>I've never been one for fine arts.
>Or school, for that matter
>So imagine my surprise when I'm spending my afternoon visiting a arts school.
>Ever since I moved to America, I've been trying to expand my horizons.
>I find myself staring at this one specific piece.
>A rolling hillside, splashed with colors.
>The more I stare, the more I can feel the bellowing cool wind, and the smell of the floors.
>'Olivia Halford's huh? Quite the artist.
>My concentration is broken by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.
>I see two figures dart past me, one sitting in a wheelchair.
>Before I can really digest the situation, a intense force knocks itself into me.
>I stumble back a little, but manage to keep myself upright, while the person who bumped into me is on the floor.
>A red para, with even redder eyes.
>Veins bubbling with boiling blood
>She looks up at me, stumbling to her feet, her spiked tail swinging madly.
>"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!"
>She's clearly irritated.
>I hear the metal clang of the elevator nearby, the para's body instinctively trying to rush to the door
>'Why were you chasing those two?'
>I ask, my body still blocking her path.
>She doesn't even answer, her hand closing into a tight knit fist, approaching my head with terminal velocity.
>I sway to the side, causing her miss entirely.
>My shoulders tense up, my back arching forward as my adrenaline starts to pump.
>Guess I'm picking another fight.
>She's a heavy hitter, throwing her entire weight into her punches.
>I stick to the defensive, bobbing and weaving her lethargic blows.
>Her tail does catch my off-guard, the spikes ripping off pieces of my track-suit.
>Although, she seems to lose balance when she swings her spiky appendage.
>I back away, feigning a retreat into the wall.
>With one defiant thrust of her tail, I dodge downward, the spikes embedding themselves in the concrete.
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