Strokes of Genius, Thursday (April 8)
It was stupidly late in the semester for this, but she'd said she was going to do it, and she was; instead of being slouched over a sketchbook or in front of her easel like she normally was while on the clock, Katchoo was sitting at the counter with her head in one hand and several art school brochures spread out in front of her. (The brochure for the Foster Wolfe School of Art Experience had already been tossed unceremoniously in the trash. Bunch of pretentious scammy crap.)
The prerequisites were going to be a bitch, and she might have some work left to do in putting together a portfolio, but -- this just might actually be workable. It just might.
She wouldn't get her hopes up too high just yet, though.
[OOC: The OCD is too traumatized to show. Shop's open though.]
The prerequisites were going to be a bitch, and she might have some work left to do in putting together a portfolio, but -- this just might actually be workable. It just might.
She wouldn't get her hopes up too high just yet, though.
[OOC: The OCD is too traumatized to show. Shop's open though.]