Post #2258 in main thread.

“I can hear the auctioneer getting ready to sell down the river
To a buyer with a tax deduction its pretty cheap
Don’t forget about the price that we’ll all have to pay now
Show a little faith and stop before we’re in too deep
Well judgment day is upon you Mr. Politician
Will you sell the soul of the land of our birth
Do you really want us all to move to the coast
Water for the river and the future should come first””
…Selling Down the River
…Mark O’Brien


8:01PM Thursday 3 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey


This time, there was no elaborate setup. Director Hankerchief did not summon everybody to a masquerade off-site in order to execute somebody. Nor did he pass anything out, wheel anything in, or bring in large carnivorous animals. For once, he did not leave the ballroom during the entire course of voting. All in all, this actually looked to be a fairly normal execution.

The only work that was done by his usual assistants was quickly completed so that by the time the Director announced Montmorency would be the day's lynch and said victim got up in front of the room to face everybody, the setup was already done. Aside from the usual Director's podium, Hankerchief's lovely female assistants had set up a small table with two chairs on opposite sides, with two empty glasses set on top of the table. The Director indicated for Montmorency to sit down while one of Hankerchief's assistants presented him with a bottle of wine. Bottle in hand, the Director remained standing to address the crowd.

"What you see here is a standard bottle of wine - well, if you could call '18 LaTour standard - that has not been altered in any way. I am about to take the cork out of the bottle for the very first time and breathe in its aroma. I do this in front of you so that none of you will be able to deny me later." The crowd watched in silence as he did what he said. "Once again, completely unaltered, I am now going to pour this same wine from the bottle into the two glasses." Again the crowd watched as he did this. "Now this..." the Director said as he reached into his lapel and pulled out a tiny capsule, "...is poison. I am going to empty its contents into one of the two wine glasses, and *not* in full view of everybody." He turned around, taking the glasses and hiding his movements so no one could see what he was doing. This time he did not do his task in silence, as the entire crowd had gasped over this turn of events. After a few seconds, the Director turned around, very deliberately setting one of the glasses in front of Montmorency and keeping the other in front of himself.

"I have decided to be merciful today - well, at least, as close to merciful that I can be. There has been some dissent over my leadership recently - that I am overseeing bad lynches, that I am being too forceful with my methods and not forceful enough regarding the Committee's night actions. Therefore, I am giving Montmorency a chance to get out of this alive. To change his fate. Only one of these glasses is poisoned. The other one is not. All he has to do is drink from the correct glass. If he's wrong, he dies. If he's right, I die and the Directorship passes to someone else. It's all in Montmorency's - and God's - hands. Let the battle of wits begin." And finally he sat down, staring at Montmorency with an impassive expression on his face.

Montmorency's facade of impenetrability was much more transparent. He was able to hold it for about ten seconds before breaking gaze with the Director and starting to mutter to himself. Most of it was unintelligible, but the Director was able to pick up such words as "Spaniard", "morons", and "land war in Asia". Hankerchief himself said nothing, only staring back at Montmorency with the slightest of smiles on his face. The Committee was completely silent. They could almost feel the brainpower in the air.

Beads of sweat started to form on Montmorency's face. One of them rolled down his cheek. It was becoming clear to everybody that the Director was, in fact, the superior intellectual, that he was most likely going to defeat his opponent, that the only way Montmorency would get out of this alive would be with a lucky guess. The muttering started up again. The sweat started to pour down his face now. Montmorency's eyes started to dart around the room, almost as if searching for something, calculating.

After several seconds of this, the darting stopped. Montmorency appeared calmer somehow, more confident. He stood up and turned around, facing the crowd, while still ostensibly speaking to the Director.

"I've figured it out!" he proclaimed. "Nobody in such a position of power would willingly risk it like this. No, you've gamed the system somehow. There *must* be a lynch, everyone knows this, and you wouldn't jeopardize that rule. You've probably poisoned both glasses but took an antidote beforehand, or have secretly built up a resistance to whatever poison you're using." He started to grow more frantic again, breaking the previous calmness. "Well, I deny you, sir! I deny this charade any longer! I refuse to take part in your mind games! The Committee can all go to Hell!!!" And then he broke for it, sprinting down the ballroom before anyone had a chance to react. He was so fast he managed to get to the doors before anyone reacted. Finally, everyone gasped save for GeneralHankerchief, who still had that small smile on his face.

Montmorency threw open the doors... only to reveal a very large, very hungry Bengal tiger right on the other side, waiting to pounce.

Montmorency was too in shock to do anything. He stood there, rooted to the ground, as Fred tore into his newest meal. Back in the Executive Meeting Room, there was far less commotion than last time. It had happened too quickly, the tiger had gotten its target right away, everyone was still processing what had happened and by the time they did, it was over. Finally, as Fred was done, the Director signaled for quiet and for someone to close the doors. Still with that same smile on his face, he addressed the Committee.

"All part of the plan," he said. "What, you thought I'd actually poisoned the wine? A bottle of 1918 LaTour? Philistines, all of you." And he produced three more glasses, poured the rest of the wine to his female assistants, and they all toasted the continued good health of the Committee.


OOC

Orders (active and passive separate please) for Night 6 are due no later than:
.

Lynch Vote Tally:

Montmorency: 19 (HeroDC, Johhog, PeasantPhill, Cahoma, Yaropolk, Renata, Beefy, FrozeninIce, BRay, W&F, Seon, Memnon, Sturmhauke, Choxorn, AgKing, Chaotix, Beskar, Raskol, kennigit)

Sigurd: 10 (BSmith, SisterCoyote, ULC, shlin28, Scienter, ScottishRanger, gnarlycharlie, guiri, Secura, fubbleskag)

Clitsome: 9 (Andres, Diamondeye, Sprig, CecilXIX, TS, Sasaki, Psycho, Craterus, Khaan)

Chaotix: 4 (thefluffyone, Populus, DaveShack, Gamezrule)

Johhog: 4 (ATPG, LazyMcCrow, WhiteEyes, Slash&Earn)

Diamondeye: 4 (Visorslash, WinstonHughes, Romanic, autolycus)

AggonyKing: 2 (Gibsonsg, Neri)

Memnon: 2 (OTLD, Fyremarble)

Sasaki: 1 (Jolt)
Jolt: 1 (landlubber)
Romanic: 1 (Ironside
Oh! TheLastDays!: 1 (DIY)
ScottishRanger: 1 (sigurd)

Abstain: 6 (Diana, Erebus, IbnKhaldun, BillMC, Riedquat, believer)