District 11
Chaff strolled down the length of the train platform, watching as the bolls of cotton and shipments of crops were loaded onto the boxcars. The flurry of activity was even more frenzied than usual; the Reaping for the Quarter Quell was tomorrow morning.
Spying the friendly, white conductor, Chaff gave him a cordial nod. He noted how the conductor's eyes saw him, then quickly looked askance, even as he made his way straight for Chaff. Keep it casual….
As white man and black man passed each other, Chaff felt a piece of paper pressed into his one remaining hand. He kept right on walking, nonchalant, his one hand clenched into a fist so that it almost seemed to match the stump on his right. Railway Peacekeepers and a few of the white overseers eyed him warily, some even glared at him, but Chaff just kept right on walking. As a Victor, he had the run of the district, could walk and go anywhere he pleased, and didn't have to work in the fields picking cotton. Up until a couple of months ago, he had thought that nothing could touch him.
Then Snow had proved him wrong, in the President's biggest gamble yet. Chaff had to hand it to the bastard: he had guts.
But so did he. And many other Victors like him.
His underground contacts had gotten a hold of him within days of the Reading of the Card. Messages since then had been at lengthy intervals, but steady. Like this one, he hoped.
Exiting the train platform, Chaff continued to walk casually, even as his heart pounded with excitement in his chest, until he came to the back entrance of Victor's Village. Stealing into the shadow of Orchus's old mansion (now a museum to the poor old special needs fellow who had won the 3rd Hunger Games almost by accident), Chaff eagerly unfolded the paper.
Caesar's anniversaries are coming up; tell everyone to be on their guard for interviews ending in -5 and 1-0.
Clicking a lighter, Chaff watched the message burn away. The code could be a little stronger, but it would do for now. No one would get suspicious over a henny-penny message about Caesar sodding Flickerman. Only Chaff knew what it really meant: Districts 5 and 10 were going rogue. Roan wasn't going to play ball, the fucking Settler idjut, and there was now chatter that the coin toss between the men in 5 was fixed in and if Matthias was sent back, he'd be out for revenge against the completely wrong people too. Chaff couldn't care less about Roan, but he did feel a twinge of sadness in regards to Matty. All that drinking must have really affected his mind. Then again, he and his best friend were both drunks too, so Chaff was one to talk.
Stealing out from the darkened corner of the mansion-museum, Chaff strolled towards his place. The sun was setting fast over Eleven's fields; bathed almost in its fireball sat his mentor on her front porch. Seeder Crue looked much older than her 61 years would have suggested, and the aging had seemed to catch up with her these last several months since the card reading. Wordlessly, Chaff ascended the steps of her porch, watching her. She did not turn her head, gazing out over the cotton fields in the distance, almost serene. A single tear clung to her cheek.
Seeder cared just as passionately as the rest of them did; she just emoted more than most. When things got bad, she turned to melancholy, not anger. Not like him. When he had first woken up in the Recovery Center thirty years ago, Chaff had been mad as hell and wanted to hit something, hurt someone. Seeder had talked him down from the ledge.
I know you have that anger. But you can't let it out, not yet. I'll tell you when you can let that anger out.
She had, and she had also pointed him towards a productive and worthwhile way to use that anger: rebellion.
Seeder was involved, of course, but she mostly provided counsel, stepping back and letting Chaff take the leadership role, which her former tribute didn't mind. They were suited to their roles.
Seeder finally registered his presence, her eyes sorrowful, and she opened her arms.
"Hold me."
And like a son holding his aging mother, he did.
It was a rude awakening by the Peacekeepers next morning. They almost burst into Chaff's foyer the moment he opened the door; thank goodness he had had the foresight to wear his clothes for the next day to bed. In an instant, the one-handed man was surrounded and being forced out onto his porch. Kiddy-cornered across the way, a similar posse encircled Seeder, guns drawn. Chaff nodded to her reassuringly.
An officer stuck the butt of his gun in Chaff's back. "Walk, cripple."
Chaff wrestled down the urge to fight or talk back. Meeting up in the center of the Village, he and Seeder were placed in order of Victory, she first, he second.
"Victors! Quick….. march!" The head of the battalion cocked and loaded his gun, leading everyone in a doubletime goosestep out of the Village. Chaff only had a couple of moments to look back at the empty mansions they were leaving behind, particularly the ones acting as shrines for Orchus, as well as Wren Lessia, Victor of the 20th. Chaff had never met either of them – Orchus had pulled a Lucy Gray Baird (read: disappearance) before Wren even won. But Wren had been Seeder's mentor for the 31st; the lady talked about her sometimes.
The clock was just about to strike the hour when they arrived to mount the stage. Scanning the sea of faces, Chaff was heartened to see that nearly every one of them was ready to explode with the passion that fuels insurrection. The escort clearly must have noticed the tension too, for he was acting very nervous. At one point, Chaff watched him scamper over to Mayor Sasse and ask if it really was necessary to even pull the names from the bowls; they knew who was going in. Why not just skip the theatrics? No, Sasse replied unequivocally, a hot mic picking up his order.
The escort sighed, but in his own act of defiance, didn't even cross to either bowl on either side of the stage.
"Seeder Crue! Chaff Habarti!"
Seeder and Chaff crossed to shake hands…. Then keeping them clasped, lifted them on high. The crowd assembled below took that as a cue to get rowdy and unruly, which wasn't unusual for them; the Victory Tour for Haymitch's kids had been worse and incurred more costs in damage than this. Even so, the spooked Peacekeepers hustled both Seeder and Chaff directly onto the train.
Chaff could still hear the shouting when the train was several miles away.
