Kali is supposed to be a fairly bright girl. She's supposed to be talented, and going places. Many people have told her this. But she can't help but grumble in frustration as she turns back to her easel and tips over yet. another. rack.<br/><br/>With a sigh, she leans down to clean up the worst of the paint, and tosses it all in the trash with a heavy thunk. Usually, she just knocks over racks of pencils, brushes, sometimes she knocks over her water. It's supposed to be fairly common in beginners and fade with time, but despite the years of practice she has at her art, she still does it. It's not so much the floor she's worried about as having to go out and get more supplies. Wiping her hands off on her faded, paint-splattered jeans, she looks over her canvas and sighs. Her bare feet, just as paint-splotched as the rest of her lean figure, pad almost silently across the studio.<br/><br/>The problem, she reflects as she washes her hands and slides on her flip-flops, is that supplies are so damned expensive. The studio apartment she's rented above one of the little cafes in town is cheap, as are most of her bills, and she can get by on a part-time job. The supplies tend to eat up a fair amount of her budget, though, and wasting them grates on her. Shaking her hands free of water, she turns around to survey her apartment, then grabs her wallet and keys and heads out the door.<br/><br/>Her long hair is straight and shiny. When she's very involved in something, or when it's very warm, she weaves the black strands into a braid that, when finished, reaches past her hips... but today she's left it loose to fan out behind her as she hurries across the town to the arts store. If she can just get some recognition this summer, she can skip expensive art school altogether; it seems like a waste anyway. Her parents were angry when she told them she'd be taking atleast a year off to devote to painting and sculpture, and they haven't spoken to her since. But Kali knows. She<em>knows</em>it's the right decision.<br/><br/>Her dusky skin stands out against the splattered white button-down shirt she filched from Sam a while ago. It had been on the small side for his broadening shoulders, so she had relieved her boyfriend of the need to stuff it in the back of his closet and forget about it. He's much taller than her five feet and four inches, so the tails of the shirt would hang down almost to her knees if she didn't tie them off and tuck them into her jeans. The sleeves stay rolled up and cuffed out of the way, but occasionally those shirttails come untucked and get in her way. She considered cutting them off, but decided against it, as that would give her nothing at all to tie it out of the way, and she has no skill at all with a needle.<br/><br/>With a small wave to the old man behind the counter, Kali finds her way toward the rows upon rows of paints in the back of the art shop, her dark green eyes scanning the colours quickly. She remembers what she tipped over but she'd been considering replacing the shade of red she had anyhow. "Hmmh." Undecided, she picks up a much darker, almost rust shade of red and holds the jar up to the light, furrowing her brow as she thinks it over.