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Roleplay Boards => Archived Roleplays => Climax Control Archives => Topic started by: Alexandra Calaway on April 18, 2025, 10:03:02 PM
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Working through the thoughts
Hotel Room
Oslo, Norway
The hotel room is a soft nest of quiet and warmth, lit by the gentle glow of a bedside lamp. Outside the wide window, Oslo is slick with recent rain. The streetlights below stretch in long golden reflections across cobblestone, and the city, cool and damp in this Scandinavian spring, settles into night. Inside, the air is still but full of a quiet tension. Alexandra lies on her back on the king-sized bed, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other draped across her stomach. Her long dark hair fans out across the white pillow. She wears an oversized tee and sleep shorts, but sleep is the last thing on her mind. LJ, propped on one elbow beside her, watches her in the low light.
“You’re chewing on something.” LJ spoke softly. “You are rarely this quiet Love. It’s actually got me a little bit worried.”
Alexandra doesn’t answer at first. Her gaze stays locked on the ceiling, her jaw tight. “It’s Candy. This match. I know that Candy isn’t a joke. I’ve seen her bust her ass and win matches. But recently she’s not really been doing it.”
LJ glances at the clock on the table beside the bed. “Match isn’t for a few more nights, Angel. You should try and rest up before everything gets started.”
“It’s not the match. Not really. It’s what she represents.” She took a deep breath. LJ stays quiet, listening. “She’s the fan favorite really. Her return to Sin City Wrestling is still fresh. Still the crowd’s favorite flavor. They eat up every glitter-soaked entrance she makes. She could go out there and pop a confetti cannon and the whole arena would go nuclear. I’m not calling her new by any means, but they love her. And me.. I’m old news. According to at least half the roster. I’m nothing.”
LJ nodded, paying attention to her. “Hence the nickname.”
Alexandra nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Glitterbomb. Fits her. She lights up a room. Lights up a match. And she means well. That’s the kicker. She’s not some arrogant rookie. She’s kind. She’s genuine. And she respects the hell out of me and I respect her.” Alexandra pauses. A small, conflicted smile touches her lips, but doesn’t last. “Which somehow makes this harder. Because I don’t want to go out there looking to destroy her.. I just..”
LJ looks at her, running his finger tips down her jawline. “Because you don’t want to fight her?”
Alexandra laughs a little, shaking her head. “No. I want to. That’s the problem babe.” She sits up, leaning forward, her hands clasped together. Her voice is low, steady, and heavy with history. “I’ve been doing this longer than she’s been doing it too. I broke in before hashtags and TikTok spots and curated entrance gear. Back when we still had to duct tape our boots in the back of some rec center in Texas and hope someone noticed we could work.” She shakes her head, smiling faintly at the memory. “And I love this business. Still. After all the road miles, the bad bookings, the injuries, the moments where I almost walked away—I still love it. But sometimes... sometimes I wonder if the crowd remembers what I’ve done.”
LJ shifts beside her. “You think they forgot?”
“No. Not really. But I think they’ve moved on. Or maybe they just see me differently now. Like a veteran. A constant. The one you respect but don’t root for. You know?” She looks down at her hands, before up at him. “I’ve had titles. Main events. Blood feuds. Classics. But this match? With Candy? It feels like I’m being asked to prove I still belong. Like my legacy isn’t enough unless I shine next to her sparkle.”
LJ reaches over, places a hand over hers. “You don’t need glitter. You’re the gold standard.”
Alexandra smirks. “Okay, that was a little corny.”
LJ cups her face in one hand, kissing her softly. “I stand by it love.”
She exhales slowly, leaning into his hand with a gaze that says it all. “It’s not jealousy. I want her to succeed. I like her. She reminds me of what it felt like when I still had something to chase. But when I stand across from her in just a couple of nights.... it’s not about beating her. It’s about reminding people who I am. Who I’ve always been.”
LJ nods, thoughtful. “And who’s that?”
“A fighter. A storyteller. Someone who didn’t wait for permission to be great. I carved my space. And I want her to know that when we lock up. Not because I need her approval, but because I want her to understand the ground she’s walking on. It was paved by women like me.” She rubs at her face, then lets her hands drop, her voice softer now. “People call me a trailblazer. Say they grew up watching me. I hear that a lot these days. And it’s an honor, but also—I’m not done. I don’t want to be remembered. I want to be seen. Still. Now.”
LJ slides closer, kisses her shoulder. “Then take that ring with you Angel, and own it. Let her shine. Let the fans scream for her. But when that bell rings? Remind everyone that you’re not fading into history. You’re standing right there. Present. Powerful.”
“Not a memory. Or an afterthought.”
LJ smirked, nodding his head. “Exactly.”
They sit in silence for a moment. Rain picks up again outside, tapping gently on the windowpane. The city is hushed, waiting. Just like her. “Promise me something?”
LJ smiles at her. “Always.”
“If I walk out there at Climax Control and the crowd cheers louder for her... if the signs say "Team Glitterbomb" and not my name…” She hesitates. “Remind me afterward that I still matter. Even if they don’t shout it.”
LJ meets her eyes. “You matter before the entrance. Before the bell. Before the pop. You matter in every quiet moment you gave this business your heart when no one was watching.” He brushes a strand of hair from her face. “But I think they’ll remember. At Climax Control, now, and forever. They’ll see you. Maybe more clearly than ever.” He chuckled and pulled her in tightly. “I can think of a way to show you how important you are.”
“Oh? How’s that?” She smirked.
LJ pulled her into a heated kiss. The tension in her chest softens, something so simple caused it to fade from her body as if it was nothing. Outside, Oslo breathes in twilight. The rain fades to a whisper. The street below is empty now, lit by pools of golden light. A city in slow rebirth. At Climax Control, the bell will ring. And Candy will explode into the ring like joy wrapped in stardust. The fans will erupt. They always do. But Alexandra will be there too—steadfast, grounded, burning with the fire of everything she’s survived. And when the glitter settles, she will still be standing. She always has been.
No more Smoke. No more Sparkle.
Vigeland Sculpture Park
Oslo, Norway
The wind howls through Vigeland Sculpture Park, biting at the exposed skin like an unwelcome guest. It cuts through Alexandra's coat, making her feel smaller than she really is, a tiny figure moving against the vast, unforgiving landscape of stone. Her boots crunch against the gravel, each step echoing with a force that seems at odds with the silence that surrounds her. The statues stand still, frozen in time, their stone faces watching her as she passes, silently judging, silently knowing.
This place is sacred. Every inch of ground beneath her feet has been walked by souls who have faced the brutal reality of existence, whose pain and suffering have been immortalized in cold stone. Here, there are no distractions. No glitter. No noise. No sparkle. Only the truth. And it’s this truth that Alexandra has come to confront today. She stops in front of a statue of a mother and child, their forms twisted in a frozen scream. The mother’s arms are wrapped protectively around her child, but their struggle is so painfully obvious in the curvature of their bodies, in the anguish captured forever in stone. Alexandra stands there for a long time, her fingers brushing against the cool, rough surface, feeling the weight of their grief.
“You think you know pain, don’t you, Candy?” she murmurs, her voice barely audible. “You think you can hide behind your theatrics, your glitter bombs, your smoke and mirrors. But pain—real pain—isn’t something you can mask with sparkles. It’s not something you can dance around with a gimmick. It’s something you endure. Something that changes you. Something that leaves a scar, permanent and unyielding.” She took a deep breath. “Etched in stone.. forever.”
Her breath comes in slow, measured inhales as she stares into the face of the statue. “This mother... She's protecting her child, yes. But in that protection, she’s giving everything of herself. She’s sacrificing herself in ways we both definitely understand, Candy. You hide from your sacrifices. You hide from the pain that comes with it. You hide from the truth. But here, in this place, truth is all there is. And truth... truth never lies.”
She takes a step back from the statue, her eyes narrowing. There’s a deep, gnawing ache in her chest that she can’t ignore. For years, she’s lived with this pain. The pain of loss. The pain of rejection. The pain of betrayal. She carried it inside her like a wound that never healed, covered it with layers of armor and steel. But the truth is—pain doesn’t disappear just because you ignore it. It lingers. It festers. And Candy? Candy never had to face her own pain. She’s spent her whole career running from it. Hiding behind the mask of glitter and flair, of chaos and noise. But Alexandra knows better. She’s seen it all. And she won’t let herself be distracted by it any longer.
“Pain is what we dabble in—but for some of us, it’s more than that. It’s what we live in, breathe in, bleed in. In this business, greatness isn’t handed out for style points. It’s earned by taking that pain—every bruise, every crack in the armor—and wielding it like a blade. We don’t hide behind glitter bombs and staged cuteness, hoping to blind or distract our opponents. That might’ve worked for you so far, Candy. It might’ve fooled the crowd, fooled your past opponents into mistaking chaos for skill. But our match? That will be different. You won’t turn me into another highlight reel casualty. I won’t be your sparkle-stained victim. I won’t let what you’ve done to others ever happen to me.”
With a sharp breath, she turns, her coat swirling around her as she moves toward another statue—a figure of a man, frozen mid-motion, his body wracked with suffering, his hands outstretched as though reaching for something, anything. His body is contorted, his face etched with the marks of struggle and pain. Alexandra stares into his eyes, feeling the intensity of the emotion etched into the stone. The despair. The hopelessness. The raw humanity that is so often buried under layers of bravado and distraction.
“This is a struggle, Candy,” she says, her voice a little louder now, as though she’s finally allowing herself to speak the words she’s held in for so long. “This is what it looks like when you fight for something real. When you fight against the world that tries to break you. This man, here, he’s not pretending. He’s not putting on a show. He’s not hiding behind fake smiles and glitter. He’s fighting.”
Her fists clench at her sides, the tension building inside her. The fury. The rage. The realization that Candy, for all her bravado, for all her tricks, has never had to truly fight someone like Alexandra in a very long time. Her last two showings weren’t so top notch, like Alexandra had seen out of her before. Not the way Alexandra has. Not with the kind of desperation, the kind of raw determination that comes from facing down a life that has nothing but pain to offer. Candy hides behind her gimmicks, her distractions. She turns everything into a performance, a spectacle. But what happens when the show ends? When the crowd isn’t there to cheer her on? When the lights go out and the world is left with only the truth of who she really is?
“You’re a fighter, Candy, that I know.” Alexandra spits, her voice thick with contempt. “But you’re also a distraction. A joke. You paint over your fear with glitter, with glitter bombs and fireworks. But that’s all it is. A distraction. You’ve never faced someone like me, violence and beauty in a fiery package, Candy. You’ve never been tested, pushed to your very breaking point. And I’ve been watching. Watching and waiting for the moment when you run out of tricks. When you’re finally left with nothing but the cold, hard truth.”
She feels the truth of her own words settle deep inside her, like a weight she’s been carrying for years. This battle—this fight with Candy—isn’t just about proving herself to the world. It’s about proving to herself that she can face the truth. That she can look into the darkness and not flinch. That she can stand in the cold, silent embrace of the statues around her and know who she is, without the distractions, without the glitter. She walks past another statue—this one of a man lifting a child, his face straining with effort, his body bent with the weight of the world. Alexandra’s eyes follow the curve of his body, the strain in his muscles, the quiet desperation in his expression. She can’t help but feel a pang of recognition. This statue, in its raw emotion, in its pure struggle, is something she’s familiar with. It’s something she’s felt in her own soul, in her own bones.
“I know what it’s like to carry that weight,” she whispers, her voice almost breaking. “I know what it’s like to feel like you’re carrying the whole world on your shoulders, to feel like every step is a struggle, every breath a battle. And you, Candy? You think you can outrun it. You think you can dance through it. But you can’t. You’ll never be able to outrun the truth. And when the show’s over, when the glitter fades, you’ll be left with nothing.”
Her hands shake now, her chest tightening as the weight of her own words sinks in. She’s standing at the foot of the Monolith now, its jagged, towering form looming over her. The Monolith—a symbol of life and death, of struggle and transcendence. It rises from the ground like a monument to everything Alexandra has ever fought for, everything she’s ever believed in. And it’s here, at this moment, that she realizes the true significance of her battle with Candy. This isn’t just about winning. This is about surviving.
"You ever really stop and look at this thing?" she says, nodding up toward the Monolith, its tangle of bodies clawing skyward. "It’s not graceful. It’s not clean. It’s desperate. Every one of them is fighting, pushing, climbing just to be seen—just to survive. That’s what this match is, Candy. That’s what it really is. Not a show. Not a stage for sparkles and stunts. It’s the struggle. It’s everything I’ve bled for. I’ve fought my way up from the bottom, with nothing but pain and grit holding me together. You? You danced your way into the spotlight. You lit up arenas, made people laugh, made 'em feel good. But when we meet in that ring—when it’s just you and me—none of that’s gonna save you. You can’t glitterbomb your way past this kind of storm. This match, it’s not about tricks. It’s about who wants it more. Who’s willing to crawl, to scratch, to suffer to stay standing. And I promise you—I’m not here to make art. I’m here to carve my truth into the stone, and it starts with breaking you."
She presses her palm against the cold stone of the Monolith, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She feels its texture under her fingertips—rough, uneven, as though it has been shaped by the very forces of nature itself. She closes her eyes for a moment, letting the sensation fill her senses, grounding her in the present. This is the truth. This is where she belongs. This is where she stands, unshaken, unbroken.
“You think you’re a storm, Candy,” she says, her voice low but fierce. “You think you can ride the chaos, that you can hide behind the noise. But storms pass. Glitter fades. What am I? I stain. I stay. I make people realize I’m not going anywhere. And when I’m done with you, when I’ve exposed you for what you really are, you’ll be nothing more than a footnote. A footnote in the story of who I am. The woman who endured. The woman who faced down the truth and stood tall.”
She takes one last look at the Monolith, its towering form casting a long shadow over her. And then, with a final glance at the statues surrounding her, she turns and walks away, her steps measured, her heart steady. The statues watch in silence, their faces frozen in time, but Alexandra knows—knows that this is the moment she’s been waiting for. This is the moment when everything changes.
“See you Sunday Glitterbomb..”
The wind howls again, but this time, it feels different. It feels like something is stirring, something is awakening. And when Alexandra walks away, the sound of her boots crunching against the gravel is the only thing that matters. The truth is here. The battle is here. And she won’t be distracted anymore. Each step pressing her truth deeper into the gravel, leaving behind not just echoes, but scars.