Hey again! Sorry for the delay. I have no excuses.

Poet's chapter was remarkably easy to write. He feels a lot of the uncertainty any writer does. I also believe he's a little more introverted than the show gives him credit for, so I tried to incorporate that into his chapter. Once again, all the mistakes are solely mine.

Media: Poet has not as of yet (to my knowledge) had a part in the movies, so he is quite obviously based from the cartoon. I may or may not have taken some artistic license with his inner feelings.

Thank you all for being so patient with me and my awful updating skills. Without any further ado, please enjoy this chapter!

Smurf y'all later!

To say Poet was uncomfortable was a gross understatement. Seated on a flat-topped mushroom in an enclosed dome made of leaves surrounded by near thirty fairies? No, a closer comparison was Poet felt quite like stinkweed on one of Greedy's cakes.

He sat by himself, legs drawn up, watching the flurry of movement around him. Fairies flitted about, conversing with others or doing what seemed to be preparations, though he knew not for what. There was a considerable amount of velvet bags being handed around, sagging heavy with their contents. By nature, a thousand possibilities of their contents flooded to mind, each with a specific storyline, appearing almost instantly and developing themselves into full-out stories. Poet quickly filed them away for future revision before turning his attention back to the activities. All at once, he noticed that there were less fairies hovering above him and more on the mushroom stools popping up all over the dome. All were turned towards the central risen stage on the far end. Intrigued, Poet studied it with an author's precision.

Before he had the chance to delve into deep description, a presence on his left caused him to turn. There, sitting on the same stool as him but a respectful distance away, was a fairy dressed in all white with brown hair that hung longer than he'd ever seen in his life. Their eyes met and both parties smiled, albeit a little awkwardly, and looked away. Then, to be polite, Poet introduced himself. "Hello," she turned her eyes to him again, "I'm Poet."

She smiled, a little shyly. "My name's Lyria." They descended into a silence that was somewhat less awkward but still uneasy.

Finally, Poet asked, "What are they doing?" This was half a real question and half an effort to break the silence that hung between them like one of Gargamel's rope traps.

Lyria answered without taking her gaze from the stage. "We're almost ready to begin practice."

"Practice?"

She nodded. "Story-telling talents get together near the time of the blue moon to exchange stories and provide feedback to others. It takes most of the day, but it's definitely one of the most anticipated days of the year amongst our talent group."

Poet said nothing, but something akin to jealousy bubbled in his stomach. It must be nice to have so many people who share your interests and are able to give you suggestions to better your craft. Poet suddenly felt more alone here than ever. He tried not to squirm uncomfortably, almost eager to get away from these fairies and back to someone he knew. Smurf, even Farmer would be appreciated right now.

He attempted to make the best of it. "Are... are you going up?"

Lyria's cheeks flushed a light pink and she dipped her head. "I had one idea that I wanted to perform, but I'm not sure..."

Poet knew the feeling. All writers had it. On impulse, he set one hand over Lyria's shoulder, nearly blushing red himself as he acutely registered the heat of her skin against his hand. "You should perform it."

She looked at him, eyes brimming with something like hope. "You think I should?"

He nodded. "I'd like to hear it." With a start, he realized what he was doing. Poet, in the village, was not an exceptionally outgoing Smurf, preferring to keep to himself on the outskirts as opposed to being in the middle of the hubbub. Due to this, other Smurfs generally left him alone, even to the point where they actively avoided him because of his temperament. Every time he attempted to read them something he'd written, he was pushed away with excuses of time deprivation or a previous engagement. Not even Papa Smurf offered the encouragement that was so precious in his craft. For years, Poet had been on his own, and here, urging Lyria to go onstage and do what she loved, he was giving someone else what he never had. Support.

All this came in a blow, and, as Poet was contemplating this, he realized he hadn't yet removed his hand from Lyria's shoulder. He jerked it off quickly, as though he'd been burned, and both he and Lyria chuckled nervously.

"Well... I guess I will." She said. Before he could reply, the lights dimmed as the opening of the dome was slid closed. Clever, Poet thought. I wonder if Handy's seen that. Any fairies still in the air had settled on the mushrooms and were watching the stage expectantly.

Poet, unwilling to break the dead silence that had descended over the assembled beings, watched as absolutely nothing happened for a few tense seconds. Then, with a start and a stream of sparkling dust, one Sparrow Man darted to the front then turned to face the crowd. He began a tale about a monstrous beast living in the heart of a spooky tree, preying on the fairies that roamed near. Anyone who tried to tame it would be found the next day, stumbling about with their wings torn off and no memory of what had occurred. Poet watched in wonder and curiosity as the Sparrow Man reached into the bag by his side and loosed a handful of shimmering golden dust into the air.

His emotion melted to shock as the dust took the shape of a monster, shrouded in shadow despite the fact it was made with the glowing powder. It opened its maw in a roar that, though silent, sent a shiver of fear through the assembled beings.

Poet leaned over to Lyria. "What is that stuff?"

"Pixie dust," she responded, "We use it to make our stories feel real."

Poet gulped. He could see what she meant.

The tale continued with a band of fairies marching out to drive the beast from their homeland. Poet only half-listened, eyes trained on the magnificent gold actors performing this play. They made no sound, but as the fight between the beast and the fairies progressed he could've sworn he'd heard the clang of metal or the enraged, unearthly growl screamed by the creature.

After heated battle and description so explicit that it made even Poet wince, the band of fairies was defeated, pulled into the beast's lair, never to be heard from again.

All at once, the golden players vanished as the Sparrow Man swept them all back into his bag with a wave of his hand. He bowed and the theatre applauded wildly, Poet one of the loudest. "That was smurfmazing!" He vented to Lyria, who was smiling at his excitement.

"Tor is one of the best at telling scary stories." Lyria shivered a little. "That one gave me chills."

Poet hadn't understood a little of the context, but he couldn't deny that he'd been right scared as well. He was glad it wasn't dark outside.

After Tor came a fairy who told a tale of star-crossed lovers who couldn't be together because their parents forbade it, then was another who told a riddle that Poet was sure even Papa Smurf couldn't have figured out. After a Sparrow Man who recited a poem about harvest time, there was a lull in volunteers.

Poet quickly turned to Lyria. "You should go now." He tilted his head towards the empty stage.

Instantly, her insecure posture returned. She kept her eyes down as she asked, "would you really like to hear it?" He nodded vigorously.

Something overcame Lyria, and her wary expression hardened to one of determination. In one swift movement, she became airborne and shot to the stage before anyone else could take her place. When she faced the audience, her determination faded somewhat. Poet's heart seized, knowing exactly what she was feeling. Come on, Lyria. You can do this.

Her eyes steeled over as she regained confidence. With a deep breath, she began.

She sang a tale of a mystic pearl that could heal any injury, voice dipping and flowing through the story like a leaf on the wind, clear and sweet. She sang of the mysterious mermaids who created the pearl and hid it away in an underwater cave. Mermaids made of pixie dust floated around the theatre, moving in time with her song, long hair flowing and tails flicking in play. Fish darted about and seaweed swayed near the ground. It was all so realistic Poet had to remind himself he was still on solid ground.

All too soon, the tale came to an end and the underwater scene vanished back into Lyria's bag. Applause roared as she seated herself next to Poet. Her face was flushed in timid modesty, but her eyes sparkled. She cast her eyes to the Smurf beside her. "How was it?"

"Words cannot describe!" Poet was grinning madly. He loved this. Never had he felt so at home, so comfortable with his passion for writing and storytelling. When he saw what those around him could do, his mind was opened to possibilities beyond what he could imagine on his own. He wished he could stay here forever, listening to stories.

Adrenaline fueled his actions and, before he could register what he was doing, Poet was suddenly onstage with every single eye in the theatre trained on him.

His energy died almost instantly, panic settling over his heart instead. There were whispers amongst the fairies, no doubt wondering what the newcomer was doing interrupting their proceedings. For a tense moment, he stood frozen in front of strangers, muscles rigid and eyes wide.

Then his gaze landed on Lyria. She was smiling, glow a happy golden, and she offered him a double thumbs-up.

Poet's anxiety melted like snow in the summer and he loosened his stance. He began a story he'd written years ago, about a bird who wanted desperately to fly but couldn't. He lost himself in his words, describing the tale without the use of pixie dust. He didn't register all the stares fixated on him, concentrating only on his own voice.

The story ended, the bird flew with the help of all its friends, and the theatre was plunged once more into silence.

Nothing happened for so long that Poet began to wonder if he'd done something wrong, or if his tale was so awful the audience was speechless. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks already, feel the terrible sting that so often accompanied his poems back home, when the few Smurfs who had gathered to listen walked away without a word.

Who was he kidding? These fairies were masters of the art of writing, honing and perfecting their craft for who knows how long. They painted pictures in the sky, for smurf's sake, and then this dumb, untalented creature shows up and burns so badly that they can feel the heat. What are they supposed to say? Darkness expanded in his chest, the smothering feeling of being completely alone consuming him from the inside. Crushed, Poet prepared to trudge off the stage and crawl under a rock somewhere, but jumped in surprise as it started to thunder.

All at once, he realized it wasn't thunder. It was applause.

The fairies were grinning widely, claps accompanied by cheers and shouts of approval. Stunned, Poet gawked. Then a smile stretched his face so wide it near split in half. He took a bow, then trotted to his seat, head high.

Lyria was clapping madly as well, glow a pink tinge. "That was incredible, Poet! I've never seen someone describe like that without the use of pixie dust!"

Poet tried not to flush the same shade as her glow. "It... took a while to perfect." He looked at her hopefully. "Did you like it?"

She nodded. "I loved it to bits.

A shout came up from above the general noise, "Let's hear it for the new guy!"The cheers and claps started up again, twice as loud as before, and Poet could barely keep from laughing in giddy happiness.

He realized then that he didn't feel quite as alone as before.