Cloudy Sky: The Unlucky Thirteen

1 | chaotically aligned

Silver Wolves

The sun glares at the green field behind the squat pastel green building, as if wishing it bad luck. The pastel green lends the building a sickly look, not necessarily making it seem cheerful, or matching the muted green of the grass, flat against the earth. The creek winding through the field branches out from a larger river, and this seems to be drying quickly. A scattering of trees lean over the creek, desperate to observe it before it dries into a dusty depression in the land. And this it will do, until the next rain, where it will flood, rain pouring out onto the banks.

Solis's rays are not this bright in most Worlds, but it is the Fourth World that is tied to the sun that has lit fires in the forests of the Second World, charring its delicate foliage to ash even though Leleith cannot see Solis.

The four that are clustered together under the shade of the single tree that has most of its foliage, and where most of its leaves are not brown and dead, seem to be immune to the temperature that has driven most of Lonely Star's residents inside.

The emerald–haired girl is poring over a notebook as she lies on her stomach, her feet dangling in the creek water. Even that is warm. One hand clutches a well–used pencil, the other pushes her glasses further up her sweaty nose. Green eyes peer from behind the lenses as she twitches the pencil again. "You're gonna fall on me," she remarks without looking up.

A redhaired boy has gripped the nearest branch that is near the ground and is trying to haul himself up the tree. He's failing in this. Innocent brown eyes widen as he glances back towards the girl, "Cappy. How dare you lack faith in my skills?"

"Your skills lie in arson, not tree–climbing," Caprice Isonoe Deadsoul responds absently, underlining something with her pencil as she pushes her glasses up again. "Wait —" her voice is suddenly sharp as she slowly and deliberately puts her pencil down, nearly puncturing the notebook with the tip. "I've told you to stop calling me Cappy, in the name of the Ascended!"

"And I," Ari Wyldfyr says, attempting to mimic Caprice's serious tone, "don't give a flying or non—flying shit."

Caprice's eyes flash with suppressed fury. "I'll stab you in the throat with this pencil," she murmurs before continuing her work, underlining sentences and pushing her glasses back up her nose every so often.

"Please do," Ari remarks with a small smile of satisfation at Caprice's seething frustration, extremely clear on her face.

A girl with white–blond hair lies on her back, arms and legs spread out as pale blue eyes look up to the dark green sky. Her lips form a delicate, innocent O as she murmurs, "Cappy's getting worked up."

Caprice glares at the notebook and actually punctures the paper with her pencil tip. "You do know that exam week starts in ... three days?"

Leilani Lydia Inez doesn't move from her spreadeagled position as she states simply, "And I'm failing. You need a 60 to pass, right?"

An evil smirk spreads across Caprice's face as she counters, "No. It's 65, and you got, ah, 52 on the practice exam?"

Leilani huffs, finally moving one hand to wave it in the air dismissively. "I could do better than that. That's not graded."

"Losers," a tall brunette snickers. The girl sits with her back against the tree trunk, her bright cyan eyes reflecting the smirk painted across her lips. "Also, that is graded. It's stored in your records."

"Well crap," Leilani says, but she doesn't sound as if she means it. "Cari, wanna raise hell?"

Carina Darktale flicks her hair over her shoulder with a small giggle. "I'm sorry, you think we're the first to think of raising hell? No chance. We'll have to clean up after the Hell Zoners, who are probably either raising hell right now or have just finished doing that."