I can make the bad guys good for a weekend (Quinn)

Ten days of being in Orlando was enough to make Adelaide Goshawk realize the misfortune of those who lived here all year round. Truly, this city, no, this entire state, was designed to personally torture all who resided here with its lax laws, general disregard of human behavior and the surprisingly thin line between dressing for the day and not doing that and still going about one's day.

Thankfully, the redhead didn't have enough time to experience the city more than what she saw from the window of her five star hotel. And that was just the way she preferred it. On days when she wasn't at the tournament, judging athletes of various skills, she was in her hotel room, pretending she was somewhere far away, somewhere green and rich with horses and their foals.

The tournament she was here under the guise of was into it's first week with most of the rabble disqualified in the first four days. The one team that had dominated was from the abhorrent pizza party at the pregame function. The Canadian and African champions worked well together, winning all three of their matches in the round robin of duelists that came and went. They were easy winners, easy targets to bet on, easy enough to score.

And then there was the American champion.  

When she had first met him, Adelaide wasn't sure what to make of the blonde. Now though, she was almost firmly convinced he was overrated. If the man had any enthusiasm for his sport, she had yet to see it. His three fights, she had been told, were hampered with an unfortunate teammate in tow that did little for Quinn King's fighting style. Yet the Irish woman had not seen a glimpse of that style yet. After barely winning his first two rounds, the man had shown up hungover and literally conjured an armchair to nap on while his teammate tried and failed to fend off both opponents.

Quinn had qualified to proceed, by two points alone. And the number could not have been by design, a mere causality of luck she supposed.

But going back to her hotel and doing her homework had revealed that lady luck often favored the American champion that way. So perhaps there was a design element to it after all?

With the first round over, the combatants that remained had been given three days to rest, relax or heal form their injuries. In some cases, all three. Seeing as the American champion had not sustained any lasting damage - that she could identify anyway - Adelaide had seen fit to send him an invitation to dinner. Meeting him amidst a crowd hadn't revealed much, seeing him fight had been almost a joke, so it was now time to arrange a meeting of a more private nature. Perhaps he was more imposing and worthy of the legend face to face than he was in most crowded settings.

But somehow, Adelaide doubted it.

Still, she was not here to let personal inferences cloud her judgement. She had a job to do and a message to get across. So Quinn King had been invited to the Presidential Suite of her hotel where a glamorous dining area had been arranged for two. Specially trained chefs had prepared a carefully cultivated menu and the dress code had been made clear. Adelaide herself now waited in the antechamber for the six time atonal champion, her slender frame swathed in a dark green wrap dress that made her glittering eyes even more prominent. Her vibrant red hair rested in a semi casual up-do and a single strand of pearls adorned her throat.

The balance between looking inviting and aloof was a delicate one, and Adelaide had mastered it to an art form. Ladies had their game faces too, they were just far more attractive than most athletes.

Somewhere in the distance, the clock struck six thirty, denoting the time Quinn King was supposed to arrive. Tardiness said a lot about someone, and Adelaide looked forwards to what his arrival said about her guest who was due any moment now.

Well, the first round of the tournament came and went perfectly.  I leaped into the next round by a staggering amount leaving everyone talking about it.  I didn't even have to try on the last round as victory was already locked in.  I mean, not that anyone was surprised.  I always had a knack for going above and beyond.  

Perhaps it was for that reason I found the invitation waiting for me.  I obviously said yes, it was bad form to turn down a dinner date from a pretty lady after all, even if she did wear a crown of fire and was likely a demon from across the sea in disguise.  Well, that was some of the rumors anyway.  Looking up at the clock however made me realize I was running late, and a new haste was built into the experience of dressing.

Don't get me wrong, part of me wanted to go for the outlandish.  Wear some shorts and sandals or something, that would really knock the heels of those Prada shoes, but hey couldn't help it.  It wasn't time to shock the lady, at least not until we got to know each other better. That could come later.

A quick turn, and I was gone from where I was staying.  Outside the door I gave it a brief knock jut after the bell finished chiming.  Fashionably late.  I'd wait there to be greeted.  I didn't have much of a head for the fancy folk, it wasn't something I particularly fit into, or even cared much about.  Maybe it was coming from muggles, or perhaps working as one for several years, but I didn't even do wizarding life all that great.  I might have more money than the average person from some wins here and there, but so far I hadn't let it go to my head, at least that's what I tell myself upon shower reflection thoughts.  

I wore black slacks with matching black shoes.  A black dinner jacket, that had a dark navy patterned on the inside over a matching v neck T shirt.  Well....I'd tried my best, but i wasn't going all the way fancy.  My wand rested in a piece of the right sleeve specifically tailored into it, accessible yet hidden.  Though that wasn't the only interesting thing about this jacket.  if one paid close enough attention it would look as though something dark moved along the inside of the jacket.  Gliding through the fabric, yet with nothing behind me.  It was just a friend of course, but no reason to leave him behind.  

A quick gesture had me create a dozen blue roses, realizing I was coming empty handed.  This happened just in time it would seem, as I started to hear the door open.  What an evening I was in for......

Adelaide would have been prepared to wait - she wouldn't have liked it but personal preference rarely interfered with work for the redhead - so she was pleasantly surprised when the door to the antechamber opened before the clock struck 6:31. The surprise did not show of course, as the witch greeted a bouquet of roses making their entrance, sporting an equally surprisingly well made up blond.

Clearly, Mr. King was not here to antagonize or make a point. Good, she could use some luck on her journey thus far. Truth be told, despite his acceptance of her invitation, the Irish witch was not sure if he would attend. Yet here he was, at her door with a peace offering in tow.

"Good evening," Adelaide greeted polite, moving over to shake his hand as decorum dictated. Should he offer her the flowers, she would murmur a polite thank you before taking them from him and placing them on a side table meant for such tokens. The flowers would get picked up after by the staff when they came to clean up later.

"I hope the journey here wasn't too difficult. I'm told traffic is difficult to navigate this time of the evening," she proposed, leading them towards the small but clearly luxurious seating area where two flutes of champagne awaited. Perhaps it would have been more impressive to have servers in the room but the redhead had requested complete privacy for the meeting. Even the security cameras on the floor had been turned off.

"Would you care for a drink?" she offered, picking up a crystal flute and extending it towards him. "I'm sure after the week you've had, you could do with one."

I

“Seems to be so far.” I’d say lightly with a smile taking her hand as it was offered. Providing her with the flowers in return for the shake. Her hands felt soft, but I couldn’t help but pick up on something else. A firmness that didn’t speak to labor, but a firmness of something else that was nonetheless feminine. I’d put this thought to the back of my mind, determined to come back to it when I had more evidence for my profile of the woman, I had no doubt the night would provide me with ample details.

Watching as she placed the roses down, I’d take her lead to the next room. Standing behind her and listening to her idle chatter about travel. Small talk, the weapon of fancy folk, more sharpened than any sword. As she looked toward the large room I let my arm move deftly, sending a small spell to reach out and make contact with the flowers. A gentle rustle as if they were hit by a light summer breeze. The movement was made so as not to be noticed, and hey call it risky, but I was swimming with sharks......it’s good to make sure the cage locks.

“O not so bad I’d say. Just have to know the proper channels.” I’d let out a whistle at the grandiose display of a room. I felt my eyes wanting to roll, but I held them back as best as I could. Maybe just a little crossed. This had never been my type of place, and had never been the way I felt was worthwhile to spend money. In fact, my favorite thing about having money was the gambling part that allowed me more chances. Outside a room, and some creature comforts the majority of my gold went to places far from myself.

“Not such a bad week I’d say. So far going exactly as Planned.” I’d take the drink, rough hands on gentle glass not at all matching the way her own fingers gripped the glass. I’d bring it to my lips and throw it back. Emptying the incredibly small amount of liquid into my gullet. Making a popping sound with my lips I’d offer my thanks. “Errr you wouldn’t have anything a bitch less bubbly would you? Call me what you want, but I’m not a fan of the bubbly.” I didn’t want to outright just ask for a beer, this place probably didn’t have the good stuff anyway. I’d sure I’d get a Stella Artois or some other none sense, but it was worth asking.

I’d take her lead form here. Wether we were to stand and make small talk, or sit and prepare for food, the ball was in her court. I was just there for the ride. I couldn’t help but watch her though, and I didn’t try to hard to hide it. The same way I looked at my opponents, finding tells and weaknesses. It was how I made my money, and while I’m the most humble man you’ll ever meet, I think anyone would agree I’m pretty damn good at it too. Still, there wasn’t a lot to find at first, but the night was young. “So how are you enjoying the tournament so far? Any bets for a championship just yet? I could get you the name of my bookie, make a couple wagers.” I’d offer her a wink, and secretly hope dinner would be soon.

Hey, sorry but my mind isn’t all business, man’s gotta eat to keep the wits sharp.

“O not so bad I’d say. Just have to know the proper channels.”

Whether the duelist was genuinely referring to the traffic situation of the city or subtly implying that he too knew people in the higher ups, Adelaide couldn't determine. So for now, the witch read both meanings in the casual reply. Leading him tot eh seating area, they would continue their small talk, the redhead perhaps noticing a shift in his jacket from he corner of ehr eye. But by the time it took her to verify, he movement was gone, perhaps just an illusion under the current dim lighting of he area.

"I hope you don't mind the lack of servers. I've been surrounded by so many people this past week, I wanted a moment to myself." in truth, Adelaide had done her homework, she knew with his background, the least of the Champion's concern was cutting his own meat. is academic backdrop, real estate profile and lack of a connection in high society suggested he lived a modest life, not one in which a butler, footman and valet attended to him on a daily basis.

Not that Americans would even know what that meant, she reflected as he swilled his champagne in one go. Asking for a bit of something more earthy, the blonde admitted to his eclectic tastes, making her perhaps smile for the first time with a slight amount of warmth. Despite their completely opposite nature, Adelaide too found Champagne droll and lacking in any character.

"Champagne is rather an occupation hazard for me," she admitted, standing up once more and walking towards the wood paneled wall. Pressing her palm softly to the homonym, the witch retreated as the whole section slid aside to reveal a well stocked liquor cabinet. "How about a Cognac?" instead of waiting for his reply, the redhead would reach for a heavy crystal container of Gautier Cognac, helpfully marked 1762. Picking up too equally crystalline crucibles, she would return to the table.

"May I?" she would ask politely before pouring him a generous measure before doing the same to her own.

“So how are you enjoying the tournament so far? Any bets for a championship just yet? I could get you the name of my bookie, make a couple wagers.”

"It's certainly informative," Adelaide responded, waitng for him to drink a drink first before reaching for ehr own glass. the champagne flutes had dissipated of their own accord, if if they know their services would no longer be required. "And very different from the styles I'm used to. Fortunately I have good company on the bench." At his offer of a bookie's numbers, she laughed politely.

"I would take you up on that, but the commission would not find it very amusing if a judge was caught betting on the outcome of the duels." the witch paused, assessing her companion through bright green eyes.

"But speaking of betting, what do you think are your odds of winning the whole competition?" the question rang with plain curiosity as her eyes sought his own blue ones. Adelaide wasn't making a barb or professing neither doubt nor faith in the man. She simply wanted to know how much regard he held himself in private, away from the crowds and the need to be over confident. "I'm given to understand quite a few people are counting on you to win."

There, the very first hint of why this invitation had been issued today, if he was smart enough to pick up on it.

Well, I had to say so far things were going as planned. Easy conversation and Id already completed the mission that I’d set for myself. I mean honestly, I don’t know why I felt surprise. I’m me, it’s honestly to be expected. O umm the story, sorry about that. I just can’t help but talk about my favorite subject in excess at times.

“Mmm didn’t even notice ma’am. Trust me, I ain’t never lived where some servant came with it. I don’t need help pouring sweet tea.” I’d say smiling. I felt my drawl coming in force as it often did in times of great stress, or really any social situation that involved more brain power than “yes I would like fries with that.” So undoubtedly she’d notice, but I hoped it was more of a vision of comfort. “I ain’t been eating nothing but take out and some microwave meals truth be told. Though there is a fantastic sushi place down the street.” I’d continue talking as we took our seats, making easy conversation as though I was some simple idiot. Which I mean, sometimes I can be but not right now. “Now it’s attached to a gas station, but my man Sean he musta trained with a Jap cause he rolls it better than Alabama on a win streak.” Boom hit her with the college football reference, Damn social banter was easy.

“At your leisure ma’am.” I’d say and watch the brown liquid fill the glass. I’d give the table a rap with my knuckles and the red head a wink, clearly indicating the need for more than what she’d given. I’d worked hard this week, the treat was deserved, even if it was a bit fancy on my tongue. Some wild turkey would have done fine. Still as she began to explain her initial takes in the tournament I threw most of the drink back, feeling the burn as it moved down my throat and into my gullet. My head gave an involuntary shake at the strength of the drink, but hey it was a party I asked for more.

“True true, they are very particular. But still gotta break eggs to make omelets.” I didn’t think she’d really want to bet. She didn’t strike me as the kind to bet with money. People maybe, but not money.

Her question wasn’t a surprising one. It was one he got all the time, in interviews, friends, in jest, it was always on the thoughts. This would make 7, it was historical, never been done, everyone wanted to know how he felt. “Mmmm I’d say I gotta good chance. I’m no lock with this field, but I’d put myself in the top three contenders.” I’d drink a little slower now. I’d hit a decent base, now maintenance was the game. Didn’t need the old noodle to get to cloudy, just on point.

My eyes locked with hers, searching. Didn’t find much but still, something was itching in my brain. Same reason I’d placed that spell, same reason I felt it now. So many coincidences, and I may not be a Sherlock, but I can still count to four, and 2 and 2 were for sure there trying to add up. “O I don’t know. Only a couple, I think most are expecting me to dive. They don’t like how I play the game, think it’s not earned. I already made a small fortune betting on myself with the over unders as well as a couple other outcomes. When the finals come you’ll see only a few people will really expect it out of me.” I’d take another drink, breaking eye contact. Looking into the liquid I’d ask “Anyone you know voting for me, I think I’d like to meet them, give them a handshake.” My voice was serious when I asked if, but looking up I’d allow my face to go jovial I could feel the red in my cheeks.

See, negotiating was easy, maybe I should take a leaf from Jackson and enter politics. I’m a sure win. Yep, I wasn’t acting silly at all.....nope not me.......maybe.....we’ll I remember being pretty suave anyway can’t speak for everyone, I’m no mind reader.

“I ain’t been eating nothing but take out and some microwave meals truth be told. Though there is a fantastic sushi place down the street.”

Adelaide continued to smile as she nursed her drink, only taking small, infrequent sips while the man opposite thoroughly indulged in his. She idly wondered if she should tell him of the last time she had dined on Sushi. Harvey and she had been in Tokyo earlier that year. It seemed like an age ago now. The only time she had enjoyed as rustic a meal as he was making his out to be was on Bo's farm. She had enjoyed herself more than she would ever care to admit.

"Well, let's hope we can do a little better than street Sushi," she responded evenly as the first course appeared. Moving forwards to uncover the platter, Adelaide revealed the prime rib eye steaks plated with careful greens and designer sides. The vial of cognac remained where it was, ready to be of more service.

“Anyone you know voting for me, I think I’d like to meet them, give them a handshake.”

So underneath all that show if ignorance, the duelist did understand the stakes, and wanted to meet the stakeholders. Unable to explain to herself why, Adelaide was silently proud fo the man nonetheless. It wouldn't be a fair game if one side was playing chess and the other checkers.

"If you would indulge me for a moment, Mr. King,' she began, her request sounding remarkably as if it had already been granted. "My father, the late Lord Hoster was an avid Ascot devotee. He took me to my first Racecourse when i was only four." Puasing fro a moment, the woman cut a small sliver of ehr own steak delicately, giving him time to contemplate his own food.

"He always used to say luck had little to do with racing, unless we made our own." Bringing the fork up to her lips, the redhead chewed thoughtfully. Someone had made sure it was medium rare, just as she preferred it. "Year after after, I watched horses he had made sizable bets on win and sloe, but I never saw him upset, not even one year when I was twelve and Her Majesty's Glory came in second last. I soon learned it was because he was manufacturing his own luck."

The witch would pause once again, letting the story sink in. "Needs more salt," she would add casually, reaching for the saltshaker that would have looked out of place to anyone from her part of society but which may not have been noticed by the American Champion. Instead of bringing the saltshaker to her side, she slid it noiselessly towards the blond.

"It's a special kind harvested from the Himalayas, you should take some home," she noted politely, her green eyes glowing with a soft hint of mischief. The small vial of Felix Felicis hidden within would explain where her words could not.

"Are you a sure thing Mr. King? Because those rooting for you would meet with nothing less than a sure thing."

In short, if he wanted to know how far this web reached, he would have to win to find out. Win by any means.

I

I’ll be honest, listening to some childhood story that wanted to be a megaphone was tough with that piece of meat in front of me. Now I may not be or come from fancy folk, but I’m as red blooded American as the next Yankee Doodle Danny Boy so I know a good steak when I saw one. Little over cooked if you asked me, I like mine bleeding like fresh game, but still damn good.

Slicing, dicing, and half listening she finished her story. A well constructed tale, it held all the necessities of a good metaphors with subtle undertones of meaning.......that honestly I did not grasp. She was trying to tell me something, but if it was what I thought.....well I had little interest in playing in a field after Bo had made a mess of it. Sorry, that was in poor taste.....but the other words for it seemed even worse, Sue me.

I’d reach out and look at the salt shaker. Picking it up, I’d let it move between my fingers before it would vanish. Flashing a smile and a wink, my hand would open and close only for it to reappear. Setting it on the table I’d push it forward.

“My dear Adelaide, I’m the surest thing you’ve ever met. I don’t need any seasoning.” I’d take another bite, already finished with the generous portion. Reaching out not for the first time I’d finish off the glass, before pouring a little more. Alright, so the sin of pride might be one of my favorites. It’s taste mixed well with the alcohol there was no denying it, and I’d tasted enough to feel it. This wasn’t my arena, but the words were of it. I couldn’t care less what some people watching from the stands thought. It was the people on the pitch that actually mattered.

I knew there was something moving behind the scenes. Eyes from shadows, and ideas of those who thought they controlled pieces. However, I’m no piece, I’m a player. I’d die by that motto and on that pride for better or worse. Adelaide could play her games, I’d play mine.

“Well maybe after I prove it though, you’ll see. I’ll give you some advice, but.....don’t take it until the semi finals.” Smiling with mischief I’d take a pen from out of my pockets and a to expensive napkin. Writing several names on it, and then crossing them off, I wrote out my predictions and scores for the next round of matches. Folding it, I’d give it a tap, turning the napkin into an envelope and handing it off. “I know you aren’t allowed to bet, but let’s just pretend those are yours. Let’s see how much money you would have made. Now......what’s for desert?”

“My dear Adelaide, I’m the surest thing you’ve ever met. I don’t need any seasoning.”

The witch sized up the salt shaker that had appeared on the table once more, evaluated it with only a piercing gaze though instinct told her the little container would weigh no less than it had upon being passed. Whether his refusal of the offer was rooted in noble honor or foolish confidence, Adelaide couldn't say. Either meant the same to her. Honor and idiocy was the same colorful on most people, and so far he didn't seem very different from most people.

"If that is what you prefer," she remarked lightly. "I look forwards to the rest of your matches." Her job was to escort the winner to where he or she needed to be. If that winner so happened to be the American champion, it would t least keep things interesting.

" Now......what’s for desert?”

And just like that, they were back on track. The rest of the evening would go unremarkable, she was certain.

"I hope you enjoy Chartreuse, Mr. King."