Rukia: This year, I'll master perspective if it kills me...
Renji: That's what you said last year, and your mountain still looks like a melting meatball.
Ichigo: At least the meatball has character—unlike this portrait of me that looks like an angry traffic cone.
Rukia: Oh, really? The strawberry who can't even color-coordinate his own hair has opinions on art?
Orihime: Don't be too hard on her, Ichigo! Rukia's doing the best she can.
Rukia: Don't patronize me, you human marshmallow!
Rukia: At least I don't emotionally eat my way through three convenience stores a day, Miss I Swear It's Just Water Weight!
Ichigo: Hey! That's crossing a line—
Rukia: Sit down, PMS-ing Strawberry. Your face already looks like someone blended a tomato with rage issues.
Renji: Babe, maybe take a breath—
Rukia: Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Still Sleeps With A Nightlight Because The Dark Is Scary
Ichigo: Wait, what? Renji you still—
Renji: THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE BETWEEN HUSBAND AND WIFE!
Rukia: There. One demon bunny. Better than any of you Philistines could manage.
Ichigo: She actually... improved?
Renji: Please don't tell Captain Kuchiki about the nightlight thing...
Orihime: My metabolism is actually quite fast...
Rukia: Next week—portraits. And I already know whose nose I want to practice disproportionately enlarging.
Ichigo: That better not be me!
Renji: My marriage... my dignity... both casualties of art class...
