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| The Duel Of Pine Bluff | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 28 2012, 07:59 PM (55 Views) | |
| Matt Slater | Nov 28 2012, 07:59 PM Post #1 |
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Godfather
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The Duel Of Pine Bluff A deceptive facade. A treacherous act of manipulation concealed behind a mask of feigned nobility. A method of coercion, designed to lead the gullible masses into a false sense of security before unveiling his true nature. A pitiful attempt at earning respect and sympathy from the public domain for his unforgivable endeavours, only to invalidate their garnered trust with deep-rotted selfishness and self-importance. These were the criticisms which had followed Matt Slater since his arrival in Ascension Championship Wrestling at Initiative [3], all concerning his suspiciously-normalized persona after starting his road to recovery in Helena, Montana. Clouding his beneficial aspirations, these accusations of deceit and debauchery haunted him day after day, forcing him to work harder in order to falsify their negative strengths. Various critics labelled him a fraud. Numerous wrestlers shared their grievances regarding his demeanour, saying that he was just playing them for fools. Only the people in the minority believed his heartfelt story. Only the people in the minority believed that he had truly changed. And at Chasing the Dream, no one could dispute Slater's rejuvenated characteristics after what they collectively witnessed in Independence, Missouri. Respectful applause echoed throughout the Independence Events Center as Slater rested upon the weapon-strewn canvas, clutching his bleeding abdomen after his vindictive war against Cera in what had been a showcase of absolution and worthwhile liberation. Anonymous rumours had surfaced on the internet that Slater would settle his differences with Cera in an alternate manner before their match, re-establishing Merciless Demise and illustrating the ruse that Slater had been planning a scheme with SIN all along. Those preposterous rumours were quickly rejected once the ring bell tolled a second time, securing the end of what had been a brutal encounter between two former Tag Team partners and lovers. And as the positive vocalizations of the crowd filtered away, so did the burdens of his past. He had been wholesomely reprieved. Slater had not given up against the proclaimed "Baddest Bitch". She remorselessly nailed him with her classic war hammer and her patented blood-red baseball bat. Slater did not fall victim to her fiery rage. She metaphorically struck him with the kiss of death that was her Xtreme Speed. Still Slater did not relent from vanquishing his inner torments. The coldness did not bloom during their epic confrontation. He was not embraced by callousness or wretchedness. He was not entranced by the same lust for bloodshed that Cera naturally emitted as she busted up his nose and lip, even going so far as to tear away the bandaging wrapped around his stomach and to rip apart the stitches across his desecrated "TAINTED" mark with her bare fingers. He simply did what was reasonably necessary in order to accomplish his goals. And after a touch of karma, whereby Slater struck Cera with her own war hammer, followed by a second successful Shockwave, his dream had been fulfilled. The Silver Knight had irrevocably risen. The past had been closed for good, but what the future entailed for Slater was still an uncertainty. And this statement of unpredictability had been cemented inside the Historic Arkansas Museum of Pine Bluff, where Slater had chosen to venture for the day ... alongside Falcon. "I told you not to touch it." "I was only gettin' a feel for it, for God's sake!" "When you're inside a Museum, Falcon, the traditional practice is to simply observe the item with your eyes, and not to play around with it like you're Clint Eastwood." "I only flicked it up waist high and shouted that I shot JR!" Strolling away from the section known as Gallery II, where an over-excited Falcon had mischievously collected an antique revolver to pose as an Old Western cowboy, Slater sighed and rolled his eyes, remaining calm after Falcon had been reprimanded and almost thrown out of the building for affecting the condition of the documented weapon. "Perhaps it didn't occur to you that your post-humorous homage to Larry Hagman, who was JR Ewing in Dallas, was not so much distasteful, but spontaneously uncalled for. They have to preserve these artefacts without someone like you venturing in and pretending to be John Wayne. Though in your case, you acted more like Yosemite Sam from the Looney Toons." "Oh you need to lighten up! I was only having a little fun!" Falcon began to whistle the classic orchestral score from "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly" as he looked around the Museum, attempting to avoid the security personnel that roamed the hallways vigilantly after this incident had been professionally settled with a half-hearted apology. "The good news is that we didn't get ejected and permanently banished because of your insipid behaviour..." Slater said, checking the signs on the walls for the next exhibit. "Why is that good news?" Falcon replied with a tone of irritability. "I don't like Museums! They're so bloody borin'!" Slater shook his head and focused on Falcon. "Then why did you come with me? You could have stayed at the hotel, or you could have walked around Pine Bluff finding something else to do." "... There is nothing else to do around here! This place is so bland that if we compared the two, it would make one of your promos sound charismatic and entertaining!" Not amused by this comical comparison, Slater continued to stare at Falcon sternly. "... No offense." Falcon expressed lightly as he raised his hands up, wanting to prevent an altercation. "But why did you decide to come here anyway?" Bypassing two hallway monitors, Slater decided to roam towards the Knife Gallery as he answered Falcon's question. "Sometimes I prefer to educate myself and broaden my knowledge instead of concentrating on my wrestling schedule, Falcon. I like to find out things that I never knew before..." "Like Jimmy Saville being a dirty pedo?" Desperately fighting the urge to abandon Falcon and leave him by his stupendous lonesome, Slater exhaled heavily. "I'm going to acknowledge that statement as a reasonable misunderstanding only," Slater said. "In future, it would be best if you didn't talk openly about a British celebrity being accused of molestation charges that were ignored because of his ties with the BBC..." "I'm glad Jim didn't fix it for me when I was younger now," Falcon declared, simultaneously viewing a selection of garments that the Indian natives of Arkansas wore a few centuries ago. "In fact I wrote him a letter once..." "Can we save this for later...?" Slater proposed, growing weary of Falcon's annoyance. "I always wanted to meet the Liverpool squad that tore through Europe and the English League throughout the 80's! But the filthy-minded git rejected it! I got a letter back that said my dream was..." Falcon moved his arms up to shoulder height and motioned his fingers into "quotation" symbols. "Unrealistic!" "I think it was the producers that rejected your letter, Falcon, not Saville himself..." Slater corrected. "I don't care who it was!" Falcon snapped back. "I had my heart set on meeting those bloody legends! Dalglish, Souness, Grobbelaar, Rush, Whelan ... those were the days. But I got 'em back though..." Taking his eyes off an illustrative picture of Arkansas' earliest pioneers, Slater eyed Falcon curiously. "How so?" "I was on the pitch before the FA Cup Final between Liverpool and Sunderland in 1992," Falcon reminisced as he beamed with pride. "I was standing amongst some of the finest players of their generation, right in the middle of Wembley Stadium. It was a moment I'll never forget." "What?" Slater rhetorically questioned, hardly believing what he had just heard. "You were selected to lead the teams out onto the field as a teenager for the FA Cup Final?" "Nah, I hopped over the barricade and ran on..." Falcon admitted as he shrugged his shoulders. "Took a right beatin' off the coppers. And then when I got home I took a beatin' off my mother..." "That'll be all, Falcon. You don't need to..." Suddenly debilitated by a stream of pain coursing across his chest, Slater gasped dryly and felt his sternum, leaning forward instinctively as the agony began to dissipate. Falcon studied his compatriot cautiously as Slater breathed with a steady, rhythmic pattern, almost stumbling into the wall as he recovered from this random yet uncomfortable occurrence. "Still feeling the effects of your match, I take it?" Falcon asked, stating the obvious. Slater eyed Falcon as he stood up straight again, inhaling strongly one last time before he exhaled slowly. "I should be healthy enough to face Thor on Wednesday..." Slater clarified, yet there was an essence of hope that seeped through his words; a hope that sounded anxious rather than optimistic. Slater was hoping he would be sufficiently ready to handle Thor's offensive onslaught after what he had miraculously endured against Cera at Chasing the Dream. Thor couldn't be taken lightly by any means, especially when Slater had a multitude of weaknesses for Thor to methodically focus on. His abdomen had been cleansed and re-stitched again, and he had suffered through a number of headaches since leaving Independence. If Thor truly wanted to defeat someone of Slater's calibre, he would obsessively exploit those negatives and drop Slater into the depths of misery. But if Slater was as resilient as he had been against Cera, there was a chance he could survive against the enigmatic Thor. "But let's also take your upcoming match against Dathan into account, mate," Falcon said, including Slater's recent nemesis as a potential threat that could end Slater's career if he didn't take efficient care of his health. "You two have been buildin' up to a climactic finish for months, and if you're not ready, he'll end you faster than a bloody Dubstep track!" "I'm aware of what Judas can do. I did mentor him after all..." "Well you've gotta play teacher and give him a fuckin' lesson! Otherwise this war is gonna end with you being hospitalized for good!" "Trust me, Falcon..." Slater replied, beginning to sound determined, "... I know. That day will come, but for now, Thor will be my primary objective." Acknowledging his formerly-chosen direction, Slater strolled into the Knife Gallery, maintaining eye contact with an informative banner on James Bowie. As Slater approached the encased board, featuring a uniquely-designed knife in the lower right-hand corner, he was approached by an elderly man in uniform. "I see you've come to learn about James Bowie?" the man enquired softly, not registering a resounding voice that his youth had granted. "Well I would like to broaden my knowledge," Slater earnestly replied, repeating what he had said to Falcon earlier. "I can tell you all about him, if you'd like to listen?" the unnamed man proposed. Slater considered him an employed historian of the premises, informing various visitors of what he knew about Bowie and these assorted knives. "Certainly," Slater agreed, allowing the man to summarize what he had absorbed from Bowie's past. "Born in the 18th Century in Kentucky, James Bowie spent his earliest years as a Land Speculator in Louisiana," the man began, just as Falcon emitted a forced yawn of disinterest. "He was raised by one, you see, and so he became one, to continue the family trade. After his father died, he worked with his brother, Rezin, to develop several large estates in Lafourche Parish and Opelousas. However, after forming a partnership with Jean Lafitte, a known pirate, to raise money for the allowance of Speculation in Louisiana, the brothers worked to smuggle slaves onto Galveston Island, where they would be imported into the mainland." "And at that time slavery importations had been outlawed..." Slater smartly said, remembering his history. "Exactly," the man confirmed with a firm nod. "Locating a loophole in the system, Bowie purchased his own imported slaves from the Customs Officers and received half the money. He would then, through legalized channels, transport the slaves and sell them at a larger profit." "Reminds me of my friend's Sports Paraphernalia business..." Slater subtly stated, causing Falcon to look around innocently at this remark. "By 1825, the brothers had established the very first Mill in Louisiana in Arcadia, where they ground sugar cane. After selling the Mill and its produce for a hefty profit, the brothers moved on to buy a plantation in Arkansas." "I'd hate to ... jump ahead in the story..." Slater confessed as he studied the eponymous Bowie Knife in the display case again, "... but how does the Bowie Knife come into play in establishing his legacy?" "Ahh..." the man sighed, uplifted by Slater's enthusiasm. "So that's what you'd like to know about." "It just seems rather intriguing how an entire Gallery can be dedicated to a knife that was in some way related to James Bowie." "This exhibit isn't just about Bowie, young man. This exhibit is the official gallery of the American Blacksmiths Association. There are hundreds of auctioned knives in this place, but the knife of Bowie is the most legendary ... at least here in Arkansas." "So what can you tell me about its origin?" Slater asked. "Well that is what I am about to tell you..." the elderly historian said before he chuckled. As he brushed his jacket with his hand, Slater finally noticed his identification card clipped onto the material. His name was Barry. "Bowie's notorious legacy began when he engaged in a feud with Norris Wright, who was at that time the Sheriff and Bank Director of Rapides Parish," Barry said as he took in Bowie's historic features from the black banner. The term "feud" instantly made Slater contemplate wrestling again. "After his loan application was turned down, Bowie confronted Wright in Alexandria. Wright shot at Bowie. He survived, but it was from that one incident..." Barry pointed his finger towards the protected knife opposite Bowie's artistic figure. "... That Bowie decided to carry a knife at all times. And this is what led to Bowie's infamy, magnificently established after a duel in Natchez, Mississippi between Samuel Levi Wells the Third and Dr Thomas Harris Maddox. Bowie was in support of Wells, and Wright was in favour of Maddox winning the duel. After two shots were fired from each, and after realizing that no man had been seriously wounded or killed, the dispute was sealed with a handshake." "That would never occur in wrestling today..." Slater thought. "Both parties joined together after the duel for a discussion, when a fight broke out. Bowie was shot in the hip. He drew his knife as a defensive resort. Bowie was knocked down by a pistol shot that was so hard it broke the pistol. Wright, amidst the melee, took a shot at Bowie. The bullet missed. After stabbing Bowie with his sword cane, Bowie pulled Wright onto his knife and disembowelled Wright, killing him instantly." "Disem-bloody-bowelled?!" Falcon repeated in disgust, having grown enamoured by the story. He cringed as Barry looked at Slater again. "With the sword still in his chest, Bowie was stabbed and shot again ... but he lived. The doctors patched him up, and he was acquitted of charges of murder, because you see, Bowie did not act first. He was merely acting on a defensive impulse." "And I thought I had suffered greatly against Cera..." Slater pondered again, thinking about what Bowie must have gone through and how he had astonishingly survived. "That altercation would later be known as the Sandbar Fight. Everyone was intrigued by Bowie's fighting prowess, which in turn made them speculate about the knife he had used. Some scholars believe that the knife he used was not the Arkansas Toothpick, but another knife altogether. This knife you see is one of the earliest designs for Bowie made by James Black, which had been supervised by Rezin, James' brother." "The Arkansas Toothpick...?" Falcon said as he stared at Barry. "No wonder people in the Old West had missing teeth..." "I think that's because dental hygiene had not been thoroughly established at that time, Falcon, not because they accidentally cut their teeth out with it..." Slater commented, leaning down to study the knife in the case from a closer perspective. The sharpened dagger had no cross guard to ensure the protection of the hands when gripping the handle. The handle itself was coffin-shaped, illustrating perilous symbolism; this knife could obviously kill an individual without fail based on the cut of the steel blade. "We call it Bowie No.1," Barry detailed. "We acquired the knife several years ago from two Texan collectors, and it is believed to have been an important factor in the prominence of the Bowie Knives that followed." As Slater focused on the coffin-shaped handle, he was brought back to his ritualistic revival so to speak in Independence. He had pulled a casket along Liberty Street to a park from the center of the town and had cut his "TAINTED" mark with a knife. The connection was coincidental, but it also made him think of the war going on in ACW. "These types of knives were used by the Confederates during the Civil War," Barry explained. "Eventually they were outclassed by bayonets, revolvers and rifles, and collapsed into mediocrity. Yet its legacy will continue, as will James Bowie." "Whatever happened to this bloke?" Falcon asked. "He perished at the Alamo," Barry answered. "After Bowie had established himself in Texas, the Revolution started. He became a Colonel for the forces as they defended the Alamo in a famous conflict. Legend has it that whilst Bowie was bedridden by illness, he still continued fighting, residing on his bed as he killed various Mexican's with his knives and pistols." "Now that's a bloody fighter..." Falcon said, respecting Bowie's determined strengths. With Slater now kneeling by the encased dagger, Barry looked over his shoulder and witnessed two women looking around at the displays. "Well, it has been a pleasure gentleman, but I'll have to make myself useful elsewhere." "Thanks for the history lesson," Slater said, nodding appreciatively as Barry smiled. "No problem, young man. It's great to know that some people like to continue learning." As Barry ventured off to tend to the two women and share his knowledge, Falcon knelt beside Slater and studied the knife with him. "Do you know what's ironic?" Slater questioned openly. "What?" "This knife represented what I did before Chasing the Dream. Look at the handle." Noticing the coffin-design, Falcon blinked. "Well ain't that a coincidence..." "That's what I thought," Slater admitted. "But I feel like this knife symbolizes more than just what I did. It's what I have to continue doing." "Eh?" "This growing war in ACW isn't going to end until one side has accepted defeat by surrendering..." Slater stated. "That's what Judas, Cera and Thor want us to do, but we won't give up so easily." "What does that have to do with the bloody knife?" Falcon asked, bewildered by Slater's symbolic mind. "They think they have the tools to tear ACW asunder. They want to take control and slice away the ties we have to the company, making it their sole property. Thor is the one that has vowed to take control, and he is going to try and cut me down to stop a resistance. But unbeknownst to him, I'm the one that's holding the knife in this situation." "... Why are you the one holding the knife?" Falcon asked, having no clue what Slater is talking about. "Because, Falcon, I'm going to be James Bowie in Pine Bluff, and I'm going to defend myself accordingly in order to finalize this war." "Oh, I see. I thought it was because you wanted to bury Thor in a coffin, like the one on the handle, because he looks like an emo vampire." Slater stared at Falcon for a couple of seconds before he turned back to the knife in the display. "The only thing I'm going to bury is this war once it ends. As the Silver Knight, that is my sworn duty, and I won't back down when they need me the most. And somehow ... if I do go down during this so-called "Duel in Pine Bluff" against Thor, or against Judas or Cera in the future, just like Bowie did at the Alamo..." Raising his eyes to Bowie's face, picturing the man that had crafted a legacy from his fighting skills and leadership capabilities, Slater concentrated on him as he thought of Thor collapsing to the canvas. "At least I'm going to go down fighting." |
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