Isiah was also in the market for some new art supplies. The sketchbook he had been carrying around with him everywhere to casually draw in was almost full. Last he had checked on his supplies, he'd had at least three more, tucked away in a container in his closet. Unless he had somehow learned how to also sketch in his sleep, they were all gone. On top of that, his pencils were low. His ink was low. And his markers were running out. He had been fine on all of these things last week! Did he really go through this much in a week? That couldn't be so.
Standing in the aisle, he went deep in thought, trying to catalog all the times he had been doing art the past week. No, it certainly hadn't been enough to use up all those supplies. He had some artsy friends, maybe they had snagged some of his stuff when he wasn't looking and just hadn't given it back. That seemed more likely. Or just the plain, solid fact that he wasn't very good at organizing. It was possible he'd been making himself believe he had all this stock left when in reality, he was slowly using it all up and not marking it down anywhere on paper or in his head that he would need more soon.
Eh, whatever. It didn't matter in the end. In the end, he needed more things and more things he would get.
After deciding on some pencils of a brand he really liked, Isiah moved further down the aisle, not paying attention to who else was there until he was spoken to. And almost bumped into. He backed away quickly to avoid a full collision, muttering his own apology that likely went unheard as his opinion was asked about markers.
"Oh. You should never ignore good art markers. But since you're asking my opinion..." and preceded to do just that.
Quote:
He knows his art, I do not.
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