A/N: OJC! this is so cool! thanks y'all for reading my story! I'm happy when you guys review...
Disclaimer: I don't own anything...no, not even Romero...xP
My Porcelain Doll
Chapter Eleven
Frankly, Enrique was extremely nervous. It was his first time out of the country...alone.
Bianca and Rosette had begged him sky-high to take them to Paris. He honestly forgot the reason why he didn't take them...perhaps it was so that he could focus more.
The blonde Italian was leaning on the grey wall adjoining the BeyStadium and the locker rooms, looking up at the breathtaking hoards of roaring crowds. They were mostly French, the preliminaries were being held in the heart of Paris, but there were numerous supporters too from other European countries. There were small disputes in the stands between the Engilsh and the Germans...but that didn't spoil the fans' fun.
He sighed and returned to his locker room. The big screen started announcing the delegates representing each country followed by deafening screams.
"...from Spain! Romero Fernandoez! And now our honor roll...these guys have got the BEST scores in the record!" the announcer bellowed over screams and the drumroll. "From Italia...Enrique Giancarlo-Tornatore! From Germany...Robert Jurgen!"
Enrique smiled from his bench. His dream of entering a world class tournament finally coming true. He just hoped he'd win the preliminaries...so he wouldn't let his country down and end the dream so soon...
"...From Scotland! Johnny McGreggor!"
That was followed by a particularly loud cheer.
"Hello..." a voice greeted Enrique.
The blonde looked up to find a lean, haughty Scott with maroon-red hair and dark blue eyes.
"Hey..." he replied smilingly and stood up to shake the other boy's hand. "Enrique Giancarlo..." he introduced.
The Scott nodded. "Oh...you're the one from Rome. I'm Johnny..."
"Hello..." Enrique said again, the conversation becoming increasingly uneasy.
They both turned to watch the profiles of various beybladers being flashed on the big screen.
"...and the pride and joy of Paris..." the announcer stalled dramatically, introducing the last delegate. The profile and close-up picture appeared on the screen...and the name was drowned in an utterly deafening roar.
Enrique's mouth fell open. Johnny saw this and smiled.
"I know that look..." he said knowingly. "Courted him the first time I saw him...feisty one, that one..." he jerked a thumb at the big screen.
"When did you two meet?" Enrique asked him as they both walked back to their locker rooms.
Johnny shrugged. "We had a few matches back then. It's a sort of exposure for new beybladers..."
"Johnny!" a bright voice spoke behind them. The pair wheeled around and saw a grass-green haired French boy wearing a blue beret and the most striking combination of outfits.
"Is that you?" said he, approaching them to get a better look.
Enrique had a clueless look on his face while Johnny broke into a smile.
"Hello Oliver...how's it been?"
"H-he's a boy?" Enrique blurted out in disbelief, trying to comprehend how someone as beautiful as him...could be...a boy. (hah...remember our Enri-poo grew up within four closed walls)
Oliver smiled brightly, taking no fault at the statement. "Don't fuss...I get that all the time..."
Johnny turned to the blonde. "Oh...so you aren't gay?" he asked bluntly.
Enrique blinked. "Uh...no...I've got two girlfriends..."
"Ah...you're a playboy..." the Scott concluded, earning him a whack from Oliver.
"You're a bad influence Johnny!" he scolded.
"And you're a tease..." was the retort.
The Italian couldn't help but laugh. "You banter like an old married couple..."
"Perharps we are..." Oliver said gleefully and Enri's eyes widened.
Johnny thwaped the Frenchman lightly. "Now who's the bad influence?"
"Oh liven up!" the green haired boy squealed and roughly massaged Enrique's shoulders to no effect. It just ended up with the Italian crying out, shrugging away and laughing.
"You're new..." Oliver said, scrutinizing him. "I'm good at remembering faces...and I haven't seen you before."
"You wouldn't..." Johnny informed him. "Enrique here's a Giancarlo-Tornatore. They aren't allowed out of the house till they're nine-ish..."
"There's more to that..." Enrique mumbled, supporting Oliver who was piggyback-riding him. "And what does my history have to do with anything!"
"You poor thing!" Oliver sympathized. "You're practically a martian!"
"I'm not..." the blonde whined. "Just watch me at the dish..."
Johnny smiled and Oliver elegantly raised an eyebrow.
"Is that a challenge?" the Frenchman asked, tone becoming serious.
The Italian giggled. "It might be..."
Johnny pinched his cheek. "He's adorable ain't he?" he told Oliver, who slid off.
"I like your attitude..." he remarked, smiling meaningfully at Enri.
--
It was a very good start. Enrique had defeated Portugal, Greece, Belgium and Norway for the better part of the morning. He was wandering around the stadium, watching other matches as well as looking for him new found friends.
"Hey! You got off early!" Oliver came out of somewhere are caught up with him.
"Are your matches done?" Enrique asked him, finding himself unable to stop smiling.
Oliver did something between a nod and a shrug. "The preliminaries are awfully short this year..."
"Well...It's my first so I wouldn't really know..." the blonde replied and the pair resumed walking around, talking mostly about beyblade and criticizing the matches they passed by.
By the time they reached their lockers rooms, they were chatting and laughing like they were old friends. That was the only time when Johnny joined them. The Scott wasn't exactly in an agreeable mood.
"The judges said they're be announcing the top five that'll be battling this afternoon..." he said gruffly, plopping down on the bench and fanning himself.
"Last one standing wins right?" Oliver asked.
"No..." came the curt reply.
"Wha--? Then what'll..." Enrique trailed off. He hoped to battle in the World Championships...everyone in the preliminaries did.
"The best among the top five'll represent Europe in the Championships..." the redhead informed. "...as a team..."
Oliver laughed, knowing very well that the Scott abhorred teamwork. "Is that why you're bitter?" he asked.
Johnny blushed slightly. "Not exactly..."
"How will they pick out the best in for the team?" Enrique argued. "The top five ARE the best..."
"For short...they're looking for four..." Johnny said.
"Wow..." Oliver remarked. "Sucks to be the odd one out..."
Enrique was watching the big screen, which switched from showing the different matches to the standing of each country.
"Hey..." he tapped Oliver and Johnny hard on their shoulders. "They're announcing the Top 5..."
The trio held their breaths as five countries appeared on the screen.
Spain
Scotland
Germany
France
Italy
It took a while for the news to sink in...
"We're in..." Johnny said blinking. "I wonder why England and Ireland didn't make it..." he speculated mildly as Enrique and Oliver erupted in cheers.
"This is great!" the Frenchman said. "I'll take you guys out for lunch. Let's go!"
"Uh oh...we're in for it..." Johnny smiled as Oliver fished out his cell phone and dialed his driver, speaking to the man in rapid French.
"Why's that?" Enrique asked as they reached the lobby.
"Y'know...I still can't stomach what I ate there last time..." the redhead told the frenchie.
"You're a lucky ass Johnny...I rarely give free meals, y'know...much less big ones." Oliver told him as the limo drove up.
"You own a restaurant?" Enrique asked him as they got in.
'It's world class..." Johnny said. "And this little squirt runs it..."
"Oh shut up..." Oliver shoved the Scott's hand from his head and turned to Enrique. "You've been cooped up in the house too long..."
"You guys exaggerate my lifestyle..." Enrique mumbled, blowing a raspberry at the other two.
"HeEey..." Oliver said, slowly brightening. "The German guy's also in the Top 5, right?" he smiled.
"Robert?" Johnny asked.
"You two close?" Enrique returned as the grass haired boy laughed.
"We've met..." he smiled, expertly steering the joke.
"You like him! You like him!" Oliver sang.
"No. I do NOT!"
--
"The preliminaries usually take two days, right?" Enrique asked over lunch. Oliver wasn't eating, but was watching his friends with a big happy smile on his face.
"Well...the European ones do..." Johnny replied. "Considering how many countries make up our continent..."
"It's not a good haul this year..." Oliver shook his head sadly. "Last year was better. Not we just get a bunch of amateurs..."
"Isn't Russia in Europe?" the Italian asked. "Why isn't there a Russian delegate?"
"Russia's never entered any of our preliminaries..." the young chef told him with mysterious air.
"I still don't understand why we have to have teams now..." Johnny interrupted, stabbing moodily at a potato with his fork. "Beyblading's a solo sport..."
"You're thinking the German guy's going to be picked." Oli teased.
"...and you two'll be together!" Enri added and they both laughed.
"Now you two idiots gang up against me..." Johnny rolled his eyes. "Enrique, stay away from Oliver, he ain't go for you..."
The blonde continued laughing as the Frenchman said, "Say that again McGreggor and you'll be paying for...that man's bill!" he said, pointing to a large table where a foreginer was entertaining his guests and numerous courses were being served.
"Bring it on, Les Desmond!" the Scott retored.
"Guys! Guys!" Enrique was trying to stiffle his giggling. "Save it for the dish!"
TBCA/N: like it? Hope y'all did...review! and add there you Qs if you didn't understand this chappie...till next time! xD