At last. This was the day Laxia von Roswell had been waiting for. Her first official match. Her LAW debut. The first tangible step toward reclaiming the honor of her fallen house. Standing before the locker-room mirror, Laxia carefully adjusted the bright orange locks framing her face before checking the ribbons holding the rest of her elaborate hairstyle in place. Her reflection remained calm and composed, but the subtle intensity burning behind those blue eyes betrayed just how much this moment meant to her. She was eager, perhaps more eager than a lady of her upbringing ought to display.
Success in LAW could not come quickly enough. Victories would bring recognition. Recognition would bring influence. And once she possessed enough influence within the organization… searching for the mysterious figure supposedly concealed somewhere among its personnel would become considerably easier. Tonight, she would begin building that influence. Laxia lowered her gaze toward the attire LAW had provided, unable to hide her bewilderment. It bore little resemblance to what she had requested, far more revealing, daring, and provocative than anything she would have knowingly approved. There must have been some clause buried in the contract she had neglected to read. That damned contract… By professional wrestling standards, perhaps it was hardly scandalous. To Laxia, however, the fitted white-and-gold spandex felt almost indecent, boldly emphasizing the graceful curves shaped by years of ballet, fencing, riding, and disciplined training. She drew a slow breath, calming the heat in her cheeks. When she opened her eyes again, her embarrassment had hardened into determination.
Wrestling Attire
“The following contest is scheduled for one fall!”
Lindsey Stirling - Shadows
“LAXIA…!”
The audience responded with a cheer. Not a particularly impressive one. The arrival of a debuting wrestler always inspired some degree of curiosity, but Laxia’s name had yet to carry any weight within LAW. A few spectators applauded politely. Others waved toward her from their seats. Many seemed uncertain of precisely who they were looking at. Laxia allowed none of her disappointment to reach her expression. She answered the waving spectators with a restrained smile and a graceful nod, proceeding down the ramp with the composed gait of a woman entering a ballroom rather than an arena. Every step was deliberate. Every gesture polished. Still, she could hear the difference between courtesy and genuine excitement. And this reception was well below her expectations…
Upon reaching the ring, Laxia climbed onto the apron and slipped smoothly between the ropes. She straightened again and surveyed the arena from its center. Several spectators had already returned to their conversations. One man rose from his seat, apparently deciding that the unknown rookie’s entrance presented an ideal opportunity for a restroom break. Others busied themselves with food or drinks as though the time before the match were merely an intermission. A faint crease appeared between Laxia’s brows. Yet capturing the attention of the public had always been considered one of an aristocrat’s many responsibilities. A true lady did not simply expect admiration, she gave the people a reason to offer it. Laxia’s eyes shifted toward the nearest corner, then she moved. She broke into a sudden sprint, crossing the ring with startling acceleration. One boot struck the bottom rope, the next found the middle, and within a heartbeat she had ascended to the top turnbuckle in one seamless motion. The speed alone drew several heads in her direction. What came next held them there. Laxia rose until she was standing upright upon the very top of the turnbuckle, both boots balanced upon the narrow surface. Her posture remained perfectly straight, without so much as a tremble passing through her legs.
The man eating in the front row slowly lowered his food. Spectators who had previously ignored her nudged their neighbors, pointing toward the orange-haired woman poised high above the ring. Conversations faded as more and more eyes turned toward her. Only when she was certain she had their attention did Laxia extend one arm gracefully to the side and offer the audience a small, elegant bow. Then she leaned backward. Laxia launched herself from the turnbuckle, rotating through a flawless backflip before landing lightly upon both feet in the center of the ring. She absorbed the impact with a graceful bend of her knees before rising again, one arm folded neatly behind her back. This time, the cheers were considerably louder. Better… Laxia offered the audience one final nod before retreating toward her corner. As she began loosening her shoulders and stretching her legs, her attention shifted from the crowd to the darkened entrance stage. Her thoughts turned toward the opponent described in her briefing.
Bandita.
A young luchadora several years her junior, yet far from the complete novice Laxia herself technically remained. Quick, acrobatic, evasive.. and already accustomed to performing beneath the lights of a professional wrestling ring. And then there was that name. Bandita. A rather unapologetic name for a thief. Could the answer she sought truly have presented itself so plainly? Surely the culprit responsible for House Roswell’s downfall would not be foolish enough to advertise her criminal nature through her ring persona. Then again, perhaps that was precisely what made it an effective disguise. The name alone proved nothing, but enough to earn Laxia’s interest. It was unlikely, almost absurdly so. But still worth investigating.
Perhaps fortune had placed the mysterious thief before her in her very first match. Perhaps the long search that had brought her to LAW would end far sooner than she had anticipated… Or perhaps Bandita was merely an enthusiastic young wrestler burdened with a suspiciously theatrical name. Either way, Laxia intended to learn more once the bell rang. She finished stretching and settled into her corner, lightly bouncing upon the balls of her feet as her sapphire eyes remained fixed upon the entranceway. Her expression had returned to its composed, dignified calm, but an unmistakable spark of anticipation now shone beneath it. Her debut was about to begin. And whether Bandita proved to be a thief, a clue, or simply the first obstacle standing in her path, Laxia von Roswell intended to overcome her. “Come, then, Bandita…” she murmured, her lips curling into a faint, confident smile. “Let us see whether that name is merely for show...”
