Polly Pingotti vs. Deanna Frost

[SnowQueenSCW]

OOC: Takes place following Deanna’s first roleplay and plays off the events of her last Breakdown roleplays as well.

Frost No More

”Still Standing”

Manhattan School District #3
Manhattan, New York
January 30th, 2026
1:33pm

The school smelled like a mix of disinfectant floor-cleaner and winter coats.

Deanna noticed it immediately as she stepped through the front doors. The hallway buzzed faintly with distant voices and lockers, children running around, trying to make their way to classes. She wasn’t sure if it was the sounds or the smells, but it all made her stomach tighten. It had been a long time since she’d walked into a school as anything other than a guest, a parent, or a name on a permission slip.

She forced herself to breathe normally.

You’re not thirteen. she reminded herself. You’re not alone.
Yes you are... whispered the voice mockingly. And as soon as you fail this weekend... and they all abandon you... SCW, the fans’ support... Elsianna...

She fought to ignore the voice of the heart, but it came with another sound – a memory of a drawer sliding open. Of wood against metal. Of the unmistakable weight of a choice that couldn’t be undone.

Clenching her jaw, the redhead shoved the memory aside and kept walking. This is for Elsa... This is for Elsa! her brain repeated with every step.

The secretary checked her in without issue. It had taken over a week to get this appointment booked and the Adrenaline champion was not about to be late. She could sense the dread – a childhood echo of a memory – as she followed the directions down a quiet hallway. A memory of her first time meeting a principal when she had come out...

Would they be kind? Understanding?
Or would they judge her?

In the end, it had been a mixture of both, it seemed, and Deanna had begun her exile because of a crush...

Alone...
Alone...
Alone...

Again, the memory – the weary face of Xander Valentine, eyes haunted... just like Selena’s were. – would Deanna’s eyes hold that pain and loneliness one day? Would Elsa’s?

Again, the redhead silently rallied against those thoughts, casting her gaze to the walls that lined the hallway. They were lined with student artwork and motivational posters that rang hollow the longer she looked at them.

BE KIND.
EVERY STUDENT BELONGS.
SAFETY FIRST.

Her jaw tightened as she read each message, only stopping when she saw the office door marked ’Principal H. Langford’. The nerves wracked her frame – it was like standing in front of that thick, black curtain at Shattered Reality, a thousand doubts rampaging through her mind.

Can I do this?
Can I win?
What if I fail?
What if I let them down?

She was already reeling from all these questions heading to this weekend. The semi-finals AND possibly the finals. Everything she had worked for, endured. Statistically, there was no one that could pass her ‘win/loss’ record in the tournament, only tie her, and if she made it to the finals, she’d have the most points... but points were useless now.

One loss. That was all it would take to eliminate her. A loss in the semi-finals and it didn’t matter that she was undefeated. It didn’t matter that she was points ahead of Polly. One loss... and she was gone. Forgotten. The tournament moved on without her with a new champion.

Move on.... like they did after you were mentally shattered...

Deanna bit her lower lip. Polly was the only uncertainty in all this. The only opponent Deanna hadn’t pinned. She had won her match against the former Television Champion via disqualification, the only blemish in her undefeated streak and, while so much of her was excited to put an end to that ‘mystery’, so much of her was scared.

Polly was good – no... she was great. Her talent alone proved that, but it was so much more than that. She had started playing smart! She had deliberately chosen a countout victory against Kimberly Williams, not because she was desperate for points, but because it kept her in the semis while simultaneously ensuring that she’d face Deanna in the semi-finals for the Adrenaline title rather than Dexter Grant.

It was brilliant... something Deanna would never have come with. And if Polly could do that...

What will she do in the ring against you?

The thought was shared by both her and the Heart, but something else emerged unintentionally. It wasn’t any ‘what-ifs’, no, it was a ‘what happened’. Deanna, standing there, holding the Exectioner of SCW at gunpoint and telling him he would not harm her children...

The way he had looked at her. Believing her.
The way he had responded. Respectfully.

Feeling that surge, Deanna banished all thoughts and lifted her hand, knocking on the door before her.

“Come in.” came the voice, which Deanna obeyed.

The office was tidy: dark wood desk, framed diplomas, a potted plant that looked like it had never been allowed to grow wild. Principal Helen Langford sat behind the desk, posture immaculate.

“Mrs. Frost.” Langford said expectantly, standing halfway. “Thank you for coming in.”
“Thank you for seeing me,” Deanna replied, extending a hand.
The handshake was polite but brief.

Langford folded her hands again as both women took a seat. “I understand you wanted to discuss the upcoming winter social.”

“Yes.” Deanna said evenly. “Specifically, my daughter Elsianna.”
Langford nodded, lips pressing together. “I anticipated that.”

That was not encouraging. Deanna straightened slightly.

“I’d like to be very clear from the start.” she began. “Elsianna wants to attend the dance with her girlfriend, Asuna Gray. I am here because she was discouraged from doing so by you.”

Langford’s eyes flicked, just briefly, to a folder on her desk.

“I didn’t forbid anything,” Langford said carefully. “We made a recommendation based on student safety.”

Deanna felt the familiar heat bloom behind her ribs, but this time, it didn’t rush. It anchored.

“With respect, Principal Langford.” she said, calm and deliberate. “Telling a twelve-year-old that it would be ‘better’ if she didn’t attend with her partner isn’t neutral. It’s instruction. It teaches her who is allowed to take up space and who isn’t.”

Langford eyes widened in surprise before she sighed softly. “Mrs. Frost, we have to consider the environment as a whole. Your daughter has unfortunately been the target of repeated bullying incidents.”

“And she’s reported them.” Deanna countered. “Every one.”
“Yes.” Langford acknowledged back. “And we’ve addressed them. Every one.”

Deanna didn’t raise her voice despite the charge she felt growing between her and the principal. She recognized when she was being challenged – and she didn’t back down from a challenge!

She didn’t lean forward. But something in her tone hardened.

“Addressed them how?”
Langford hesitated. “We’ve disciplined students involved. We’ve spoken to parents.”
“And yet.” Deanna said quietly, “You are asking my child to disappear so other people don’t have to be uncomfortable.”
“That is not what I said.”
“It’s what she heard,” Deanna replied. “And it’s what it does.”

Langford leaned back slightly. “You need to understand the context. This isn’t just about sexuality. Your family is… high-profile.”

There it was!

Deanna felt something settle into place. Not anger, not surprise - Recognition.

“So this is about Selena.” she assessed.

Langford did not deny it. “Your partner’s profession - and public persona - has created strong reactions among some parents. There have been concerns raised about potential disruptions.”

Once more, Deanna thought of a man standing in her doorway.
Of her children frozen on the stairs.
Of a weapon in her hands she never wanted to hold - and the choice not to use it.

“Concerns?” Deanna echoed. “Or fear dressed up as civility.”
Langford’s lips thinned. “Parents have expressed worry that the event could escalate.”
“Because two girls want to attend a dance together?” Deanna questioned.
“Because your daughter is associated with a controversial figure.” Langford corrected gently. “These are dangerous times with such figures.”

Deanna inhaled slowly. “With all due respect, ma’am, my wife is not the president. She plays a character on television.” she said.

“Many people don’t see it that way.”
“That doesn’t make them right.” Deanna countered.
“No.” Langford said. “But it makes them loud.”

Deanna nodded. “I know what loud fear looks like.” she said. “I’ve stood between it and my children.”

Langford stilled, giving the redhead the chance to continue.

“You’re worried about backlash. About mess. About optics.”
“I’m worried about safety.” Langford insisted. “If something were to happen—”
“—then the responsibility belongs to the people who cause harm.” Deanna interrupted, her voice firm now. “Not with my daughter for being visible.”

Silence stretched between them for several seconds. “Mrs. Frost, I sympathize. Truly. But we have to make decisions that minimize risk.”

Deanna felt the echo of old words — hide it, forget it, pretend it’s not there, ‘that it doesn’t matter’ —and crushed them.

“My daughter already lives with risk.” she said quietly. “Every day she walks into this building. She’s out. She’s kind. She’s proud. And she’s learning - far too early - that adults will ask her to carry other people’s fear for them.”

Langford stiffened. “That’s an unfair characterization.”

“Is it?” Deanna asked. “Because what you’re saying is: We can’t guarantee her safety, so she should preemptively give up any kind of happiness.”

Langford looked away.

Deanna pressed—not louder, but deeper. “Elsianna doesn’t need protection from whom she loves.” she said. “She needs protection from being told that love is the problem.”

Langford sighed, rubbing her temple. “If there’s an incident—”
“There already is.” Deanna interjected. “It happened the moment you suggested she stay home.”

Another silence as Langford opened the folder on her desk.

“You need to understand.” Langford said slowly. “That if we allow this and something happens, parents will say we ignored warning signs.”

Deanna leaned forward for the first time. Not aggressive. Resolute.

“Then let them.” she said. “Because the warning sign is not my daughter holding her girlfriend’s hand. It’s the way institutions flinch instead of standing between cruelty and children.”

Langford looked up sharply. Deanna met her gaze, unwavering.

“I grew up learning when to be quiet to survive. When to ‘hide it away’ because people weren’t willing to understand or listen. When to believe that you ‘didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.’” Deanna continued. “I won’t teach my daughter that lesson. Not when I know what it costs. Not when I know where it leads.”

Something in Langford’s posture shifted. The certainty faltered.

“What are you asking for, specifically?” Langford asked.

Deanna didn’t hesitate. “Elsianna and Asuna attend the dance together.” she said. “No conditions placed on their relationship that wouldn’t apply to a straight couple.”

Langford hesitated. “You understand we may need additional supervision.”
“Fine.” Deanna replied. “Support. Not surveillance.”
“And if parents object?”
“Then you stand by your anti-bullying policy,” Deanna said. “Out loud.”

Langford winced, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “This will not make me popular.”
Deanna gave a small, tired smile. “Protecting children rarely does.”

The office fell quiet. Finally, Langford closed the folder.

“I will allow Elsianna to attend the dance with Ms. Gray.” she said carefully. “There will be increased staff presence.”
“And if issues arise?” Deanna asked.
“We will address the students responsible.” Langford said. “Not your daughter.”

It wasn’t perfect. But it was enough.

“Thank you.” Deanna exhaled.
Langford hesitated for a moment, but then added quietly. “For what it’s worth… your daughter is very brave.”

Deanna nodded slowly. “She shouldn’t have to be.”

She left the office feeling taller than when she’d entered. It wasn’t until the winter air hit her face again, that she fully returned to her senses. Quickly, she pulled out her phone.

One text. Two words.

It’s settled. ❤️

And for the first time in weeks—
not because she’d won a match,
not because she’d survived a crisis—
Deanna Frost allowed herself to feel something rarer.

She had stood her ground.
_________________________________________

So… where do we start?

Actually - no. I don’t need to ask that this time. There’s only one place to start. Everything we’ve been through. Everything we’ve endured. Overcome. Survived.

It all comes down to this.
Tonight.
Now.
The championship. The tournament. The division people keep pretending doesn’t matter.

Frank Delatosso said it didn’t matter.
Dexter Grant said it didn’t matter.

They said it like gravity. Like a fact so obvious it wasn’t worth challenging.

They called Shot of Adrenaline a waste.
A joke. A conspiracy.
A holding pattern until something “real” comes along.

That’s what Dexter wanted this title to be - a stepping stone.
Kimberly treated it that way for most of the tournament too.
Polly simply wants the glory, the crack in the ceiling.

And then there’s me.

I used to think that if I worked hard enough... if I won enough - eventually people like that would stop talking.

They don’t.
They just get louder.
They scream the same lines, over and over.

So let me be very clear, here and now—

This matters to me.

This matters because I have stood in my own home with a weapon in my hand and chosen not to pull the trigger. This matters because I learned restraint is harder than violence, and control is harder than fear. This matters because I’ve looked at my children and understood that every choice I make teaches them something about the world they’re inheriting.

And this division?
This championship?
This tournament?

This is where I learned how to stand my ground.

Before it, I was shaking. Full of doubt. Wondering if I still belonged here. If I was as good as I once was. If I mattered.

I’m done letting those words define me.

Dexter—you called our last match meaningless. You told me to forget it. You told me to call a draw. To protect myself. To protect my “mental state.” You talked about my mind like it was fragile. Like it was a liability. Like SCW hid me away because I couldn’t handle the pressure.

You don’t know what pressure is.

Pressure is holding a family together while the world keeps trying to tear it apart.
Pressure is being told – over and over again - that you should be grateful for space as long as you don’t take up too much of it.
Pressure is hearing “it’s for your own good” when what people really mean is *be quieter*.

I wasn’t taken off the road because I was weak. I was taken off the road because I was honest. Because I refused to yield to monsters like you. Monsters that believed they could control everything. Be it through ‘supernatural powers’ or trying to build a ‘cult of followers’ or trying to act better and smarter than every person in the room.

I faced people like that, and yes, I faced the brink and lost so many months because of it. But, unlike you that makes excuses and twists the narrative, I used the truth to come back stronger—because I learned how to fight without losing myself.

You see manipulation everywhere because it lets you believe you’re the only one who’s awake.
That you’re different. Above it all. That you’re smarter than all of us. But all you really do is excuse your cruelty by calling it clarity.

You wrapped your predictions in philosophy. You dressed inevitability up as intelligence... And you couldn’t predict a damn thing.

Because I already beat you.

I’m the reason your precious “second award” vanished.
Or did you forget? You had to BE the defending Adrenaline Champion in the finals—and win it—to get the thing you actually wanted.

Your entire plan collapsed the second I took this title from you. So, if you ‘let me win so I could have a merry moment’... you either didn’t pay attention to the details and screwed yourself over in your plans... or you’re a dumbass that’s still trying to sound smart when the evidence points to the contrary.  

Call my victory over you what you will, but I did it without calling it a crusade.
Without disqualifying myself.
Without pretending the rules didn’t apply to me.

I did it by fighting with everything I had—and refusing to abandon this division, this championship, or SCW.

You said this tournament ended at Shattered Reality, didn’t you? That if you beat me, it was over, cause you beat everyone. So what now? Now that I’ve beaten everyone? What does that mean by your own logic?

Funny thing, Dexter, your ‘theories’ don’t matter— because it didn’t end.

I’m still here.
You’re still here.
Kimberly is still here.
Polly is still here.
This title is still here.
This tournament is still here.

Because it matters.

And while you choke on the remains of your last prediction, Nostre-dumbass, let me go further.

If this didn’t matter, what does that say about Kimberly, who fought twice in one night just to earn her place in these semi-finals? You think she’s going to ‘let you win’ or ‘hold back’ after what she’s been through? What she’s had to fight for to get here?
What does it say about the people who broke their bodies fighting until they couldn’t stand anymore?
What does it say about Polly? Who is having to make ‘deals with the devil’ with our CEO? You think she’s willing to ‘sell her soul’ for something ‘doesn’t matter’?
What does it say about me? And what I’ve been through – able to do what you bragged about doing but couldn’t deliver, even with your associate bailing you out time and time again?

Actually—don’t answer that one about Polly. I’ll do it because Polly deserves to be talked about properly, not dismissed like you have with your false-superiority-complex!

Polly…

Your voice has been loud. Your frustration even louder. And I don’t dismiss that - I understand it. I know what it’s like to fight with something pressing down on you, whether it’s a glass ceiling or someone else’s shadow.

But here’s the difference between us.

You didn’t trust time.
You didn’t trust endurance.
You didn’t trust the process.
You trusted leverage.

You chose the fastest road to power instead of the longest one to change. You bent the system instead of letting it test you. And I won’t pretend I don’t recognize that choice - because there was a version of me that could have done the same thing. It was, at times, tempting to do so.

I could have rushed.
I could have cut corners.
I could have made deals and told myself the result justified the cost.
Everyone expected me too... Look who I’m married to.

But I didn’t.

I stayed. I endured. I let this tournament shape me instead of trying to shape it around myself like you have. Still, that’s what makes you dangerous, Polly. Not your anger, not your ambition, but your willingness to take the shortest path and call it strength.

So understand this: stepping into the ring with me doesn’t mean you get a champion who’s afraid of your intelligence or your strategy. It means you get all of me—with the round robin behind me, the finals ahead of me, and nothing left to prove except this:

That the long road lasts longer than the shortcut ever could.
Because this tournament taught me how to adapt. How to analyze. How to step into chaos and come out steadier than I went in.

Kimberly taught me endurance.
Fatal Fortunes taught me composure.
The Shinigami Foundation taught me adaptation.
Dexter taught me the kind of champion, the kind of person, I refuse to become.

And if I beat you, Polly—you’ll teach me something too. Maybe I should be worried, but I am far more excited for that!

And if the finals are Dexter Grant, as he predicts? Then he gets to look me in the eyes knowing his theories already failed.
That his system broke.
That his “clarity” couldn’t erase or disconnect me.

And if the finals are Kimberly Williams?

Then she doesn’t get the survivor. She gets the Deanna who finishes it.

Frank Delatosso can call this tournament a waste. He can dismiss this division because he’s never had to rely on it to prove his worth. But I’ve seen what happens when people in power decide something doesn’t matter.

They stop protecting it.
They stop listening.
They stop caring who gets hurt.

So I’ll say this once more—for my gritters, for Kim, for Polly, and ESPECIALLY for Dexter Grant and Frank Delatosso!

This division matters because we say it does.
This championship matters because we defend it.
This tournament matters because it forces people like Dexter Grant to reveal exactly who they are when they can’t dismiss it anymore.

I’m not here to be a hero. I’m not here to be a symbol. I’m here because I believe in this.

And Dexter—since you love talking about inevitability? Here’s one you missed:

If you do step into that ring with me again, you won’t erase me. You won’t disconnect me. And you won’t prove that I ‘don’t matter’. No, obnoxious, false-prophet! You will simply face the proof that you were wrong.

About me.
About the tournament.
About the Adrenaline championship.
About SCW.
About EVERYTHING!

What then, ‘mastermind’? What will be your false theory then? When the words screamed aren’t of you, but of “The Winner of the Shot of Adrenaline Champion... and STILL SCW Adrenaline Champion, Deanna Frost!”

Who will ‘not matter’ then?


Checkmate, bitches.