, "A polar bear in a snowstorm."

Aria stifled a giggle with her palm, but then she frowned sympathetically, "Still no inspiration, huh?"

"Nope," The artist sighed, "But there's not much I can do but wait it out."

"So, this means you're not busy then?"

"Hmm, I dunno, I was planning on staring at my blank canvas for a few more hours," He said teasingly.

"Angelooo?"

"Yes, Aria?"

Batting her eyelashes, Aria leant in across the table, "Could you do me a really big favour?"

Angelo waved his fork at her, "Ahah, I knew it. This is bribery food!"

"It's not difficult or anything, and it won't take long, I promise!" Aria pleaded.

He laughed, "Of course I will."

"Yay, oh thank you!" She reached out and overlapped both of her hands over his. The contact was electric.

Angelo bowed his head over his plate, hoping she wouldn't notice the red flush creeping over his cheeks, "Uh, so what do you want me to do for you?"

"Finish eating first. You'll see when we get back to my place," Aria replied with a wink, "Oh, and bring some of your paints with you."

It turned out, what Aria needed help with was the one thing the artist was struggling with most.

After Angelo had cleared his plate, they headed over to Aria's farm on the outskirts of town. Aria opened the door to her house, and the first thing he saw was a sea of white; her living room floor seemed to have been swallowed by a large sheet. The farmer went on to explain that Mayor Felix had moved her to a bigger bazaar stall, so she wanted to spruce things up a little with a colourful banner.

"Problem is, I don't have an artistic bone in my body." Aria poked out her tongue.

They were kneeling, side by side, over the sheet, with an array of small jars filled with paint scattered around them. Angelo had also brought along two old shirts for them to wear over their clothes as they worked. When asked what kind of design she wanted, Aria stipulated that, as long as the name of her farm was printed in clear letters, Angelo could, "Go crazy!"

"I think everyone can draw," Angelo said as he painted a circle, then another circle, and gave it a few distinctive black splodges – Aria's cow, Bessie.

"Just not everyone can draw well," She countered.

He shook his head, "Skill doesn't matter. It's the emotion behind the piece that is most important."

Aria swiped at his cheek with her paintbrush, leaving a short green stripe on his skin, "Such a text book answer."

Their attention returned to the banner. Aria stayed within the safe range of the scenery, using a wider paintbrush to fill in areas of green, brown and blue; the hills, the trees, the river. Being more skilled, Angelo was put in charge of farm animals and crops. He'd drawn a house with cows and chickens occupying the pasture outside, and filled the rest of the empty space with simplistic representations of various seasonal fruits and vegetables.

While they worked, Angelo found that his eyes began to wander. Aria never noticed him watching. Her lips always pursed together whenever she was doing her best to focus on something, and her fair eyebrows creased in determination. He took in the way the light played on her hair, which spilled over her shoulder when she tried to reach the far corners of the sheet. The ends had been coated with green and brown. There were blots of colour on her face and forearms too, and the shirt she wore was oversized and stained. Still, he couldn't think of any sight more endearing.

"All righty then, Mr Artist, what do you think my masterpiece means?" Aria asked some time later. They'd stopped for a break and to let the paint dry for a while, but the farmer had been insistent that Angelo not go near her side of the banner. "It's a surprise!" She'd said.

The artist looked over. Compared to his side, it was more unrefined, but he could easily recognise her representations of the town – the waterfall especially. She had painted two stick figures near the bottom corner. The lines were shaky and the shapes weren't uniform, but each wore a distinctive hat – one pink and purple, and the other orange – and their arms were melded together, as if holding hands.

His lips moved, though no voice came out. Angelo felt her hand intertwine with his.

"Oh, it looks great! This'll attract plenty of customers, I'm sure!" Aria sang happily.

Her head turned towards him and his heart skipped a beat. She was so close.

Aria giggled, "And look at us. We're covered in paint."

He swallowed, "Art is… messy business."

"But that's what makes it so fun."

"Haha, I guess."

Suddenly, Aria leant forward, pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Thanks for the help."

The sensation was like a feather against his skin. Angelo's heart went into overdrive, beating so loudly that it echoed through his ears.

"A-Anytime!"

Later on, when he and Aria had parted ways for the day and he'd arrived back home, Angelo resumed staring at his canvas. His fingers brushed over the paintbrush set on the table beside him, until he finally decided on a wide tipped bristle with a medium thickness.

The brush tip was dipped into a pot of golden ochre paint.

Angelo swept it across the canvas. His hand darted around in quick, precise movements, and it didn't take him long to block in the shapes and outlines of what he saw in his mind.

His muse had returned.