With thanks to Glassgift, MidnightRaven323, deathless . smile and JadeRavenstone for your reviews of the last chapter.

Y184-09-06 T 22:18:29

THE CAPITOL

At least one Capitol news outlet always wanted his take on the Victor each year; not so much because of his expertise but because the name 'Rufus Warnke' was a known quantity to the people of the Capitol. This year he had been press-ganged into Cherry Haven's interview process, which was frenetic to say the least.

The Capitol gossip-mongerer had taken control of one of the rooms in the Creation Center in Headquarters Square, and not-so-politely insisted upon Rufus' joining her, which had been backed up by a plainclothed Peacekeeper guarding him. Security was on high alert since the 'accident'.

Rufus pulled at the cuffs of his ill-fitting suit, the shirt of which was chafing at his barely-healed injuries; Cherry sat primly in her glittering chin-to-ankle dress, her headdress of feathers fluttering precariously above her.

"So, Rufus," Cherry simpered, impatiently waving away an Avox with a tray of drinks, "How is it to have another outlier Victor? It's been a little while since your type won."

Rufus resisted the urge to call out the sheer inaccuracy and indecorum of taking every single District that wasn't militarised for victory and calling them 'your type'. He was from District 9 and Quint from District 6; transport and agriculture were so far apart it beggared belief that Cherry could believe them similar.

But he couldn't say any of that.

"Great," he said gruffly. Cherry blinked at the abrupt reply, and changed tack, her abrasive tone softening and wavering slightly.

"And, ah, what do you think of the great tragedy that befell our nation this week?"

Oh, come on. What did she want him to say? That he had lived in the Dark Days and seen far, far worse? That he had lived in District 9 in both war and peacetime, and seen children dying of starvation despite tending endless fields of golden grain? That he had been the last crowned by President Sanchez and had watched President Snow bloodily emerge and retcon history? That only days ago, that same President had tortured him for information? Did she expect him to mourn for the people that had enslaved him?

But he couldn't say any of that.

"It's terrible," he growled. Cherry, now both unsettled and without an interview fit to put in print, aggressively waved over the Avox with the drinks tray.

She didn't quite get to drain her alcohol, however, before the doors opened. Two Capitol Guards held open the french doors while a man walked through the middle.

Rufus had never been active in Capitol politics, but even he could recognise the Secretary of Communications when he saw him.

"Mr Heavensbee," Cherry began in shock, but he waved a hand impatiently.

"You'll have an exclusive with me when you drop that lead you're chasing on the Head Gamemaker's replacement," Plutarch intoned. "Until then, we need the room."

Cherry left the room with an impetuous swish, while Rufus stood slowly on his bulky cane to leave. Plutarch raised a hand.

"Ah-ah; we're here to talk to you, Mr Warnke. Well; I say we. I'm here to talk to you."

Rufus glanced to the two Capitol Guards that now stood in front of the french doors. "About what?"

"Standard procedure; we're making sure all of the Victors are up to speed on media procedure following the tragedy." Plutarch turned to his two bodyguards. "Guys, this man's eighty and we're in Games Headquarters; I think I'm pretty safe. Take half an hour, would you?"

"We have to keep an eye on you at all times, sir," one of the Guards replied hesitantly.

"Darien, you've kept an eye on me nonstop for twelve hours now. Don't you have a girlfriend to call in on or something?"

The Guard shuffled slightly.

"Due respect, sir, I just ejected her from the room."

The other Guard stifled a smirk. Plutarch sighed.

"Then go over and apologise to her. But if she asks I am serious on the lead thing, she needs to drop that. Ellaria, stop grinning or I'm rescinding my offer. Seriously, both of you go do something for half an hour. You guys are stifling me."

"Yes, sir," the Guards said in unison, saluting with perfect synchronicity before leaving the room, clicking the doors carefully shut behind them before walking down the corridors. Plutarch watched them leave before heaving a huge sigh.

"I swear, trying to get them off their guard is harder than it should be, considering I'm technically their boss." He turned to face Rufus, gesturing quickly to the desk and chairs. "Sit, sit, no need to stand on my account."

Confused and suspicious but grateful to no longer have to lean on his cane, Rufus sat again; Plutarch sat opposite him, leaning his forearms on the desk.

"Rufus Warnke. Victor of the 14th Hunger Games," he said thoughtfully. "You're a clever guy, I hear. The President tells me that despite your background you still play chess brilliantly."

This tonal shift from Cherry's condescension to Plutarch's praise was nothing if not suspicious. Rufus frowned, opting to continue his own policy of response.

"-Thanks." His tone was gruff and quiet. Plutarch seemed to pick up on the implied suspicion, smiling in response.

"Rufus, Rufus; you don't need to be so on guard. I'm not here to interrogate you." Plutarch winced, just slightly, as he took in the dark shadows beneath Rufus' eyes. "I hear Anamaria Dimitri did enough in that regard."

Rufus tightened his grip on his heavy wooden cane a little. "Then why are you here, Heavensbee? 'Cause, ya know, I have a District to get back to."

Plutarch laughed lowly. His nose looked a little squashed and scarred, as if it had been recently broken, and his eyes were shadowed with sleeplessness instead of pain.

"Rufus, I swear, before we begin I have to explain this- I'm not here to interrogate you, or threaten you, or anything. I wanted to talk."

"About?"

Plutarch glanced over his shoulder a moment. He leant further across the desk.

"I sent the Guards out for a reason, Warnke. No cameras or microphones are set up in this building for security reasons; it's one of the few in the Capitol. In this place and in this place alone we are entirely secure, but to be safe keep your voice down across the duration of this meeting."

Something in Plutarch's tone did not ring of any other Capitol politician he had met over the decades. The slippery, assured tones of a statesman had slipped to something fearful, something urgent- something he could recognise as human. It chilled him.

"The hell are you talking about?" He hissed, his reluctant tones shifting to a defensive cadence.

"What I'm about to divulge is partially from the highest echelons of national security, and partially so devastating to my own reputation I could be potentially executed for treason," Plutarch said, his voice low and guarded. "The arena was destroyed on the orders of the President after a group of tributes attempted to escape and the arena staff simultaneously aided them and attempted to escape themselves. They were all killed, all of them. This wasn't a tragedy. This was execution."

Rufus had known from the start nothing this huge could have been an accident, but to hear the Capitol staff had been killed too; and to hear it so baldly from the mouth of someone so senior in the Panem government was terrifying.

And now he was potentially culpable.

"The hell do you need to tell me for?"

"Rufus," Plutarch said," You're a clever guy. You think a bunch of kids can escape the watch of three hundred Capitolians without a little help?"

Rufus blinked.

"You helped them."

"I- aided." Plutarch hummed, glancing back at the primarily windowed wall and doors behind them. "I'm not all that certain any of them survived beyond the one the Guard recovered, but it doesn't matter now. I'm going to make this brief. The Capitol's mourning but the Districts are revolting. In media it's been kept quiet but at your home it's a mess. Districts Six, Seven and Eight especially are starting to roil with unrest; nothing large, not yet, but your people are suspicious of the Capitol and we've been relaxing security for so long that they've had enough room for sporadic revo action."

"Riots?" Rufus asked, unable to stop himself.

"Not yet; it's been guerrilla forces, some arson attacks, a few graffiti attacks. But the unrest, if-"

Plutarch cut himself off, regarding Rufus thoughtfully.

"Let's put it this way. You're a clever man, Rufus, am I correct? You won your Games from cunning and not force."

"-Yeah?"

"No, seriously, Rufus, talk to me here, I'm risking my life talking about this. You're a clever man. You're cunning. You've survived this long and you live in District 9, a District that's not only exceptionally close to Seven, Six and Eight but in its own right reeling after the actions of your deceased female tribute in the Games. If you spoke to the people of District 9, would they listen to you?"

For the first time, the whole thing clicked into place.

Plutarch had pushed the tributes into rebellion, into burning down the President's mansion and escaping; because he was trying to incite rebellion. Why was another matter, but Rufus could hazard a few guesses. The Capitol Plutarch could influence himself, but he couldn't specifically target the Districts; not without help.

Plutarch wanted him to start a full-scale rebellion, Capitol and District alike, the whole of Panem revolting against its government.

Eighty years of oppressed anger and ambition bubbled to the surface in Rufus' heart.

He smiled.

Plutarch set out a few guidelines of what he needed, hasty and verbal. From now on, for what they were about to attempt, nothing could be placed in writing. Rufus, in turn, had placed his own guidelines in place, and they had shared what they knew.

Plutarch had lost the Head Gamemaker slot, which he had been eyeing (Rufus reckoned his miraculous escape while the Head Gamemaker died hadn't been so much guesswork as strategy); it had gone unexpectedly to Caesar Flickerman instead. But Plutarch reckoned they could work with that for the year upcoming. He had a lot of funds and arms to transfer in the next year, and a lot of public opinion in the Capitol to sway. He had a man lined up for that job, he said; leave that to him.

Rufus' job, meanwhile, was far more broad and far less simple. Using his authority as a Victor he was going to try and sway the people of District 9 to a state of riot, and attempt to sway the districts nearby to follow. Districts Six and Twelve were the priority, with Eight and Seven if possible as well. Plutarch had been more enamoured with Seven's extensive revo alliance, but Rufus had insisted that as a strategic zone and as a focal point of unrest Twelve was infinitely more useful. Besides, he knew a Victor in District Twelve that could be useful.

In fact, Victors were the key. In order to mobilise their plan, the Games were the key to it all. What happened beyond the Games in a year's time was more shaky, but Plutarch promised to meet up and discuss details at another time. The Capitol Guards were returning and they had a rebellion to subtly begin, two men against the world.

Rufus returned to the Training Center and quietly tracked down Victors, one by one. Quint was the last he found, but the youngest and easiest to garner trust from. He had liked the kid from what he had seen; and if their plan was to work, his District was focal to it.

Plutarch had made sure the elevators were free from guards. The rest was up to Rufus.

In all, of the Victors he had spoken to, seven actually arrived; and not the ones he expected.

Nobody else from District 6 apart from Quint showed, but that wasn't a major setback, because the other Victors from District 6 were now all morphling addicts that wouldn't have much of themselves left even if they went sober. In fact, to have Quint Barkwater was a major upside, despite his apparent emotional distress at the present time. They needed District 6 above almost all others.

However, soon after, from District 7 arrived Johanna Mason, her dark eyes glinting in the low light of the District 9 apartment as she made her way to the empty dining table with a casual air that was fake. Rufus knew she actively disliked the Capitol, but if she sided with the active revo groups in her District she had never made known. To see her here was a surprise, albeit a fairly welcome one. Still, Rufus had gotten an Avox to remove all knives from the dining table before she arrived; he had seen her work with an axe on TV.

A far bigger shock was the man that walked in five minutes later, his typically unfocused eyes sobered and pained, his unkempt look for once cleaned and kept. Haymitch Abernathy was a clever man when he wasn't looking down a bottle, but he was unpredictable, as many from District Twelve were. To see him here was a surprise; to see him followed by Chaff from District Eleven, who had always avoided any conflict other than card games with Rufus and Haymitch, was actively a shock.

Quietly the elevator doors slid open again and in walked another, short-statured and slightly hunched but with a subtly intelligent expression and eyes that took in more than they revealed. Beetee Latier was not someone who involved himself in conflict; indeed, he had designed many systems by his own admission for the Capitol's use. Still, if loyal, he could be useful.

Rufus had considered this the end of the grouping and had begun to speak when the elevator doors opened a final time and two more people walked through the door. Rufus frowned and squinted through the relatively bright light inside the elevator to see who was walking through.

His warm smile came almost without thought; not so much for the tall man, but for the diminutive woman beside him.

The Victor of the Games before him, a friend for many years, Mags Ancera from District 4 walked slowly but firmly to the table and sat. Finnick Odair, tall and young and with his hand held out close to Mags in case she fell, sat beside her.

Two Victors from District Four, one Victor from Eleven; one from Twelve, from Three and from Six and Seven and from Nine.

In this way was the stage set for a rebellion.

"Evening," Rufus greeted informally. "I know you're all wondering what this is all about. I'm actually surprised this many of you turned up."

"Well, promise free booze and I'm here," Haymitch quipped without humour. "What is this, Rufus?"

Rufus inclined his head slightly to an Avox, who turned up the lighting and began to set the table. Dishes were placed on the table, and on Rufus' second motion of his head the Avox stood to the side.

"There are six cameras in this room, as far as I can tell no microphones," Rufus said, "But keep your voices down anyway. As far as the cameras are gonna see, and as far as anyone is gonna know unless one of you says something otherwise, this is a celebration for Quint's victory. Everyone take some food and at least pretend to eat it."

Dutifully they filled up their plates. Haymitch, his eyes sharp and alert for once, kept his gaze with interest on Rufus. He swirled his fork around his plate, spearing a piece of chicken.

"So what is this really?"

Rufus regarded the table's inhabitants. "A meeting about the arena's destruction."

"The Capitol said it was an accident." Beetee's clever eyes dared Rufus to say otherwise. Quint shifted awkwardly in his seat.

"Not even the Capitolians dead were an accident." Rufus' voice was low and quiet. "And while the people here are too busy checking their own reflection to notice, the people at home have noticed all too well what the seven in the arena were trying to do." The eyes of the table moved to Quint, who blinked in shock.

"Are you saying-" his voice trailed off a moment when he shifted, his face pinched with pain, before he continued. "-Are you saying that something's happening in the Districts because of us?" He looked down to his hands and up at the group, frowning slightly. "I didn't even realise they'd show our escape on television."

"Parts, not all of it," Chaff said. "Enough to know what was happening, what you were attempting. You kids were brave."

Quint seemed disinterested in taking any kind of compliment related to the matter. He turned his attention back to Rufus.

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that when your friends set fire to the Presidential mansion, and you all trooped off to climb the Capitol to the top, you showed us that it wasn't quite so omnipotent after all," Rufus said, "And the Districts are responding, violently and suddenly. Johanna, your district especially."

Johanna lazily swirled her fork in the air. "The revos are always complaining, Warnke. They always back down before they actually take any action- they can't even find their keys in a week, let alone mobilise like you're saying."

"Look again, Johanna- apparently they've found 'em." Rufus looked around at the table. "Guys, for the first time in seventy six years, Quint and his revo alliance has given us a chance for something. The Capitol's unsteady and mourning and ready for taking. The Districts are struggling to take just one cover-up too many. This is our chance. This is a window of opportunity, with a weakening President and a weakened Capitol and Districts that because of the 76th Games have for once seen the potential for allying instead of tearing each other apart. We have a window of opportunity, and before the last of us forget what rebellion tasted like we need to strike. Now, I have a plan, but it needs you. All of you. For the sake of the people who we lost, and the people left behind. We need to band together." Rufus exhaled and inhaled sharply; he was unused to speaking so much, but frankly he was enjoying it. "So; will you join me?"

The table sat in silence then, exhanging glances between each other and the eternal cameras that watched them.

Quietly, solemnly, Mags raised her hand to her face, a napkin held in her hand so her fingers were still visible to them but not the camera. Her little finger was bent down. She kissed her three fingers through the napkin, before tapping the napkin and her fingers to the table and releasing it again.

It was the traditional salute of respect, concealed well from the cameras. It was used more in District Nine, Eleven and Twelve than in District Four, but clearly Mags knew it; and given her speech difficulties since a stroke a few years ago, had opted for that instead of voicing her assent. Haymitch widened his eyes subtly in surprise.

"You're going along with this?" He asked. Mags nodded. Haymitch whistled lowly, before shifting his gaze back to Rufus.

"Rufus, I don't know what death sentence you're trying to get us into here. I mean, hell, you were around in the Dark Days; you really think this is even close to a good idea to cross the Capitol again?"

"Yes, I do," Rufus said sharply, more loudly than he expected; he lowered his voice before repeating himself. "Yes, I do. I saw the Dark Days, up close; I'm from /District 9, Haymitch, so don't talk to me about what I know about crossing the Capitol. I saw bomb blasts, I lived them when I was a kid; our shelter was so poorly constructed it's a miracle we survived. But you know what I see now? Starving children, every day, when there's so much to eat; at least in the Dark Days they died because there was simply no food. Media silence on the executions of hundreds; in the Dark Days at least traitors to the state were killed outright. And instead of the dead of the wars in the Dark Days, we round people up, throw their children in an arena and call it peacetime. I've watched three Quarter Quells, Haymitch, and I'm not going to wait for the fourth."

"I lived a Quarter Quell, Warnke," Haymitch said quietly, his eyes flashing with danger. "Don't talk to me like I don't know it."

"Then act like you know it, Abernathy, and stand up," Rufus snapped.

"Enough," Beetee said, quietly but with enough conviction to silence the group. "I'm joining."

Haymitch blinked. "Really? You?"

"Do you have a problem with it?"

Haymitch frowned. "You're a District 3 is all. You're in the Capitol's good books."

"There's no such thing unless you're the President," Chaff said. His eyes reflexively moved to the cameras but his voice remained resolute nonetheless. "I don't know what you're planning, Rufus, but you're not a dumb guy and you're not a hasty one either. Just promise me you've actually got a game plan and resources?"

"A lot of both."

"Then count me in too." Finnick said suddenly, seeming to surprise even himself by his outburst. He coughed slightly, awkwardly. Rufus was struck by how young he was. "I don't have a lot to offer but I'll offer it. You've got Mags so you've got me, for whatever this is."

Johanna sighed, a long protracted breath. She clanged her fork back down on her plate and leant back. "Okay, alright; fine. I'm in too. It's not like I have a lot to lose anyway." Her voice betrayed a lot less of her fear than her eyes did. "Newbie, what about you?"

Quint's tone of response could have been mistaken for meek, given its low volume, if it hadn't been for the thread of steel running through his voice.

"They took from me," he said quietly. He stared at his plate with empty eyes. "My family. My friends. My- I- I can't even walk anymore." He looked up, directly into Rufus' eyes. "If I do this and we get caught, Snow's promised to take them all."

"It's not your fight, kid," Haymitch said before Rufus cut him off.

"If you don't do this," he said with dark threads in his gruff voice, "You're gonna lose a lot more than limbs. You're gonna lose yourself. Did your friends die for that?"

It was manipulative slightly, yes, but if Rufus didn't do it he couldn't take District 6 as he so desperately needed to. Quint pursed his lips.

"Then... Fine. I'm with you."

Eyes turned to Haymitch, who began to shuffle uncomfortably.

"Oh, god," he groaned. "You're all crazy, all of you. This is going to backfire, people, and we are all going to die trying to complete some kind of self-obsessed suicide mission."

"And with that vote of allegiance from our fearless District 12 Victor," Johanna commented wryly, "I think we're done pledging loyalties. So what's next, President Warnke?"

The words resonated in the air nicely to Rufus' hearing. The Capitol was Plutarch's to pluck and pull at as he wished; but now, allied and ready as he was, he could take the Districts.

With a slight 'hm', he nodded slightly and sat back in his seat, surveying his group of strategic allies.

"We have some work to do."

Am I the only one whose account hasn't been working? I keep getting a '503 error' everytime I go to click on my account. I seriously hope it doesn't do that again anytime soon.

In any case. It's time to begin the plot proper, this is what we've been working towaaaards! I'm so excited it's happy dance time it's all ADVENTURE from here! Except not so much fun adventure as- uh.

They're gonna have a great time.

As ever, thank you for reading this far.