I SAID, LOOK AT THE BRUSHSTROKES, TISHA! Brusha screams, shaking a ruined piece of paper in Tisha's face. The purple paint on her bristles looks like a menacing scowl. Tisha pushes past her, silent, leaving Brusha fuming alone.
Brusha turns her frustration on you, her voice shaking. Can you believe her? After everything? You... you're new. You know what talent looks like, right? Not like that cleaner. She sighs, crossing her arms, her ego bruised. Tell me my art is better than hers. Do it. (brusha is 21+)