We Didn't Start The Fire
by FanficAllergy & RoseFyre

oOo

Chapter Eight: Blowin' In The Wind

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Last Time in We Didn't Start The Fire:

"What are you trying to tell me, Peet?" he asks.

"I'm telling you to seize the day. Speak up. Let her know how you feel. What's the worst that could happen?"

"She could say no."

"She could say yes."

oOo

Reaping Day arrives.

We're seated with Madge and Rye in the main cafeteria to watch it unfold. The three of us didn't plan on being here, but Thirteen's technicians are still unable to hijack the Capitol's signal, so the planned announcement won't be happening today. Instead Gale, Katniss, and I, along with our families and much of the rest of Thirteen, are waiting to watch the start of this year's Games.

I keep remembering my mother-in-law's words: children under the age of twelve will be eligible to be Reaped. It's a daunting reality that if we still lived in District Twelve, our son would have his name in the Reaping Bowl. It puts a whole new terrifying spin on an already horrifying spectacle.

Watching Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith banter back and forth about the upcoming Quell is nauseating. I'd forgotten how excited the two sound while making their predictions about the Games. This year, they're even more exuberant than I've ever seen them before. It's a Quell, and as Caesar says, "The Quell Arenas are always something very special."

I'm going to be sick.

Gale notices my discomfort and reaches out to gently clasp my shoulder. I turn to meet his eyes and I can see the unspoken question there. Am I okay?

I shake my head. No. I'm not. I just can't shake this feeling that something horrible is going to happen.

Gale wraps his arm around me, trying to comfort me in the best way he knows how. I feel the bench we're sitting on shift, and Katniss comes into view. She'd been sitting next to Gale, but now, because she's noticed I'm in pain, she's here squeezing herself into the narrow space between me and the random person sitting next to me. When she's situated, she reaches out to take my hand. Buffered between my two loves, I finally feel able to face the Reaping. Turning back to the large screens in the cafeteria, I note that I've missed most of the lead up to the Games, including the recap of the Quell announcement, and that the action has turned to the Reapings themselves.

The first tribute called excites Caesar and Claudius. I admit the name sounds familiar, but it's not until the two men start gushing that I realize who he is.

"Oh, can you believe it? A Legacy tribute! Although I'm not sure that's the right term for it. Myron Gaultier, grandfather of our own dear Cashmere and Gloss Gaultier! We should expect good things from him," Caesar says, smiling coyly at the cameras.

Myron Gaultier steps up onstage and regards the crowd impassively, his white hair and bright blue eyes contrasting against his tanned skin. He has to have been a strikingly handsome man in his youth and his proud stance and still muscular physique shows he's kept himself in pretty good shape. He's joined a few moments later by somebody of equally advanced years and I let out a small sigh. The two from District One have had a full life. They deserve better, but at least they're not children.

The first tribute from District Two gives me hope again. She's even older than the two from One, her hands gnarled with arthritis, and her walk to the stage is slow but steady.

But then my heart sinks when the next name is read.

"Justus Upton!"

A man screams.

My heart sinks even more when I see the small thin form of a brown haired little boy trudging up onstage. It's clear he's trying his hardest not to cry. He keeps looking out into the crowd, and I see several stricken faces with the same green eyes and freckles. They must be his family.

All around me I hear grumblings of disgust. How dare the Capitol allow this? I can see it in the faces of District Two. The crowd around the pen of potential tributes murmurs loud enough that the microphones can pick it up. It's the same murmur we heard whenever a twelve year old was Reaped at home. The murmur of disappointment and despair. They aren't happy.

Claudius and Caesar don't spend any time remarking about the abomination that's just occurred in District Two. Instead they quickly move on to District Three, where a twelve year old is Reaped. In any other year, her age would be remarkable. Except for this year. A six year old has just been Reaped, and I've got a feeling this is only the beginning.

I wish I weren't so prophetic. District Four gets hit especially hard. Both of their tributes are under the age of five. While the little girl, Pacifica Jonasson, an adorable child with her auburn hair in two pigtails, skips up onstage, excited to hear her name called, the boy, Ferdie O'Doyle, is forcibly ripped from his mother's arms and carried to the stage by a faceless Peacekeeper. He's less than a year old.

This isn't right.

My heart goes out to Ferdie's family and I want to find Rain and cuddle him close, feeling his warm body and hearing his little grunts and squeaks.

Katniss leans her head against my shoulder and looks up at me. "We'll go after this is over." She doesn't need to say where.

After the horror of District Four, not even a former Victor being called in District Six can raise many eyebrows.

But at least in Districts Five, Six, and Seven, no children are Reaped. We're not so lucky when it comes to District Eight. A seven year old boy, Taylor Maitland, walks up onstage. Unlike Justus from District Two, he's unable to keep the tears from falling.

Poor kid.

All around me, I can hear people letting out relieved sighs every time someone over the age of twelve is called. Even Caesar seems relieved. His eyes actually crinkle at the corners when someone Reaping age or older is called.

Another child is dragged up onstage in District Ten. Grover Roosevelt. The black haired little boy looks to be around the same age as Pacifica from Four. Up on the screen, Caesar's smile becomes fixed. This is the first time I've ever seen him not be enthusiastic about something Games related. I wonder if anyone else has noticed.

District Eleven is only notable for having the second Victor Reaped. Haymitch's old drinking buddy Chaff is called up onstage. I'm a little surprised to see him. I would've thought that he would've taken tesserae when he was younger. I guess I was wrong.

Then we're up to District Twelve, our home. So many kids my age took out tesserae, especially last year, which means the tributes are very unlikely to be the normal Reaping age. I know my mother was considering signing Rye and me up after our father died but Farl managed to talk her out of it, saying since we still had food and a successful business we didn't need the extra rations. But so many other families didn't have that choice, including both of my spouses. It would have saved them this year, but not last year, and it still scares me how close I came to losing them both. But now, I can't revel in my good fortune, because I know I'm lucky. Today, twenty four families are very unlucky.

My heart sinks when Effie Trinket read out the first name, Shuga Coombs. I hear Katniss draw in a sharp breath. She must know the family.

I find out why a few seconds later, when a little Seam girl no older than three in a faded blue calico dress trudges up onstage. She smiles at Effie hopefully, trying to figure out what she's supposed to do next.

Effie Trinket, to her credit, looks sick to her stomach. I can tell she wants to ask if anybody's willing to volunteer. She opens her mouth then visibly wilts as she remembers that no volunteers are allowed this year. She strokes the little girl's hair and asks her if she wants to say anything.

Shuga nods her head and points at the bright orange wig the Capitol woman is wearing. "Can I touch it?"

Effie nods her head, crouching down to let the little girl pat the carefully coiffed curls.

Shuga smiles up at her. "You're pwetty! Can I wear a dress as pwetty as yours in the Capitol?"

"You'll just have to wait and see," Effie tries to chirp but fails, her voice full of unshed tears. Pulling herself together, she takes a deep breath and says with false cheer, "And now for the boys!"

She dips her hand into the glass bowl and pulls out a slip. I can see the color drain from her face when she reads the name. The fact that she knows the person is bad. Other than Haymitch Abernathy, who I'm pretty sure would have taken tesserae when he was a teenager, who does she know in District Twelve?

I hold my breath.

"Wexler Undersee."

Oh fuck! That's the Mayor.

All of our eyes turn to Madge. She's gone white as a sheet.

"Madge?" Rye asks, concerned.

She doesn't reply. She can't. Her eyes roll back in her head and she topples to the floor in a dead faint.

oOo

Madge comes to in the Infirmary early the following morning. She looks at all of us with a serious expression on her face before saying, "It wasn't a dream, was it?"

Rye shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Madge."

The Mayor's daughter bursts into tears. "It's all my fault! If I hadn't run, my father wouldn't have been Reaped!"

"You can't know that," Katniss says.

"Yes I can!" she cries. "What other reason would they have for Reaping him? He's been loyal his whole life, and now this. They're doing this to punish him, to punish me for running away!"

"It could be part of it," Gale says softly, trying to calm the girl down. "But you're not the only one who ran. All of us in this room share some responsibility for your father being Reaped." His eyes narrow and his voice becomes hard. "Actually no. We don't. We are not responsible for this atrocity. The only person who is responsible for your father being Reaped is President Snow. He's the one who did this. Don't blame yourself for Snow's crimes."

"Oh my, that was just lovely! Bravo, bravo!" Fulvia cheers, clapping her hands in delight.

Katniss glares at the woman disapprovingly. "What are you doing here?"

Fulvia ignores my wife's question. "Did you get that?" she asks, turning to Castor, who's got a camera in his hands. "Please tell me you got that."

The man nods.

"Wonderful! Now we know what will be the pinnacle moment of our next propo!"

"If you don't mind, could we get a little privacy?" I ask politely, reaching out to squeeze Katniss's hand in warning. There's no point in alienating Fulvia's team, but we really don't need to have all of our conversations filmed for posterity.

"Oh, absolutely! That was so exciting, so moving! I need to get with the rest of the team and edit this all together!"

Castor smiles at us apologetically and ushers Fulvia out of the room.

The five of us are left alone, finally.

"Sorry about that," I say. "She can be a little… airheaded. But she means well."

Madge brushes my apology off with one hand. "I know. I just can't believe my father's going into the Games."

"A lot of people are going into the Games that shouldn't be there," I state. "All of them, in fact."

Rye glances up at me, his eyes hard. "You want me to go get that woman again? If you're gonna keep making speeches…"

"Sorry. It's just…" I take a deep breath. "It's just so stupid!"

"What, the Games?" Gale asks. "Of course they are."

I shake my head. "No! That President Snow allowed this!"

The four of them regard me with confusion.

I run my hands through my hair, trying to pull my thoughts together in a way that makes sense. "Look. He had to know that the Career districts would only have elderly people and children eligible to be Reaped! I bet everybody in Districts One, Two, and Four takes out tesserae 'cause there's always a volunteer."

I see Madge nod, she's the first to put it together, but the other three still look perplexed.

"No matter who gets called in those districts, somebody volunteers. There's no risk. So why not take out tesserae? But this Quell? Snow's deliberately made it impossible for the most capable to be Reaped in those three districts. He's just gonna piss off One, Two, and Four that way." I pause, noting that both Gale and Katniss seem to understand where I'm going, leaving only Rye in the dark. I direct the last bit at my brother. "And not allowing for volunteers? You can bet Four and Twelve would've had volunteers, just to save the babies, not to mention One and Two. Probably Eight and Ten as well. Instead, Snow's just handed us tons of symbols for the rebellion. It's like Snow wants the districts to rebel. It doesn't make any sense!"

"But Snow didn't write the Quells. That was done back seventy five years ago," Katniss points out. "Snow wasn't even born then. He couldn't have written the Quells."

"Katniss, I love you, but you're awfully naive," I tell her, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and dropping a quick kiss on her cheek. "They probably have a whole list of Quell ideas they pick from at some grand meeting a few months to a few years ahead of time. For all we know, they could've had 'Reap from the existing Victor pool' or 'Only those families who've already had members in the Hunger Games are eligible.' Or heck, they could've even just called for triple the number of tributes, or gone back to the voting like the first Quell. Yes, Snow opened a sealed envelope, but it could've been sealed that morning."

"It doesn't matter. Snow's still responsible for all of this," Gale states. "If we want to know if he wrote the Quell announcement, we can ask him before we kill him. But he still allowed it. It doesn't matter if the announcement was written seventy five years ago or the morning of Reaping Day. He's still the one responsible."

"That doesn't make me feel any better," Madge says. "My father's still gonna die. On national television. And there's nothing I can do."

Disengaging myself from Katniss, I reach out and clasp her hand. "Sure there is. You can keep his memory alive and make sure everyone knows just how wrong this was."

oOo

We watch the parade that evening in Madge's recovery room. Rory and Prim are both with us and Katniss is nursing Rain. Rye is sitting next to his girlfriend, his arms wrapped around her slim frame, glaring at everyone and everything that might upset her even more. I wonder, inanely, if Katniss has been giving him glaring lessons, or if he's just a natural.

The parade is depressing to say the least. The triumphant entrance of the tributes usually sets the tone for the rest of the Games. This year, the tone isn't jubilant, but rather resigned. It doesn't bode well.

District One is dressed lavishly. They always are. But the costumes are repeats of ones worn in previous years. I wouldn't have noticed on my own, but Claudius Templesmith points it out with a hint of disgust in his voice.

District Two must have a new stylist, because instead of the normal martial theme, Justus and Prisca are wearing gorgeous outfits with slightly reflective surfaces meant to simulate polished granite. The costumes garner a lot of praise and cheers from the crowd. I hope that means that District Twelve will have better outfits as well.

I'm not sure what the tributes from District Three are supposed to be. They're dressed head to toe in shiny green unitards decorated with squiggles of different colored wire. Caesar thinks that they are wonderful renditions of a computer chip. I think they just look like one of my old kindergarten projects.

I brace myself for the reveal of the next district. This isn't going to be pleasant. The first thing I notice is District Four's two tributes are being supported by somebody dressed head to toe entirely in black. The person is holding the two kids in the chariot so they don't fall out and can be seen by the crowds. The kids themselves are dressed in weird puffy costumes, almost like someone took the stuffing out of an oversized child's toy and then shoved the children into it. The baby, Ferdie, is wearing some kind of gray fish outfit with pointed teeth and a triangular fin on his back. Pacifica's wearing a shiny fish tail studded with sequins and a top of two shells which modestly cover her chest. The Capitol watchers, to their credit, don't cheer as their chariot rolls by. Even they think this is wrong.

I have to turn away when District Five comes on screen. Not because they're dressed horribly, but because their costumes are blinding. From what I can make out before I can't watch anymore, they're garbed head to toe in tiny mirrors that twinkle and reflect the light. Seeing them through a television screen is bad enough, I can't even imagine what they look like in person.

I'm able to turn back to the television when Claudius announces that District Six is now the focus. The former Victor, Chevy, and her partner, Henry's, stylist actually put some effort into their costumes, but not enough in my opinion. While Henry is an attractive man, Chevy is thin to the point of emaciation and no amount of makeup is able to cover the dark circles around her eyes. And the stylist's decision to dress them as sexy versions of a locomotive doesn't help Chevy's appearance at all.

It's almost a relief to see that District Seven's two tributes are wearing tree outfits, just as they do every year. Although this time it looks like they have brightly colored lights attached to them and little stars on top of their heads.

District Eight's costumes seem to be a mix. Serge's stylist clearly went all out, crafting a gown of flowing lace and ribbon for the young woman. But the boy, Taylor, is completely overlooked in his ill-fitting simple black suit with a black bow tie. He all but fades into the shadows of the chariot, making it look like Serge is the only tribute from Eight from certain angles.

Like District Seven and its trees, District Nine always is some kind of grain. This year is no different. And the two tributes are dressed as sheafs of wheat. In fact, I think that they've used this same costume the last few years. I feel sorry for the two tributes, no one will remember them enough to bother sending them any sponsorship gifts.

Ten is definitely memorable, but not in a good way. The older woman, Earlene, is dressed in a poofy blue and pink dress and is carrying a staff with a little curve on the end like the handle of a cane. Next to her, Grover is dressed up as a fluffy sheep. I'm not sure what the stylist was thinking, but from the set of Earlene's mouth, I know she's not happy.

District Eleven's costumes are a throwback to what Chaff wore the first time he was in the Games, or so Caesar informs us. His Games happened over a decade before I was born and Chaff isn't nearly as memorable or likeable of a Victor as Finnick Odair, so they rarely replay his Games. Apparently when Chaff won, the outfit he wore was a jar of peanut butter while his district partner was attired as a jar of jelly, and that's what the tributes are in now. Chaff just looks bemused at the whole thing while his partner, Valli, is trying to hide the behind the lip of the chariot.

I pray that whoever is the stylist for Twelve doesn't decide to revisit one the Games from a few years ago when the tributes were clad only in coal dust. I don't think Madge would handle seeing her father naked very well.

My heart does a little lurch when I see the two from District Twelve. They're not dressed only in coal dust, which is a relief, or even in the typical coal miner get up that we usually see. Instead, they're dressed up as coal, which is almost worse. The outfits are made up of some shapeless black shiny material with the tributes' legs and arms sticking out awkwardly at various angles because of the costumes' poofiness. The Mayor is holding Shuga in his arms and helping her wave at the crowds. The little girl is adorable and I'm reminded again that she shouldn't be there.

I feel that many of the stylists didn't even bother trying to make their tributes stand out, recycling clothing and themes from previous years. Other than District Two and Serge from District Eight, none of the outfits were remarkable in the way that mattered.

With the parade done, Snow gives his usual speech, and then it's over.

Now we have to wait for the next round of horrors to begin.

oOo

AN:
Written: 4/17/15
Revised: 7/27/15
Revised 2: 8/12/15

This chapter's title comes from the Bob Dylan song "Blowin' in the Wind," which has been covered by fifty billion other artists… and okay that's hyperbole but not by much.

Welcome to the Quarter Quell. It won't be as long as FanficAllergy's other fic "Spectator," but it will be significantly longer than the recap of the Seventy Fourth Games, since it is happening in real time.

Things We Randomized:

- The ages of all of the tributes other than Chaff and Chevy. Yes, that includes all six children and the Mayor. We rolled ages between 0 and 85 and ended up with a fifty-one year old male from District Twelve… and realized that the Mayor could easily be that age and made sense as a tribute for this Games, due to all the people who ran away, especially his daughter. The Capitol could easily choose to punish him for that.

Thanks for reading! We hope you're enjoying!