The crowd hushed as the final, most climactic event of the Tontine approached. Everyone was quiet and hushed -- host Jeremy MacNeil was at the podium, together with the one person immune to the drawing -- the beltholder, the Jamaican. You could cut the tension with a knife. Only the Jamaican seemed remotely calm. The excitement and the nervousness was thick and pungent. MacNeil hated being on the same stage as the Jamaican and it was so obvious -- every inch of his body, from the top of his cap down to the sole of his show, showed that resentment and anger.
The fishbowl that somebody had brought was filled with about 100 scraps of paper -- not only was it the fighters, but everyone who had come to watch, to trade, to make business. Every name was in the bowl....and someone's was about to get picked.
The beltholder drew the slip of paper and pulled it open. He smiled bemusedly and handed it to MacNeil, who swore.
The Jamaican spoke first"I would have thought you would have taken this one out, MacNeil." He turned to the crowd and held up the slip of paper. "Seems as I have drawn my own name. However, the belt makes me immune. I will draw another." He dropped the slip of paper on the floor.
The crowd roared in anger and anticipation as the Jamaican took out another slip, each of them aware of who his neighbors were and where the nearest exit was
The Jamaican looked concerned at the new piece of paper. "Why, Mr. MacNeil, it seems as though I've drawn *another* piece of paper with my own name. Perhaps the integrity of your....security team....isn't as good as we thought." He showed it to MacNeil as he drew another. MacNeil was shaking in anger.
The Jamaican took out a third slip of paper. "Ah." He showed it to MacNeil. "Sergei Voshkov."
The crowd, as one, formed a circle around the Russian Nosferatu, who shrank from sight. ALthough hidden, the frenzied Brujah mob knew he was in there and, as one, leapt into the seemingly empty circle.
A Brujah from Dallas named Tex was the first to get ahold of him. He grabbed something and repeatedly punched it. "I got the fucker! I got the fucker!"
Another vampire, this one from Detroit, was quick to help out Tex. He ripped off something he got ahold of -- "I got an ear!" Knowing the crowd may very well tear him apart for his trophy, he backed off.
A Gangrel from Oregon was the next lucky participant. With Tex holding down the screaming, now-visible Nosferatu, the Gangrel used his wolf's claws to slice off the leg at the knee.
As the legions of Kindred descended upon the screaming, writhing Nosferatu, control got lost somewhere along the line. The mob lurched and lusted after the blood, and the Nosferatu stopped screaming very, very quickly.
MacNeil's ghoul spoke from the podium. "Thank everyone for coming to LA! Now get the fuck out before the Justicars come and quiet this fucking riot themselves!".
It wasn't until after the frenzy had let down that three different people realized that they had gotten ears as trophies. The crazed blood puddle on the floor belied few clues -- the clothes that were once there were trampled into the ground, although what might've been a cowboy hat was visible.