Cool Girls Don't Wear School Uniforms [OPEN I GUESS]

Kayla cracked the soda can open with a sharp pull of her fingers and let her head fall back, grimacing under the shadow of her hat. Her legs were crossed, and both arms were resting on the bench's back rest. She leaned back, glaring at the soft blue sky with all the pent up frustration she could muster. Summer was in the air. Flowers were in bloom, the sun was shining, birds twittered happily in the bushes and trees, oblivious to the dark clouds swirling around her mind. It was summer, in every sense of the word, and it all taunted her.

School in summer. A year-round school. How fucking ridiculous was that? Kayla brought the can to her lips and tipped it back, trying to drown out her anger. It wasn't ethical. That twat Headmaster in his high tower was some kind of sadist to keep them working, especially through this weather. Crueler to give the new girl detention for just a little property destruction, while Fruitcake got off scot-free. It wasn't her fault he'd gotten so pissy over a bit of water, or that there was some collateral damage when she retaliated. She hadn't even been planning to hurt Mr. Knob Jockey, not until he threatened to kill her and tried to cave her chest in. All the witnesses insisted that she provoked it though, and so she was the one who had to help the Landscaper sweep up all the broken bricks and sawdust.

She drank again. The detention, the ISS, the scolding, the bruises covering her torso and upper thighs, it'd all been worth it, if only just for the look on his face when the electricity started flying. Kayla might have chuckled to herself if it didn't hurt so much. She glanced to her side, catching a glimpse of the discoloration in her arm, partially hidden by a short black sleeve. Crushed with your own clothes and covered in bruises, five minutes after getting to school. It's going to be a hell of a year. A flicker of irritation made a lone blue spark pop over her shoulder, beside her head. Kayla grit her teeth and clenched her eyes shut. Against all her best efforts, more sparks zapped into existence around her head, fizzing in the air for a few moments before going out with a loud crack! "I swear to god..."

Callum Quinn was not a frequently angry individual. He didn't hold a disdainful personality; he didn't possess a constant contempt for the society around him. That being said, the boy was angry on that typical summer afternoon. He was angry that his parents sent him to this awful American school, and was angry that he could not carry out his occupation. He was embarrassed and broke, having spent more time then he would have liked advertising a magic that the people of Rosebury did not care for. They had seen his tricks before, and those who had not were kilometers away. Beata Academy was in the middle of bumfuck nowhere! The boy felt the inside of his pocket, tracing his fingers along the rough surface of his wealth, and for the first time, he understood its limitations. Callum knew it would run out, and that he could not perform any more shows to prevent this. He would be broke and would have to get a real job, lest he constrain himself to a cafeteria diet.

And so, Callum Quinn was an angry individual. He walked down the scenic pathway of the academy's courtyard, ignoring the blooming flowers and the chatter of birds in the oak branches. He wanted to find an alternate way of tricking people, stealing their money with a miniscule amount of true labor. It was thievery via invisibility that entered his head when the crack of electricity broke his train of thought. As the sound stopped this train, it stopped the boy's fast-paced walk as well. Halting, he turned to the source, a girl with an irritated expression to her glaring eyes. To angry to care for a possible retaliation, he stated, rather grimly, "Learn to control that, or you'll hurt someone."

The voice drew her attention. Another accent. Everyone in this fucking school had an accent, and everyone was doing her best to piss her off. Kayla turned her eyes on him, feeling a surge of irritation. Electricity ran down her arm and around the can in her hands, and more sparks popped by her head when her gaze found his. Crackcrackcrackcrack. "What?" Who the hell was this jackass, anyways? Was he really trying to lecture her? She tightened her grip around the aluminum, leaving dents in the metal as volts gathered near her fingers. "I can control it," she said, venom and indignation laced with every word. She leaned back again, closing her eyes. More sparks, one loud CRACK. "But maybe I'll hurt you anyways if you don't fuck off and mind your own business, Paddy."

Callum's smile was caustic. "It is my business if you are setting off electricity all around the bloody promenade." he said wryly. He was fuming; judging by her expression before the confrontation, however, he was not surprised. Stubborn and unwilling to comply to her suggestion to 'fuck off,' the boy sat across the path, on a bench identical to the one Kayla was sitting on. He was not going to back down, not from this cunt. He had nowhere to be, he was out of work. He took a deep breath, looking around the area for any food dispensaries. "I'll supervise you, make sure you don't cause an incident, love." suggested he.

Was this kid autistic or something? Kayla opened her eyes again and watched him with a look of complete incredulity as he sat himself down on the bench opposite to her. What a nosy little shitbag. Electricity danced around her fingers as she took another sip from her soda. "What are you going to do? Watch me until I stop? You don't have anything better to do?" A lopsided grin spread to her face just watching him. Who the hell even did something like that? She lazily gestured off into the distance, can still in hand. "Who pissed in your Lucky Charms this morning? Go get a hobby or something. You're not supposed to harass girls in the park." For a moment she had to wonder if Ireland and Australia had their own supernatural schools, or if she'd have to deal with these pricks for the next couple of years.

Now he was really stuck. Still, the reaction he was receiving was quite funny, as it was one he was expecting. He said nothing to her for a moment, withdrawing a book from the bag he had sat next to him. Truthfully, Callum didn't have anything better to do. He was planning on reading his novel on a bench far away, somewhere closer to the building, but he didn't want to back away from something he had started. The regret of a diminishing anger settled in, but he did not show it, turning the pages of the epic in his hands. Perhaps he shouldn't have confronted the girl. Oh well, he had to live with it now.

Kayla raised an eyebrow and took another sip as he pulled out his book. Really, what kind of person even acted like this? Was he actually mentally retarded or something? She looked away, to where crackling volts raced along her hand, tickling her skin. Even if she wanted to stop, she couldn't. The girl snapped, sending fizzing blue flares into the air. "Tch. I really hate people like you, y'know." Kayla drank again and looked off into the sky, following a lazily drifting puffy white cloud. Her voice was calm, even if her words were stung. "No one likes a smug little goody-two-shoes. Why do you feel the need to snoop around and police people? Why don't you shove that book up your ass and mind your own business?"

Callum peered over his book, eying her electrical surges with an irked glance. "You look like the type of person who hates all people." said he, looking back down and flipping through the pages of the novel rather jadedly. "Why do I need your approval?"
It seemed to be correct that the girl was unable to control the sparks she produced. When she appeared to be angry, they seemed to intensify. He noted this and attempted to keep calmer. Perhaps it would convey? It seemed to be working, but appearance often differed from reality.

CRACKCRACKCRACK. If Kayla had any patience to begin with, it had fast run out. She grit her teeth and clenched her eyes shut, clearly resisting the urge to stand up and kick him in the pace. "No, I just hate cunts." In her book that meant 'most people,' but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction by admitting it. "And because you're the one shoving yourself into my life right now. No one told you to do anything, but you're going around being all anal retentive and pompous anyways." Kayla pointed at him with soda still in hand. "And if somebody did, then you're just being somebody's little pet. School's out for the day. You could be doing anything you want, and you're sitting here watching me instead." She took a small sip from the can and glared at him, shooting daggers from underneath her cap. "Well, listen up. You're not my fucking babysitter, and I don't need some Irish cocksucker to tell me what to do. So take the potato out of your ass and loosen up for once. Everyone'll be happier for it."

"I'm not Irish." said Quinn in a vaguely Irish accent. It had become a regional thing in Northern Ireland, to not identify yourself with your neighbors. The two sides of the island were not exactly the friendliest of neighbors. There was history between them, and so telling the girl that seemed necessary to Quinn at the time. "And I'm not watching you, I'm reading."
At least he was trying to. As Quinn calmed down from his previous anger and distracted himself on messing with the hazardous bitch across from him, he realized that the lightning she was emitting was becoming rather frequent. Despite the lash-out being fueled by a furiosity, it had its origins, and that was a peevedness with reckless miscontrol of a power. If he was fueling that, then even his weak basis for being there was crumbling. And so, the boy shut his book, rather loudly at that, and picked up his bag. "You seem to have the situation under control, love." he said dryly. "I'll go. Try not to zap any birds out of the sky once I leave."

He began walking down the pathway, book in hand and an old train of thought picking up at the station it left off in. So about his old ways...

Kayla raised an eyebrow and then cracked a lopsided grin as he finally slammed his book shut and stood to leave. Fucking finally. Still, she couldn't help but chuckle, watching his face. "Yes you fucking are," she said, gesturing at him with the can. Was he in denial? It was obvious in the way he talked, the way he acted. At least, she was pretty sure nobody in America acted like that. Retarded or foreign? A question for the philosophers. In any case, the accent confirmed it. Unless he was some poser with a pretty convincing fake. "I'm not deaf. You sound like you just walked right off the set of a Lucky Charms commercial." She should have just dropped it and let him go, but she couldn't stop herself from trying to goad him a bit more. Even if he, somehow, wasn't Irish, it was too easy of a target to just let slip by unnoticed. "Don't get drunk and beat your wife on your way to your dorm, Paddy."