Backstage in the Amalie Arena, the camera is closely cropped to the face of PRIME owner Lindsay Troy. She’s practically beaming, a vast departure from her mood earlier while dealing with The Russian Bear. Her smile is infectious as she chats away with whoever is just out of the purview of the shot.
Lindsay Troy: …so if you need any help settling in, come see me. I’m thrilled you’re here. I don’t know if you even know it, but we tried to sign you a year ago…
The camera slowly pans out, as we see the person that Lindsay is talking to— her longtime protege and the newest signing to PRIME Wrestling, Tyler Adrian Best.
Lindsay Troy: …but of course, your grandpa wasn’t having it.
There is a twinge of joy in her expression, as Lindsay reminds the world out loud that Lee Best is old as shit. Tyler is smiling like a Boy Scout as he leans in and gives her a big hug.
TAB: I’m so excited to be here, Aunt Lindz. You have a great product and a great crew of people here and I’m so happy to be part of it. Thanks again for this opportunity, I promise not to let you down.
Lindsay Troy: I doubt you will.
The happy reunion is cut short as someone behind the Queen coughs obnoxiously. Lindsay looks over her shoulder and just like that, her mood sours again.
Melvin Beauregard, PWA Liaison, in all his ill-fitted clothing glory, stands proudly with a grin of his own. Lindsay turns back to Tyler, rolling her eyes as she does.
Lindsay Troy: I need to get going. Seriously, if you need anything, give a shout.
She looks at Melvin with a sneer.
Lindsay Troy: And this is Melvin.
Troy takes her leave, making sure to shoulder-check Melvin as she does. The balding liaison chooses to ignore it, instead putting on a big salesman smile and turning toward the newest PRIME roster member.
Melvin Beauregard: So Tyler Best goes PRIME blue. I have to say, I wouldn’t have expected it, but like Lindsay said, it’s great to have you here.
He reaches out to shake Tyler’s hand, but is surprised when the eighteen year old Best doesn’t reach out to meet him. He stares directly into Melvin’s eyes, the expression completely washing from his face.
TAB: Yeah. I bet it is.
Melvin looks slightly taken aback by the sudden change in tone. He clearly tries to shrug it off.
Melvin Beauregard: Well, uh, you know. We definitely want you to feel welcome here. The PWA has been a rousing success so far, and—
Tyler double checks that the door to the office is firmly closed, before interrupting the liaison mid sentence.
TAB: Listen, Marvin. I would literally rather lick my own asshole in a Taco Bell bathroom than make small talk to a cheap suit in a Florida bingo hall. Why don’t you get me a Diet Coke?
Tyler pulls his phone out of the pocket of his PRIME sweatshirt, immediately disengaging from the conversation and typing away. Melvin is dumbstruck, not even knowing how to respond to what happened.
Melvin Beauregard: …Listen, I don’t know who you think you are, but I am—
Tyler looks up quizzically, absolutely confused by the words coming out of Melvin Beauregard’s mouth.
TAB: Are you stupid? Diet Coke.
Melvin Beauregard: Now I’ll have you know that I’m the liaison to PRIME for the Phoenix Wrestling Alliance! I started this whole mess! I’m friends with your…
TAB: Marvin, I’m about to put on a free clinic for your entire organization. I’m providing you a service. Do you want me dehydrated? Am I supposed to punchfuck Eddie Cross into a medically induced coma with parched fucking lips? Chop chop, bitch, before I tell my aunt that you tried to offer me a title shot if I let you grab my dick through my tights.
Melvin looks up at Tyler, gritting through his teeth with the biggest smile he can muster.
Marvin Bolambagard: Sure Tyler, anything you need.
Tyler barely looks up from his phone.
TAB: No ice.
We then cut to ringside.