Vlad Blackheart Memorial & Queen Of The Frontier Tournament Press Conference! 09/01/2019!

The camera opens inside of a large press room. Reporters fill the area in front of the stage where four tables line each side of a center walkway up to a podium. The seats to the tables are filled with the men and women of the New Frontier Wrestling roster competing in this year’s tournaments, in addition to the guest talent that have been invited to join. Camera shutters click and flashes go off as reporters snap photos of the competitors sitting in their seats. Specific groups - stables - within the roster can be seen sitting together, seating assignments be damned. Members competing in the tournaments from The Resistance, The Dominion of Pain, The Kingdom and The Unwanted, all sit among their own teammates. Walking up to the podium is NFW Commentator Nick Hanson.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the press -- and of the roster -- for being here with us, today. I’m Nick Hanson, for those of you who don’t know--”

“They know who the fuck you are, Nicky!” We hear Jim Reynolds somewhere in the back among the men’s side of the room. “Least they should if they’re here doing a goddamn press meeting.”

Nick Hanson stands fast and just waits for his old friend to finish his rant. He raises his hands slightly to the reporters, mouthing a sincere ‘so sorry’ to them before he continues. “We are gathered here today, for---”

“Jesus Christ, we’re not at a wedding, man!”

“Will you Shut. Up?!” Nick looks towards the back of the room and the camera pans over to show Jim Reynolds throwing him the middle finger from the last table. Nick, hilariously in one of his rare flustered moments rolls his eyes. “As I said...we’re here today to prepare for the second annual Vlad Blackheart Memorial and, for the first time in NFW history, the inaugural Queen of the Frontier. Two tournaments where we will see twenty competitors in each, take on one another for the grand prize of the World Championship match of their division at our annual Wrestle War event, taking place this time on February 4th, 2020 at Madison Square Garden. In a moment, we will be hearing comments from each competitor of the tournaments. After which, if you have any questions you’d like to ask, the floor will be open. With that being said, let’s welcome the first competitor up to the podium.”

[MAX LEBRUN]
Rising from his seat, Max LeBrun approaches the podium dressed in a sharp black suit, sans tie with the top of his shirt left open. He wears a stoic expression under his sunglasses until he gets close to the podium and a smirk crosses his features.

“So, here we are again. Last year, it was New York. This year it’s California! NFW’s taking over the Hollywood state this entire month and it’s pretty fitting. I mean we’ve got stars from all over the business. Former champions looking to add to their resume. But there’s twenty of us and only one trophy. Only one guy’s walking out of here with a contract and a golden statue of the greatest guy to ever lace up a pair of boots and step into an NFW ring. Maybe even a wrestling ring in general. I came close to being the guy to win it all, last year. I wasn’t in the right place, mentally. I had nothing to gain and everything to lose but I didn’t see it that way. I got inside my own head. I was the Heavyweight Champion and I underestimated each and every competitor in my block. I ended up having to fight tooth and nail to even make it to Wrestle War as the champion because three people found a kink in my armor. I’ve also got a draw against...that man….” Max turned and pointed amongst the House of Payne, directly at Buzzsaw who stood out the most with his mask on. More than Havok did, even. Buzzsaw silently lifted his chin, watching Max silently as Max smirked and shook his pointing hand. “Yeah, man. I’ve been thinking about that, lately. And it bugs the shit out of me that we’re not in the same block. So, I’m gonna need you to win B Block, killer. I’m already gonna win A Block. We got a score between wrestlers to settle. Let’s do it in Chicago. In the meantime, I promised you all a match of the tournament with my name on it. I intend to hold true to that promise because tomorrow, I’m having my first block match against a fellow countryman of who has busted his ASS in this business. What is it…” Max turned to look over at Griffin Hawkins at the table to confirm, “...four world titles, man? Good shit, good shit.”

Max turned back to the press. “That’s the kind of athlete I wanna face in this tournament. Not ungrateful pieces of shit like this motherfucker--” Max pointed over to Tyler Grey, “--who doesn’t even deserve to be in this.” Tyler fumes from his seat but keeps enough control to stay seated. “One of the other Paynes should have his spot. But…” He looked over to where LeeAnn Viskan and Buzzsaw of the House of Payne were sitting at the same table as the Kingdom with Morgan Payne serving as the medium between the two groups. “Not this year?” LeeAnn just gave a gentle shake of her head. Beside her, Morgan threw her hands up with a ‘beats me’ face. Max waved it off. “It’s cool. They have the tag titles to defend. Now then.” Max turns back to the podium. “Judas Lasher said he was gonna win this year, again, and was gonna name me his opponent.” He turned to give Judas a gracious nod before looking back to the press.

“I’ll say this. As much as I talk about going through this block unbeaten. As much as I talk about winning. If there’s one man that I’m 100% certain could beat me in this event, it’s that man. But I want you to rest assured that no matter who wins B Block...between Judas and myself? One of us is conquering A Block. And at the Garden, next year? I promise you a WrestleWar rematch with a different outcome.” Max lowers his sunglasses, winks at the press with a click of his tongue, and returns to his seat.

*Rick shoots finger guns at the assembled media, along with his usual ear to ear grin as his name is called. He wears his tassled black with yellow trim, and zebra striped boots of Turn-It-Up Express as he pushes his chair back and moves to the podium, the smile never leaving his face. He adjusts the microphone and nods at the reporters before speaking*

"Hey, guy! It's been awhile, eh? My buddy Matt and I.." *Rick looks over at Matt Klazzic, delivering an air high five (which Matt returns)* "...well, we fought harder than we've ever fought, and this right here? This is the first time I've been back doing what I love, guy!"

*Rick sweeps the assembled media with his gaze as he continues*

"At least, I've been doing ALMOST everything I love..."

*As he continues speaking, a murmur begins in the gallery*

"...see, it turns out that when I was in the hospital after that brutal Tartarus Prison Match, I developed a bit of an infection."

*The murmur grows, shushing can be heard from off camera, and it subsides*

"I know, right? You're all sitting there thinking: "Shit! What the fuck is this guy who looks like Rick talking about?" Well, the Reader's Digest version is that I have to take a long course antibiotic to clear the infection, which stops me from smoking any cannabis."

*Again the crowd murmurs. Rick allows it to continue for a moment before raising a hand for silence. Slowly the gallery complies as Rick continues*

"Look, I know this is gonna take some getting used to for everyone; trust me when I say it's a huge change for me as well...but this's just given me more focus, more determination, and more drive."

*Again he scans the gallery*

"I'm sure you have questions, so at this time, I'd like to open it up to you."

*Again the crowd erupts, then quickly subsides as someone off camera begins speaking*

"Yes, Olivia Briscombe, Chicago Tribune, Rick, you're saying you developed an infection? What kind of infection?"

*Rick nods*

"Well, Olivia...uhh...the best thing I can tell you is that it's a blood infection...I guess? I mean, it's not deadly or anything...like, I'm not gonna be the Freddie Mercury of the NFW, if you get what I'm sayin'?"

"Truthfully, Olivia, I was told I should refer you to Mr. Brody's medical team for anything further on that one."

*Rick gestures over to Steven Brody, who nods and waves*

"Who's next? How about Jorge over there."

"Hola, Jorge Menendez, Wrestlemundo Magazine. Rick, coming off your victory at Motor City Mayhem, what's the plan for this tournament? You sustained quite a few injuries in Detroit, are they going to hamper you?"

*Rick chuckles*

"Jorge, you sly fucker! Nice double question! So, first off, my plan for the tournament is obviously to win...but barring that, I understand there's another title shot on the line..." *Rick shrugs*

"As for my injuries from Motor City Mayhem? Fuck that, bud. Yeah, I took as much of a beating as I dished out - and yeah, I hurt. But I'll be damned if I'm gonna let that hold me back! That would be disrespecting Mr. Blackheart, Mr. Brody, all of my fans...you get the idea. Ok, everyone, one more question."

*The gallery slips into near cacophony as journalists attempt to get the last question in. The din dies down as the final question is asked*

"Rick, John Salzberger, Power Wrestling Press...online. You and your tag partner Matt Klazzic are in opposite brackets in this tournament. What happens if you two have to face each other in the final?"

*Rick looks over at Matt and points at him*

"That guy? Over there?"

*Rick scoffs*

"We'd put on a match that'd have Dave Meltzer tuggin' his crotch cannon. Matt and I are bros...we're tight...hell, you could say we're reading from the same playbook. But at the end of the day, we're both still wrestlers, and we have a job to do...so, John...if Matt and I are in the finals, you'd better make sure you've got an empty bladder and a bowl of popcorn...sorry, not sorry, bud!"

*As the reporters try to get one last question in, Rick holds up a hand, attempting to lower the din before returning to his seat*

[WILLIAM "THE MANGLER" MANNHEIM]
*William Mannheim rises from his seat with a nod. He wears black pinstriped dress pants along with a sky blue dress shirt with accompanying "power tie." He walks slowly up to the podium, eyeing the back of each competitor's head as he makes his way past, locking eyes with those who turn to meet his gaze. He adjusts the microphone and leans on the podium*

"First and foremost, thank you very much, I promise to keep this short."

*He looks again along the table of B Block competitors, a small smirk on his face before turning back to the assembled press*

"For the second year we set aside our usual schedule to honour a great man. Some of the men sitting on either side of me had the privilege of sharing a ring with him or working alongside him..."

*Mannheim looks at Buzzsaw among the B Block competitors, then over to Scott Leroux, Max LeBrun, and Judas Lasher among the A Block competitors*

"...others knew him outside of the ring, away from the cameras, backstage with his family..."

*He looks to Nico Salvatore and Rick Dickulous*

"...as for the rest of you here, I can only assume you followed his career in some way - fan magazines, tuning in to broadcasts, watching pay-per-views, checking your favourite websites; the list is exhausting."

*Mannheim stands upright, resting his hands on either side of the podium*

"What I can tell you is this: every time Vlad Blackheart stepped through that curtain and made his way to that ring, he put everything he had into it. One hundred ten percent. Night after night. City after city."

"This year we bring the Vlad Blackheart Memorial to California, and with it we have assembled here twenty of the best competitors, all vying for one thing: a trip to WrestleWar - no...the Main Event of WrestleWar. The grandest stage of NFW."

*He looks down the table at all the other competitors as he speaks*

"The only question I have for each one of you sitting here is are YOU willing to give one hundred ten percent? Every night? In every city? Because if you're not ready and willing, you don't belong here...in fact, if you're not ready and willing, and you're sitting at one of these tables? You spit in the face of both Vlad Blackheart, AND the NFW...and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let that shit happen."

*He begins gesturing with his right hand as he talks, attempting to further his words as he turns back to the crowd*

"I'm not here to start shit, or to put anyone down. I'm here to pay my respect to Vlad in the greatest way possible...a way he'd be happy to see. My goal is simple. My focus is sharp."

"Five words. Go big, or go home. We'll see who's in which camp soon enough."

Mannheim turns from the podium and returns to his seat.

[VINCENT STONE]
Vincent Stone gets out of his chair and leisurely walks up to the podium. He places his hands on the side edges, remaining quiet at first. Finally, he speaks as he looks up to address the reporters.

“Sorry if I don’t seem to be in too great of a mood, despite the occasion. I’m still reeling over last week’s news that hit me a little harder than others. Silly, I know.” Vincent Stone sighs and hardens his expression. “I came back to this company when it reopened to get a new start at where I tried to make my mark, fourteen years ago. I tried to swim back then and I’ll be the first to admit, I sunk like a rock. When New Frontier Wrestling opened its doors last year, I knew I’d done something right on the indies since then because they reached out to me. The Commissioner contacted me directly to be on the starting roster. Now, last year I was unable to compete in the Vlad Memorial. This year, the rules are different. There are no weight classes. And I’m here now. I’m here, in this tournament, to finally make something of myself as a professional wrestler. This is all I have. This is all I am. I have no degree to fall back on. I have no trade experienced. I grew up watching and decided I wanted to do. So that’s exactly what I’m gonna do here. Nothing would honor me more than paying tribute to the man this tournament is named after by holding the trophy up and carrying that briefcase with the contract, into WrestleWar XVI. I walked into this year’s WrestleWar, pursuing the Jr. Heavyweight Title. Next year, I plan on walking out with the World Championship ...” Vincent Stone steps back from the podium, returning to his seat next to The Resistance at the table.

[NICO SALVATORE]
Next up to the podium, Nico Salvatore rises from the Dominion of Pain and strolls out into the center aisle, up to the podium. He removes his Ray Bans, folds them and sticks them into his jacket pocket of his suit. “Alright so….” He says as he steps up to the microphone. “What do you people want me to say?” He asks with a sly smirk on his face. “You want me to talk about how I’ve been training for this event? We all have, if we know what’s good for us. It’s the only way anyone in this thing is gonna survive nine matches with a thirty minute time limits in just under a month. How hard we trained for this thing doesn’t matter, alone. What matters, on top of that, is how bad each of us want this. What this tournament itself, means to each and every one of us. Most of these people behind me, right now ...” Nico thumbs over his shoulder, “...they can tout all they want about their desire to honor the memory of a man that they didn’t even know. Most of the people here have no idea, how great the man was. They heard about a tournament with a title shot on the line and flocked to it like hyenas on meat. That’s fine. Don’t get me wrong. Anybody who signs up for this business and says they don’t care about titles, you’re either lying to yourself or you’re a goddamn moron. But don’t pretend to care about someone you never knew. Don’t pretend to care about Vlad Blackheart. Leave that to the ones who he had a personal impact on.” Nico says with a cold, angry scowl on his face. “That’s what I’m here for. That’s why I entered last year and that’s why I joined this year. As time goes on, people will start going on about how there’s too many recurring faces in this tournament, every year. All I have to say to that is...get used to it. Because this face…” Nico points to himself, “...ain’t going anywhere. I owe everything I know to the man whose face is on that logo. Win or lose...most likely win...I will compete in this tournament to honor his name until I physically can’t anymore. Twenty four years old?” Nico smirks and chuckles. “You’re gonna be seeing me in this so often, my name is gonna become synonymous with this shit. I’ll see you bitches on Tuesday.” Nico steps away from the podium, returning to his seat where Lara Blackheart immediately hugs his arm and leans in against him.

[HAVOK via. JIM REYNOLDS]
As the final speaker for the Vlad Blackheart Memorial to step up, Jim Reynolds stands from his seat and approaches the podium. Following close behind, is Havok. Jim looks as normal as ever in his own dark suit. It’s Havok who stands out in a tieless suit with the top buttons of his white shirt undone. His mask still covers his face. Havok stands off to the side as Jim Reynolds steps up to the microphone and fixes it to his level. Jim looks at the press and smirks.

“You know that feeling you get when you’ve got eyes on you constantly?” Reynolds smiles like a snake. He chuckles a little. “That’s how it’s felt for us since we all sat down here. That’s how it’s felt for the Dominion. Shit, that’s how it’s felt for us!” He motions between himself and Havok. “Because we’ve been getting mean mugged by Grouch fucking Marks over here, like we’re the bad guys!” Jim Reynolds looks over towards Tyler Grey. “You can be as mad as you want, Tyler, but I warned you! I. Fucking. Warned. You! You and Tyson both said how this was the place to be for you. You say that but then you go and shit on the people who made this place what it is. The people who put it on the map. You attack them from behind. And you spit on the name of the man who sacrificed the most to make this one of the promotions to work for. What the hell did you think was gonna happen, Tyler? What, did you think I was saying ‘stop’ because I was worried about what the Dominion would do? I mean, yeah, I was...partially. But that’s the one thing I couldn’t stand about you. Your constant goddamn insults of a man who would be the George Washington on a Mount Rushmore for this company! And the way you shit on his family! The last person who had the idiocy to do that - whom I also condemned - can’t even walk anymore! You got off lucky!”

Jim Reynolds jabbed a finger in Tyler Grey’s direction. “But maybe not so much because with how you keep running your mouth, you forget; you got Dominion in your block. It just sucks that Havok isn’t in your block. I’d like to watch him get a piece of you, himself. Then again, maybe you’ll get lucky and somehow win your block. If you do, Havok’ll be waiting. Dominion forever, bitch!” Jim Reynolds shoved the microphone away and starts walking back to his seat. Havok turns and follows right behind him, sitting back down as well.

Nick Hanson comes up to the podium again, smiling as he speaks into the microphone again. “Thank you gentlemen, all who shared their thoughts. Next, we’d like to ask the press to please give your full attention to the women of New Frontier Wrestling. We’ll start with….” He checks the list first, Samantha Tolson-Anderson! The floor is yours.” Nick says as he nods to Samantha Tolson-Anderson and steps away again.

[SAMANTHA TOLSON-ANDERSON]
Samantha Tolson-Anderson stands in the interview position, her long hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing one of her lavender "Bombs Away" shirts and a pair of denim capris, along with a set of white Nike cross-trainers on her feet.

"Before I open up to questions, I just want to say thank you to NFW for this opportunity. There's a lot of good competition in the Queen of the New Frontier tournament, folks I haven't faced before. I'm looking very much forward to this round robin. Now let's have some questions."

A redheaded woman in glasses asks away. "You've been very vocal on social media about winning the tournament. What makes you believe you can?"

Samantha looks her way. "Every single woman in these two blocks believes she can win it, or we wouldn't have signed up. As for myself, it's confidence in my durability and skill set, along with the belief that I have what it takes to win."

A gentleman in a snazzy suit and tie is next. "There are detractors who point to your record in tournaments as the biggest reason you aren't going to win. What say you of that?"

Samantha smirked. "Well...maybe a couple of years ago, they'd have been right. I used to have a terrible record in tournaments. But I've won the last three I've entered, and was robbed of a chance to win a fourth because of the machinations of someone who happens to be in this one. What was once a stumbling block is now gone."

Another man steps up, portly and a little disheveled. "Let's address the elephant in the room so to speak. You're gonna hafta face up with Sativa Nevaeh before the round robin portion of this is over. What ya hafta say about that?"

Samantha grinned as she thought through her response. "I've beaten Sativa twice. Frankly, I'm shocked that she's allowed to participate in a tournament where the prize is a shot at her title. That said, yes, we're going to face off again. Now mind you, she has plenty of excuses for the first two losses. I'm anxious to see what she'll offer up after the third one, because everyone in this room knows she will. Bottom line, Sativa has nothing to complain about when I beat her this time. There will be no doubt who the better woman is, and when I win a shot at her? I'll take the NFW Women's World Championship and make it a four-and-oh mark."

A chunky woman in a tight dress gets the next inquiry. "Before that match you have matches with two other members of The Kingdom. Do you think they will come up with some sort of plan to try and stop you, or at least soften you up for Nevaeh?"

Samantha nodded at the woman. "It's entirely possible. I wouldn't put it past any of them. But judging from what they're saying I don't think that'll be the case. I'm actually looking forward to facing both Lilith and Lluvia. But I've yet to lose a match to any of them, and it won't be happening in this tournament either."

A woman asks the next question, her obvious beauty making the men stop as she inquires. "What do you make of the other women in Block A?"

Samantha nods at her before responding. "I know the match with Adrianna is going to be match of the night. I'm not quite as familiar with the other two...yet. But I will be when it's time to face them. I know walking into this I have a big old target on me for one reason or another. I expect everyone's absolute best shot. They'd better be ready for mine though, because they'll get nothing less."

A short yet thin man in a polo and thick glasses gets his question in. "While this is going on, you also have scheduled a match in Rose City in the Artemis Series, and a match for the Ladder Championship in Southside. How is your body going to be able to take all the punishment?"

Samantha closed her eyes for a moment, measuring her words. "Will it? That's really the question I've been awaiting today. How am I going to survive a grueling stretch of matches like this? I would say one thing...look at me. Few women in this sport are as uniquely gifted for this sort of task, and no one anywhere prepares harder or more thoroughly. I've taken on some of the brightest this sport offers and come away victorious. I've often wrestled more than once in a twenty four hour stretch and won both times. Look at the NVR Women's Summit. Four matches in that tournament alone in three nights, along with one in Charlotte and one in Florida. I won five of the six. I'm not unfamiliar with this sort of workload. I know how to prepare for it, and how to maintain myself through it."

Samantha looked around. "Any more questions?"

As the room fell into small side discussions, Samantha grinned wickedly, walking off the interview position.

[ADRIANNA SALVATORE]
Adrianna Salvatore stands from her chair where she sits with Mia Hayashi and Angel Kusanagi at one of the tables. Rather than a clean suit, Adrianna is dressed stylishly in her own way with a white blouse underneath a leather jacket and sleek, form fitting black pants with heel boots. She meets the neat requirement of the dress code but looks every bit badass as always as she steps up to the podium.

“...I grew up around this company. I won’t say my brother and I were born into it. We weren’t. But we’ve spent the better halves of our lives involved in some way or another.” Her lips curl into a small, humble smile before it drops again. “Part of me knew I’d always end up in a wrestling ring...but to stand here today, signed to the company that my family and mentors before me did...call it cliche...but it’s an honor. We didn’t get this last year...so this will be a historical year for the company. It’s our own way of being able to honor a great man that I had the privilege of knowing as a child. I can understand how my brother feels, on one hand, about people who didn’t know him. People who are only here as guests. But I have to disagree. It’s what siblings do.” She managed a sad smirk. “Everyone knew what the main purpose of both of these tournaments were when they signed up for them. Whether they know who Vlad Blackheart was or not, they signed their name to enter. Each and every one of us in the women’s tournament here, are here to honor a legend and make history in this sport. Show me another promotion where twenty women compete in a round robin tournament because I certainly haven’t heard of one. This is history in the making. And I don’t give a damn what anybody has accomplished in the past….” Adrianna turned her gaze directly into the camera. “...nobody is above what this tournament means….”

Causing a buzz throughout the press, Adrianna stepped away from the podium and returned to her table.

[CHRISTINA OLSON & LILITH MEADOWS]
Christina and Lilith came up to the press conference podium together, Christina standing at the microphone and her partner standing beside her as they took the stage to talk about the upcoming Queen of the Frontier tournament they were both going to be participating in.

“I guess this is the part where I come up here, tell you all how badly I want to win this tournament and go on and get a shot at the NFW Women’s Championship isn’t it? Well, guess what fuckers? I don’t give a rats ass about winning this stupid thing. Hell, I wasn’t even supposed to be in it until a couple of women up and decided to leave this fucking company. I was content on being ringside with my best friend, cheering her on and rooting for everyone in The Kingdom to dominate the field and one of them to win the whole thing. But now, I find myself in it and honestly, there’s only two matches out there that I even care about.”

Christina looks at Lilith who stands there, just looking straight out at the press here to cover everything, not even showing a sign of emotion like usual.

“I’m sure most of you can guess what my two matches are that I care about. First, it’s that whiney little girl Alex Brody. Poor girl had her heart broken and disappeared on everyone. Honestly, nobody should be shocked by that fact though. She’s a weak willed woman who lived in a fantasy world where everything was all sunshine and rainbows. My faerie here, just decided it was time to pop that bubble and bring the pathetic bitch back down to the real world where shit sucks sometimes. Life isn’t all sunshine and fucking rainbows. Sometimes life kicks you in the vag and it’s how you respond that defines you and Alex, you responded by disappearing and allowing your friends and family to worry about you. Now, that’s just selfish on your part, right Lil?”

Lilith nods her head and actually laughs a little bit as Christina spoke all those words about her ex-girlfriend.

“And the other match is that weak willed woman’s best friend and tag partner Erin Mercer. Fuck, the day we meet in the ring can’t get here soon enough and I can’t wait to kick her ass. Honestly, I don’t have too much more to say on her that hasn’t been said already from me. But as for Lilith here, she’s looking to step up a little and show the world that this new attitude of hers is going to be leading to big things. Sure, she’s not going to be looked at as a favorite since we’re actually the best damn team on this planet today, but that doesn’t mean she’s not going to go out there and kick some ass herself.”

Christina looked over at Lilith and put an arm on the blonde woman’s shoulder and smiled at her.

“But you know what guys? It doesn’t really matter because when it’s all said and done, someone from The Kingdom is walking out with the victory because we are just that damn good. And as for any questions, you all can go straight to hell.”

Christina grabs Lilith by the hand as the media start to ask questions, but they get ignored and the duo called Bloody Fairytale just walk off the stage.

[ERIN MERCER]
Erin Mercer gets up from where she sits with The Resistance and storms up to the podium with a purpose in a neat pair of jeans, heeled boots, a red blouse and her black jacket. The redhead’s normally sweet, sultry smile is gone and replaced with a cold scowl. She steps up to the podium and adjusts the microphone, leaning in.

“I’m not saying this to disrespect what this tournament stands for. I have nothing but good things to say about Easy V. But I didn’t want a place in this tournament. I honestly don’t feel like I’m ready. But if a champion wants to vacate a belt and walk out with her little minions like she’s too goddamn good for this place? I will gladly take her place. Especially--” Erin snatches the microphone up out of the clip that’s holding it in place, turning towards the Kingdom, “--if it means getting -- at the very least -- to three of you bitches. I went from not wanting to compete in this until I was sure of myself, to now feeling more than capable of kicking each and every one of your asses. Last year, Lara here and I had a match.” She pointed casually over to Lara Blackheart. “Queen of the Ring. It was the beginning of the episode she just made it through. She left me bloodied and broken in the ring. Vin here….” She motioned over to Vincent Stone, “...vowed a one man war on The Dominion of Pain because he blamed them when Judas Lasher said he supported the idea of Lara using her anger as a tool. To harness it as a weapon. I didn’t agree with him at first, but you know something? I most certainly fucking do now! Motor City Mayhem was the night your ‘sweet little faerie’ showed her true goddamn colors. And yeah, you’re right. They are dark. They are dark...and cold...and cruel. But you know what? I’m rooting for her. I’m rooting for you, Lilith--” Erin pointed to Lilith Meadows, “--to win A Block. Because I’m gonna win B Block...and I am going to beat...the unholy...fucking shit...out of you...for what you did to my friend. My friend that isn’t even here right now. Who knows if she’ll even show up Tuesday for her first block match? So you’re gonna sit there in A Block, and watch as I tear the Kingdom apart one by one. Your tag partner who loves to run her mouth...the fucking traitor who turned her back on everyone a long time ago…” As Erin says this, Morgan Payne straightens in her seat and starts to get up. Sativa Nevaeh takes her hand and gently coaxes her down while looking unimpressed at Erin’s verbal tirade. Erin turns her attention to Jasmine Matthews, then. “...And then there’s the ‘Queen’ of the Kingdom. When I challenged Adrianna for the Women’s Title last year, they called it the Clash of Queens. It was pretty epic. Well, I’m looking forward to Clash of Queens 2 in this tournament...because the Red Queen is gonna reign this time. You don’t scare me, bitch.” Erin tapped her temple. “I don’t care what kind of issues you have up here. You haven’t given me a reason to fear you and you damn sure haven’t given me a reason to respect you. The only reason you’ve given me is to loathe your goddamn guts. So yeah, you’re going down in the block. And Lilith, please please please win A Block...because I wanna tear you down and leave you beaten and broken just like you did Alex...before I finish this whole thing at WrestleWar...against you!” She pointed at Sativa Nevaeh.

The Women’s World Champion picked her title up off of the table and held it up with her other arm extending out to the side with a cold, arrogant smirk spreading across her lips as Erin Mercer returned to her seat.

[JASMINE MATTHEWS]
And then the time came and all eyes turned to the pierced lipped, icy blue eyed woman sitting with her legs crossed at the thigh. She leaned over and whispered into the ear of Lilith, Lluvia and Morgan Payne. The three women giggled and rose from their seats making their way to the podium, shoving people out of their way as they went. At the podium they snatched the microphone and pushed back through the women back to the Kingdom's seats and handed their Queen the mic, while she stayed seated in her chair with that sadistic smirk on her full lips.

"You'd learn by now that the Queen of the Kingdom doesn't come to the Mic, the Mic comes to me. All i hear outta a lot of these pathetic fucking bitches is Waa Alex. Waaa. Alex. Waaa. Alex. Well guess what?"

Jasmine paused long enough for the silence to fill the air before saying firmly.

"Alex fucking Brody got what she deserved. Just being with one of us wasn't enough. She wanted to try and rip her away from her family for her own selfish needs. The only reason I didn't crack that little bitches skull myself was out of respect to the purest of us. So when Lilith decided to do it herself and remind the world that the Kingdom is in this together...forever? Oh, I wouldn't have been prouder."

Jasmine pauses and reaches out tapping Lilith on the cheek.

"And to the bitch before me? I hate to break this to you but whether it’s Lilith or Sativa, waiting at the end of A Block, it doesn’t fucking matter because you’ll never make it there! Block B is already decided. Block B was decided the moment they announced MY name as part of it. There is no one in this entire tournament with my pedigree. NO ONE. The blood running through my veins is the royalty of our business. All you fucking second and third generation superstars out there? The patriarch of my family held more gold in his career than your entire family COMBINED.

And that's not counting my mother, brother, uncle and two aunts.

You can be the Red Queen. The Trillion Dollar Queen. The undead Queen. The Demon Queen. It doesn't fucking matter, there is only one Queen in NFW and her name is JASMINE FUCKING MATTHEWS!"

Jasmine tosses the microphone back up to the podium where he lands with a static clatter.

Never once leaving her seat.

[MORGAN PAYNE]
Morgan Payne gets up from her seat as the Kingdom can softly be heard goading her on to speak her mind. Morgan also slaps hands with Marissa Payne of the House of Payne - her Iron Maidens partner - on her way to the center aisle. Morgan has completely disregarded the request for professional wear and is rocking her usual gettup of baggy, black denim shorts that reach passed her knees, her Timbs, a Kingdom t-shirt and her Steelers flat bill cap.

“Hey, whatchins all up to?” Morgan greets the press with her characteristic sweet smile that we all know hides a little bit of mischief and maliciousness underneath it. Unsurprisingly, she reaches into her shorts pocket and digs out a pack of Newports and a Dio zippo. She sparks up the end of her cigarette in her mouth. A low murmur goes through the crowd of press reporters as cameras continue to snap. Morgan looks off screen, ahead of her at one in particular and frowns. “What?” She plucks the cigarette out of her mouth. “You got a problem? Fuckin’ kick rocks, why don’cha?” Behind her, the girls of the Kingdom shake their heads with slightly amused smiles on their faces.

“A’ight so….” Morgan pauses to enjoy a heavy drag of her Newport. She plucks it out of her mouth and lets the smoke roll off of her tongue. “Mmh, I wish this was a jay right nah….” A reporter aggressively clears his throat and Morgan throws him an annoyed look. “Shaddap, huh?” She rolls her eyes. “So here we are…. Queen of the Frontier. Big tournament n’at. I don’t see why we gotta share spotlight wif the Vlad Blackheart Memorial. Not knahckin’ it, at all. I just think each tourney should get its own full focus. Shit, I don’t even think I deserve t’be in this tournament but here I am wif an invite. An invite my girls said I should accept so yanno what? I said ‘fuck it’ and told management t’put my name dahn ahn the block. But the more I thought abaht it, yanno what? Maybe I should be in this. I may not have the best record but I have busted my ASS to get where I am. And I may not have an impressive record. Face it, I prolly got more L’s than W’s. But wif some of the people I see in this tournament? If I’m being honest?” Morgan looks back over her shoulder and around at the Queen of the Frontier tables. “Pssh!” She looks back to the press. “I ain’t the least deserving here, now that I look really hahd. Yeah, I said it. I deserve to be here more than some of these jagoffs. Who exactly?” She looked back over her shoulder then back to the camera with a false smile and brought up her Newport. “I’mma be nice, yeah?” She took a drag. “I ain’t promisin’ I’m gonna win. I ain’t even promisin’ I’mma win the block. But I promise yins this; when that bell rings in Chicago on October 1st...when the finals are over...yins are gonna, once again, look up in that ring...and Behold. The Fucking. Kingdom!” Morgan drags on her cigarette again, burning it down almost to the filter and flings it to the floor at the feet of the press. “One o’yins get that for me. Make yourself useful for once….” She steps back from the podium and rejoins her girls at their table.

[ANGEL KUSANAGI]
Calmly, Angel Kusanagi rises from her seat and walks up towards the microphone in a neat black, woman’s suit with a purple blouse. Makeup done. Hair pulled back into a ponytail with her bangs flanking the sides of her face. She stands at the podium, calmly taking the microphone out of the clip again and turns towards the tables of Queen of the Frontier competitors. One by one, she starts pointing to the members of B Block and uttering a single word to each person. She points to: Erin Mercer - “Hurt.” Eavan Maloney - “Hurt.” LeeAnn Viskan - “Hurt.” Jasmine Matthews - Angel pauses and her cold scowl breaks into a slight, intrigued grin. Her tongue rolls over the inside of her bottom lip as she taps the outside with her index finger. She chuckles and simply moves onto the next girl. “Oi! Mia-chan! Watashi wa anata o kizutsukeru tsumorida, utsukushī ga, watashi wa anata ga watashi o sugu ni kizutsukete hoshī, utsukushī.” She winks to Mia with a click of her tongue. Mia just smiles and throws her friend a thumbs up. Angel’s attention moves to Christina Olson - “Hurt.” Morgan Payne - “Hurt.” And finally, Serena Frost. Angel smirks again. Serena Frost can’t help but break into a chuckle as if she knows exactly what Angel’s going to say. “Serena-chan...you and Angel...play again….” Angel turns back to the press and looks around at the slightly confused and lost faces. “What you look at?” She sets the microphone down on the podium again and goes back to sit with The Unwanted.

[SATIVA NEVAEH]
The press event was winding down for the day. Most of the field had stood in front of the press and cameras and said their pieces or answered questions. Everyone was starting to wonder when, or even if, the NFW Women’s Champion, Sativa Nevaeh was going to have a go. A hush fell over those gathered as she finally made her way to the podium. She was considerably dressed down for the event compared to others. She was wearing a Behold the Kingdom shirt, a pair of short shorts, and black sneakers. The NFW Women’s Title was draped over her shoulder.

She looks out at the reporters, camera operators, and lucky fans gathered. She tapped the mic to make sure it was still working properly. “Alright, I’m not here to answer any of your assinine and bullshit questions. I am here to make a statement. You don’t like that idea, you can either go hit the bathroom, grab a drink, or sit there and keep your traps shut. Doesn’t matter to me. I’m not the one who has to go back and report to your bosses why you missed what the Women’s Champion had to say.”

Sativa adjusts the title on her shoulder. “I’ll be honest with you. I’ve only been paying, at best, half attention to what most people have come out here to say. I don’t really care for most of them. Some I downright wish horrible things would happen to them. And no, I will not give them the honor of speaking their shit names. They know who they are. But I have heard a few times why the champion is in a tournament for a shot at their title. When I heard that, over and over again, I was frankly insulted.”

“I’m the Champion. I might not be out every week trying to prove I’m some kind of workhorse like certain other champions. I am the top of the Women’s division. Yes, the winner of this tournament gets a shot at me. But if anyone can beat me in this, they also earn a shot. Now, I can hear you all wanting to ask, ‘But Sativa, what if you win?’ Well...”

She looks around at those gathered in the room. “I win and I get to handpick my opponent for the title shot. So that means I can set up the best possible match for myself. Now all you will have to wonder is will I pick a good challenger, someone who will push me? Or, do I just say screw it and pick someone I will mop the floor with and walk away with an easy defense.”

She gives a half-smirk, half-grin. “Well, that’s my secret. You’ll all just have to wait and see. For now. I’ve got things to see, people to do, and a tournament to win.”

Sativa throws up a peace sign that she changes into a middle finger as she leaves the podium.

=========================================================
[EAVAN MALONEY]
Eavan had heard more than enough at this point, before finally deciding she had something to say. As she is about to step to the podium, she realizes it’s too tall for her and shoves it over. Anton hands her a microphone as she puts her TV Title on her shoulder.

“Well, with all the wind that came out of all of my opponents, I’m pretty sure she just put out the Amazon fires. Oh. My. Dark. Lord can you all shut the hell up? Seriously, I’m about up to here…”

Eavan walks over to Anton and lifts her hand up, before jumping to reach over Anton’s head.

“...with all of you saying how you either deserve to win, that you WILL win, yadda yadda yadda. I’m not going to bore everyone and call out all of you individually. Most of you I couldn’t give two shits about. Half of you I’ve already beat. And, forgive the Steiner math, but if last week in Toronto is any indication, there’s only one bitch in this company worth a damn, and that’s me. Silver pinned Ganj, then took her ball and left. Which makes ME the #1 woman in this company.

Proving that point, I’m not going to say I’m going to win this tournament easily. Some of you up here are ACTUALLY pretty good. Some of you are even on my bucket list for matches. The tournament will go as it will. And really, the only two people I should be focusing on right now are Morgan Payne and Angel Kusanagi.

I’m kinda feeling like Dale Earnhardt Sr. here coming to Daytona. I’ve won everything there is to win in this business. This company has promoted me really well. Nine-time champion and all that. I just can’t seem to win a tournament. Hell, truth be told, I’m usually out in the first round and it kinda fucks with your head after awhile, and some of you who know me know my head is plenty fucked up to begin with.

Morgan, Angel, I’m punching my tickets against the two of you first. As for the rest of you, we’ll cross paths soon enough. Are you ready?”

Eavan drops the mic and walks up to both Morgan and Angel and flips them off before walking away.

After a moment of waiting, seeing that nobody else had comments to give, Nick Hanson stepped up to the podium again and spoke into the microphone.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for coming today. On behalf of all of New Frontier Wrestling, Mr. Steven Brody, Ms. Elizabeth Greene, I'm Nick Hanson. We hope you enjoy the upcoming tournament matches we have in store for you, coming from the fine state of California, all of this month. Have a good evening."

The press began clamoring, trying to get some final questions in as Nick Hanson gave a polite nod and began heading out of the conference room with the NFW management team. Behind them, bit by bit, the present roster members rose from their seats and began exiting the room as the shot faded out.