First Bell, First Clue? - Laxia(D) vs. Bandita
Posted: Mon Jul 13, 2026 6:47 am
Standard Match Winner decided by Pinfall, Submission, or KO
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 she had been provided. After “considerable” negotiation and the immediate rejection of several designs she had deemed far too revealing, she and LAW’s wardrobe department had finally reached an acceptable compromise. It was remarkably restrained by professional wrestling standards, almost severe in its visual simplicity. Yet the lack of ornamentation did little to conceal the graceful curves of Laxia’s athletic, curvaceous figure. If anything, the fitted black fabric emphasized the elegant silhouette shaped by years of ballet, fencing, riding, and disciplined training.
Laxia took one last breath before turning away from the mirror. “Very well…” Moments later, she stood at the Gorilla Position, waiting just beyond the curtain as the muffled noise of the arena rolled through the walls. Her posture was immaculate. Her chin remained lifted, her shoulders squared, and her expression perfectly controlled. Only the faint rhythmic tapping of one boot against the floor revealed the energy she was holding back. The stagehand raised a hand. Three, two, one… The arena lights dimmed as the ring announcer raised the microphone.
“The following contest is scheduled for one fall!”
A modest cheer rose from the audience, gradually building as the opening violin notes of her theme swept through the arena. Bright and elegant at first, the melody quickly gathered momentum over a driving percussive beat.“Introducing first! Making her official LAW debut!” the announcer continued. “Standing at a height of five feet seven inches, and weighing in at one hundred and forty-four pounds!” One by one, the lights lining the entrance ramp came alive, illuminating a path toward the ring. “From Bel Air, California!” Golden pyrotechnics erupted on either side of the stage, their glittering sparks cascading down around the entranceway, a poised silhouette appeared behind the curtain. “The Lightning Noble…!”The music swelled as Laxia stepped out onto the stage, lifting her chin beneath the converging spotlights.
“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...”
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 she had been provided. After “considerable” negotiation and the immediate rejection of several designs she had deemed far too revealing, she and LAW’s wardrobe department had finally reached an acceptable compromise. It was remarkably restrained by professional wrestling standards, almost severe in its visual simplicity. Yet the lack of ornamentation did little to conceal the graceful curves of Laxia’s athletic, curvaceous figure. If anything, the fitted black fabric emphasized the elegant silhouette shaped by years of ballet, fencing, riding, and disciplined training.
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...”