Zesty (Quinn - Italian Dueling championship 2022)

“Gracias” He would say confidently to the Italian that pointed him down the hall. The only Italian he really had experience with was the one he ordered at Subway, and if he knew anything about the quality of dueling in this country, he should have stuck with the deliciousness of back home. His hand reactively clung to his side, despite the distinct lack of pain. It had become a habit, or perhaps a nervous twitch was more accurate now. Scanning the walls he could feel his heart rate rising, the blood moving, feeling well alive.

He had only left the school a day before yesterday. His invitation had came by owl, and perhaps hastily and without much thought to his professional prospects he had opted to take it. If he went out early, he felt himself laugh as he mused causing one of the volunteers to side eye him, well no one would be the wiser. If he won, he felt himself nod and wink to no one as a second volunteer confirmed with the first that Americans were weird, then he didn’t need the job anyway. The prize purse equaled his entire school year salary, so all in all work smarter not harder. School was for chumps anyway.

Coming to the end of the long hall he fell into line behind the remainder of the duelists. Some he recognized, some he didn’t. As his eyes scanned the line he began to mentally measure where he thought he stood, and with a jolt he found it to be pretty high sans an unfortunate series of events. There were only two duelists that he considered worth the challenge, neither Italian. The Canadian champion was decent. Good basics, but lacked imagination. Yet he was still a force that came on top more than once. The second was a South African duelist whose name he couldn’t even pronounce and whose accent he couldn’t ever understand which led to 5 conversations to which he still was working out what they had conversed about. He was the wild card, but a jovial one at least.

While all this went on in his mind the line stared to move forward and thanks to lemming like instincts he followed. The announcer stood high, his wand at his throat broadcasting his voice to fill the arena. The Italian he said was lost on him, and he was grateful when conveniently he switched to English.

One by one he called the names of the duelists, and as per the instructions given backstage they moved to stand with the kids, to which Quinn still thought was a strange idea, but Italy.....

When his own name was called he raised his hand, wand it and shot out three stars red, white, and blue. This earned him not only shifty looks from the officials, but as he stood next to the twerp in green one of the judges walked over and berated him with language rather harsh for an official. As the man turned around Quinn whispered just loud enough for him to hear, “Go team USA”. Smiling and feeling he had done the whole process something good he looked down and stepped back in surprise.

“What are you doing here? Isn’t there a height requirement to get in.” He’d say rolling his eyes, completely ignoring the fact they almost were the same height. Around them his stunt and now this action caused several of the other countries to look amused, confused, or a rough offended.

Though Mimosa had never done anything like this event before, she had been on enough shoots to know that being patient was a big part of the craft. And since the little girl couldn't simply sit for hours and hours waiting for the perfect natural lighting or someone to arrive, she usually whiled away the time on her phone or tablet. Today, she couldn't do that because she was in line, number seventy two at that. They had said her job was to cheer for the other person wearing the seventy two number so for the majority of her time, the young witch tried to locate her other seventy two.

Until she saw a familiar face. A large grin spread across her face as Quinn's name was called and she bounced where she stood when he shot a star spangled banner from his wand. The child didn't even notice anyone getting upset, she was just delighted to see the familiar colors. If someone from USA was here, then he would definitely win.

Though doubt started creeping in as he climbed atop the stage to stand next to her, the child grinning professionally while the almost adult said something under his breath she couldn't quite catch. When he did turn to her, he looked like he'd just hit a wall. His eyes grew funny and then he asked if there was a height requirement to be here which made the child turn slightly pale under the makeup.

Was there? Was she too short to be up here? if so, why hand't anyone noticed yet? Would she be sent back home? "If there is, could you please not tell anyone?" she pleaded, making her voice as soft as possible and still pretending to smile out to the crowd. "I came specially for this event, and I don't want to go home without finishing it."

The signal came for them to walk the length of the stage and she automatically nudged him. "And if you do, I promise not to tell them you're too sick to compete," she offered earnestly as the crowd cheered for the pair representing USA. He may not have a cane now but Mimosa had seen him with one. And even though she wanted her country to win, the child wasn't so sure it would now.

Having completed their round of the stage, the duo waited to the side as other couples completed the same ritual until the announcer returned once more, speaking Italian that Mimosa couldn't understand. She looked up at the blond wizard who probably knew Italian very well and figured he needed the introductions more than her.

Then an English interpreter came on and explained that this would be a freestyle match with all contestants until only twelve remained. the girl briefly wondered what would happen to the rest but couldn't ask her question as everyone was being ushered back on stage. The models were than directed to a viewing gallery from where they had to cheer for their contestant while the competitors remained on stage, getting ready.

Mimosa may not have known much Italian but even she knew the next few words.

"Uno... Due... Tre... INIZIO!"

“God you are so wierd...”. He would say in a hushed voice after the twerp said her piece. It was peculiar that of all people he would see her again, yet here she stood.......or rather walked. Picking up her lead he completed the lap and watched the pageantry of the remainder.

It was the discretion of the event director to how each tournament would go. You found some that were all business, some that were made into a “gentleman’s” sport, others that were more pomp than substance, this one seemed rather a mixture. The free for all was a twist that one didn’t see all to often in today’s competitions. It was typically messier, and involved a greater amount of protection required for the audience. It also was deemed more dangerous and had a much higher mortality rate than the standard one vs one matches.

Though all the same, it was something different, and all the more impressive when he came out on top.

Top 12, wouldn’t be to hard. “Bye princess.” He would say giving her a wave as the left with the others. Her comment of him being to “ill” struck a nerve that he knew realistically she hadn’t mean to strum. His side had been lathered in the potion he was given, and he had taken maybe a handful to many of the white pills so the pain was completely absent at the moment, it would be best to utilize this quickly.

As the modes all got comfortable in the viewing area over a bakers dozens of witches and wizards stepped forward waving wands. A barrier quickly formed, protecting those behind from wayward spells which there would be more than one. The area also seemed to stretch sending the viewers much further away than they had been, though thanks to magic from their view point they would still be able to quickly focus on anyone they wished.

The referee gave the instructions, all standard. He would then apperate to his own viewing area over head. Bending his head side to side Quinn stayed relaxed. His eyes scanned those nearest to him, and couldn’t find either the South African or Canadian duelists that he actually considered a challenge. To bad, it would have been nice to knock them off in something like this.

The count down started, and as any athlete knows it seemed more like three minutes than three seconds. At one, he could feel his body exhale, eyes still scanning the faces that moved and locked on him or passed over. At two his right hand twitched, though he still hadn’t drawn his wand. That first move was to important. At three he began to take in the breath that would propel the next several seconds of action. At the word go, the world explodes.

“You see son........the trick is the first hook. The fight might last an hour after, but without that first second your destined to loose.” The memory played often before competitions. He was 7 years old again, his grandfather sitting in a patchwork boat the bobber floating in the distance. “It’s all about the reflex, hook up early. You can outwork em thats fer sure, but only if you set it.”the bobber twitched down one, two, three, then snap, the pole would jerk back at lightning speed the hook set deep in the fish that would never have a chance at escape now. “That’s how you get um.”

Just like that the first 5 seconds ticked by, and well over 15 contestants were eliminated. He could comfortably perform 4 apparitions back to back to back.....to back with accompanying blasting charms before needing to stop to regroup. Not only did you have little chance to breath, but the pure disorientation of the instant teleportation, the quick thoughts to find your next foothold, and the explosions themselves took their toll. Though, more so on anyone in any kind of proximity.

Upon the conclusion of the fire fight his wand was once again pocketed and he stood looking around at his work. Relaxed, smiling, it wouldn’t be hard to imagine he hadn’t even done anything, that luck had kept him out of the explosions from some unknown monster.

Around the stadium further fights broke out as individuals became teams to splinter back down. The goal wasn’t to go all out, to show off all the tricks, just the ones he knew didn’t matter.

“Bye princess.”

"My name is Mimosa!" the nine year old called out at his retreating back even as she was ushered up into the viewing gallery where she had to take her place beside an American flag as tall as she was. The child kept her eyes on Quinn, smiling despite her worry. It looked like this was going to be a tough competition and he was... really small. He might get squished if he didn't watch out. Mimosa didn't want her candidate to get squished at the first level, it would mean her cheering really sucked. "GO QUINN!" the child yelled, waving to the blonde wizard enthusiastically to make up for the traitorous thought.

The round began with a loud bang, and Mimosa closed her eyes in fright for a moment. A collective gasp of breath around her made her open those blue orbs again only to notice that Quinn had vanished. Was he out so soon? Frantically, the child searched the crowd, spells were flying back and forth and the tiny blonde wizard was nowhere to be seen. At least, she was almost sure he was nowhere to be seen. Every time she thought she caught a glimpse of the number "72" it disappeared again.

It took a while for Mimosa to understand how the round was progressing. For the first ten minutes she was so anxious to locate her candidate that she didn't notice some of the other models leaving, their respective flags being taken away. It took some time for her to realize those were the models accompanying candidates who were losing.

No one had come to take her away. Did that mean she and Quinn were winning? Just as she though that, she spied the American man trying to sneak up behind an opponent who was busy twirling his wand in front of three other competitors. "QUINN, WE'RE WINNING! U.S.A!" she called out, unintentionally ruining his sneak attack. The wizard disappeared in the blink of an eye before all four wands turned on him.

"Oops," the little girl muttered to herself, a slight pink tinging her excited face. Oh well, he could do the sneak attack thing again. What was important was that they were winning. The girl was almost bouncing with excitement when the model beside her was taken away, leaving her to move next to a boy with a Japanese flag as his station.

"Ohaio," the boy greeted her, nowhere near as excited for his candidate as Mimosa was for hers. "Your're with the American?" The brunette turned quizzically to face him, annoyed at having to look up slightly to meet his eyes. he had hair so dark, it looked almost dark blue.

"I am American."

"Hmm, so noisy, of course," the unnamed boy frowned her way before jabbing at the direction fo the stage. "I'm with Koroshi, he's a champion. He wins every year. Our sensei says he has the power of the inner gates."

Mimosa looked towards where he was pointing, a small frown touching her own face. The combatant didn't look Japanese. He was blond and weather a leather jacket with no shirt on. Mimosa didn't know much about dueling to know if he was any good but he didn't strike her as an extraordinary duelist.

"Well, good luck to him then!" she replied cheerily before going back to her job, cheering for her candidate. Only fifteen candidates now remained. Three would have to fall for Quinn to qualify for the next round. Similarly, fifteen models remained in the gallery, and Mimosa hoped she would not have to be the one to go down next. c

Little twerp.......he would mutter under his breath as he appirated away. The four had been in perfect proximity, and now it was ruined. What had been a very bland room was now something out of a love craft novel.

Odd plants, and disturbances Dan around the ground, barriers and different formations littered the landscape, even a couple animals that had been transfigured trotted this way and that. The room embodies magical chaos, licking his lips he could almost taste how much magic was hanging in the air from so many spells.

After his failed attack, he found himself leaning on a wall, catching his breath. Fifteen minutes had elapsed and coincidently only 15 individuals remained. He could see the magical board up top still displaying fifteen flags. America, Canada, South Africa, a few flags he didn’t recognize, 4 Italians, Japan, two England’s, Scotland, and a Brazilian flag still stood. The names he could think of for a few of them, and he knew that the round was boiling down. Taking a peak he could see half the combatants engaged in varying levels of magical warfare. Though several more were missing.

Turning to lean back against the wall, he had decided to allow the others to thin themselves out, and possibly just skate by to get into the finish. As this blissful thought passed through his mind, a tall beautiful blonde man stepped in front of him. His smile was glorious, and those abs glistening with sweat....well it made Quinn rethink some intimate details of his life, but only for a moment.

“We couldn’t just....have a flex off could we?” He said with a chagrin smile. Koroshi, the Japanese contested champion. There were some concerns with blood work that prevented final decisions, and he wasn’t someone Quinn had realized was in the tourney. Not really what I want to do......he thought to himself. He had worn himself out, and going toe to toe with the giant with the distinct possibility of being shot in the back was not the most appealing situation to be in presently.

As the much taller wizard drew his wand and fired a hex, Quinn stepped and twirled to disappear some 10 meters behind the man. The wall was blasted apart instantly which gained the attention of all involved. Quinn’s own wand shot up causing a semi translucent barrier to form behind him. Watching the other blonde wizard sling curses his way he dodged and reflected as many as he could, before stepping through the barrier and running back a few steps.

Koroshi rushing forward would easily gain on him and pass through the barrier, a semi quizzical look crossing his eyes only for a moment. As he did Quinn stepped back through space and appeared on the opposite side. This time though Quinn’s back was to the man, and he broke straight into a run towards the other combatants. Beads of sweat started to break out over his face, and a limp distinctly began to show. The potion and the pills were starting to wear off, or he had merely pushed himself to hard. It was time to be over.

As for koroshi, at his disappearance he had let out an audible roar before turning hard on his heal. His next three steps were hard and fast, on the fourth he hit the one way road of a barrier cracking his head on the magical wall. Blood splayed and seemed to hang in the air held by nothing, the body of the giant man crumpled unceremoniously to the ground unmoving.

Well, three more to go.

As she watched, Mimosa became aware of the invisible shield surrounding the stage. It was shaped like a dome from what she could gather, it's exact parameters determined by when spells would hit an invisible barrier and ricochet off it back unto the constants. And then there was a blurring which seemed to be affected directly by age. For example, the nine year old did not see what happened to the Japanese champion as the area where he collided with something became blurred. The boy beside her and a good few years older did see, and turned green.

It was only as someone came to remove the boy from his position and take the Japanese flag away that Mimosa realized Koroshi was out of the game. Now, a tall Spanish boy moved beside her, giving her a cheery grin, completely undisturbed by what was going on. Mimosa, too enraptured by the game, missed his first attempt at a handshake but noticed his second one, taking the preferred dark hand distractedly before returning her eyes to the stage.

"Worried?" he asked, flashing another grin. His number was 13, the witch noted, trying to match it up with his contestant. it took a while but she finally spotted the beautiful olive skinned girl in purple tights and a black crop top. She hardly used her wand, somehow making her opponents fall to their feet without casting any spells.

"A bit," the young brunette confessed honestly as her eyes found Quinn again. He had a habit of getting lost among all the taller people, it was quite annoying really. "My contestant is sick, I'm afraid even if he manages to stay in he top twelve, he'll b worse tomorrow."

"If he makes it to tomorrow," the boy smirked wickedly, making the child stiffen. It was one thing for her to worry about Quinn but no one else could make fun of an American other than a fellow American.

"I hope your partner makes it to tomorrow too," she tried, aiming to sound intimidating and confident. "Though it doesn't look like it." Worriedly, she cast another glance at the girl who had just neutralized a tall black man, bringing the total number of contestants down to thirteen.

"THIRTEEN LEFT, QUINN!" The child yelled to the stage. "WATCH OUT FOR THE PRETTY GIRL, SHE DOESN'T USE HER WAND!!!" Just as the words were out of her mouth, the Spanish boy beside her began to wave frantically, probably calling someone to admonish her for cheating but Mimosa didn't care. She hadn't cheated. Her contract had said to cheer on the contestant and helping was a kind of cheering. The officials would just have to see it her way because her way was obviously the right way.

Whether the blond wizard heard her or not, she wasn't sure but he was still safe. No one had come to take her off the gallery and the star spangled banner still flew proudly beside her. Just one more person had to drop out for them to make it to tomorrow. Just one more... The child gritted her teeth, too afraid to even breathe too loudly in case she disturbed the cosmic balance of the universe which had been in her favor so far.

Just one more person...

His steps weren’t coming as easy, and the limo was getting worse. With only thirteen combatants left the field was not nearly as it had been. There was hardly anyone truly engaging in combat, most probably hoping for someone else to send the last combatant out.

As his jog slowed he watched a large black man hit the ground and writhe slightly, a pretty girl standing flipping her hair with a wicked grin. “Hey Alejandra, how’s it going?” He called out to her coming to a slow stop before standing nonchalantly looking at the Spanish woman.

“Bueno...”. She would say her pearly whites peeking out from red lips. “You know I don’t speak Spanish....”. Quinn would say causing her to tinkle in laughter. He had met her several times in the past, and had honestly over looked her name in the roster of combatants.

He hadn’t quite figured out all her tricks yet, but he knew that’s the majority of what she did, tricks. Unnerving both in appearance and abilities that sent many to the losers bracket. Licking his lips he get his hand twitch as he prepared for anything she might try, though she hadn’t moved yet.

He started to feel a tickle on the back of his neck, which was the cue to move, his wand flashed, his curse a deep inky black with shades of purple hurtling towards the Spanish girl. For the first time a spark of fear showed in her eyes as the spell hurtled forward at blinding speed, only to explode and dissipate around her as if it a barrier, at the same moment the tickle on his neck vanished. Looking around they both would see an Italian petrified still standing sans wand.

“Well maybe next time love.” He would say with a wave. When he turned a tall vine stretched out behind him, the tip being close to where the back of his neck had been, a wicked yellow stinger on the end. Letting out a whistle he stepped around the herbology horror, placed his hands in his pocket and casually walked in the direction the officials were pointing. That was a close one, he would say out loud causing the Canadian to laugh.

Mimosa wasn't entirely sure how it happened but one moment she was yelling for Quinn to watch out for that pretty lady and the next, an earsplitting horn sounded across the stadium, making her cover her little ears. Finally able to make her eardrums stop ringing, the child looked around to see the Spanish boy grinning once again. Another sweep of the gallery showed that it was an Italian girl being taken away. The first round had ended, the twelve candidates moving forward identified.

Thunderous applause shook the entire stadium as the twelve flags flashed across the giant screens situated at strategic intervals, the music blaring in a medley of national anthems. The models all took a bow before descending down to the stage where their battle worn duelists waited. Mimosa was positively skipping with joy as she found Quinn and came to him, giving him a biiiig hug.

"Good job!" she congratulated the almost adult, reaching up to pat his golden head like grown ups did with her when they wanted to tell her how good a job she'd done. "Though I hardly saw you. Were you just hiding the whole time and waiting for everyone else to fight?" Actually, now that she thought about it, the strategy wasn't bad. If you were bad at fighting than you should just hide until everyone else cleared the field for you.

The little witch tucked that life lesson away for later use.

The announcements began than, and were followed by another lap across the stage from the victors. Some of the contestants seem to have gotten very familiar with their models, even holding them up piggyback style. Mimosa simply trotted along beside Quinn, enjoying all the applause and cheers she rightly deserved for being so good throughout the whole thing.

Once the lap was completed, the officials approached the group of twenty four once more, handing out new numbers this time. Gone was the seventy two number she and Quinn had came in with. Now they were the proud owners of the number "10". It was how they would be identified tomorrow.

"You should go home and get some rest," the child advised sagely once the show was done and they were free to leave. "I heard someone say tomorrow's challenge will be a lot harder, and if you lose that will look really bad. I won't be able to talk to that Mexican boy again." Because of course, the little witch's pride surpassed everything else on the line. Except perhaps a US victory.

As the little nuisance ran up and accosted his person he would push her off, though due to her excitement he wasn’t sure if she could tell or not. At her remarks to his strategy he would merely scoff and say “something like that...”. If his count was right he had knocked out the third most contestants and the second most of those still in the tourney. Good to know it had went well noticed.

As tradition continues this match was directed by pomp and pageantry and the last lap was performed. Taking his new number he would stare at it, a little sad he was one away from his lucky number.

“Get some rest? There was a hotel bar and I think I heard something about a tab on the tournament director, sooooo I think I’ll be up a bit.” He would say ruffling the girls hair, only much harder than she had done to him.

Leaving the girl behind he would go and do just that. Finding a seat he was quickly joined by the South African contestant Mpho, and the Canadian champion Logan. While he couldn’t understand Mpho and he doubted Logan could either that didn’t stop them from having a rowdy time. Perhaps a little to loud, as none of the other contestants joined them, the director cut their tab, and they were politely asked to not measure wands on the table with each other.

The night was short, and standing in the line waiting instructions all three looked a little worse for ware. He hoped the twerp would contain herself for once and not be so loud.