bookishwench (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bookishwench) wrote2017-09-06 04:44 pm
bookishwench) wrote2017-09-06 04:44 pm
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Fic: Worlds of Chaos (Panem) Chap. 13
For the curious, subtract Loki from this scene and this actually is my head canon for The Hunger Games.
Loki enjoyed music. All the different realms had their version of it, some more to his taste than others. Very little of it was joyous in this place, though, and usually was of the vocal variety as money for instruments was scarce, yet he preferred it to the ludicrous sounds of the Capitol. Even a district as poor as this one had its surprises, though, and on the night before the Reaping, he stood silently outside the window of the mayor’s home, listening as his only daughter played the piano.
She wasn’t lovely. Even the comparative wealth of her family hadn’t been able to assure her truly decent nutrition, a good doctor, a dentist to straighten teeth, but she was still relatively pleasing to the eye as he watched her. It wasn’t that sort of beauty that intrigued him at the moment, though. It was the music that came from the old piano. Sad, yes, this place was always sad, but in a different way. It sounded strangely like goodbye, and he wondered briefly if she were considering taking her own life, but no, that wasn’t it. It was something else.
The music ended, and her hands became motionless. Her fingertips still rested against the faded white and cracked black of the keys, feeling them in a way he recognized. When he had been little more than a child himself, he had sought solace in books, sometimes pausing at the end of a story that that touched him deeply, wishing it would not end, and reverently stroked the pages that had given him such pleasure before he was forced to move on and leave this one behind. He was certain she was doing the same thing, and it made him curious.
“Madge!”
“Yes, Father,” she answered with swift obedience, possibly a shade too swift as she seemed to start almost guiltily. Again, he sympathized.
“You’d best be going to bed soon. It’s a long day tomorrow,” the man’s voice said, and there was regret in it as well as resignation.
“Yes, Father,” she repeated, carefully shutting the cover over the keys in a way that made Loki certain she had no intention of ever opening them again.
He reached out and felt her distress, even seeing images: a white dress and pink ribbon that hung in the closet, ready for the next day, and a golden pin with a bird. It was the dress of a sacrificial victim. He had certainly seen that before. It made no sense still.
He was aware of the barbaric custom here of sacrificing the children and their innocence in the arena. He hated it, mostly because he had often felt his own father would be more than happy to sacrifice him for the sake of his brother. This is how it had been for over seventy of their mortal years, and still it persisted because no one spoke out. But this girl… something was different. She had no reason to assume she would be the chosen lamb, not without the tesserae so many others used, but she seemed certain of her own death.
As he watched, she turned off the light in room, but he was surprised to find another person striding through the darkness towards the house. Loki also noticed the stench of alcohol reeking from him. The man threw a pebble at the window, and the girl, Madge, nearly jumped out of her skin. Quietly, she opened a side door of the house and walked barefoot across the grass to the man.
“Feeling alright?” he asked her.
“No,” she said.
“Good. Then you’re still sane,” he said.
“I doubt that,” she said, and Loki noticed that she had gone very pale.
“You’re not backing out, are you?” he said.
“No,” she said, and the level of resolve in her voice was startling. “It has to end, and if this starts it, then it’s worth it.”
The older man looked at the girl with something like pity, regret crinkling the corners of his eyes before he took a deep breath again.
“Trinket won’t know every slips of paper all have your name,” he said. “Everyone will think it’s the luck of the draw. Rotten luck, but that happens often enough.”
“And this will work? You’re sure?” Madge said.
“The Capitol’s done it themselves. You’ve seen how often the kids of popular victors wind up back in the ring,” the man said, then spat on the ground. “You won’t get caught.”
More like she certainly will, Loki thought, stunned by her bravery. He had known warriors with less courage.
“Any word about the arena?” she asked, and there was a tremble in her voice.
“No,” he said. “It won’t be ice again. Too unpopular last time, so they’ve all but banned that idea. Anything else, and I do mean anything, is possible.”
The girl laughed, but it was a hopeless sound.
“You’ll wear the mockingjay pin in the arena?” he said.
“I’m not stupid, Haymitch. It’s the signal to the others, a call to begin the rebellion. I won’t forget it. After all, I’m probably dying for this,” she said, a bit of acid in her voice.
“Probably,” Haymitch said, “but not definitely.”
Loki smelled the lie even through the haze of alcohol that clouded the man. Not only would she die, but it was intentional. The rebellion was looking for a martyr, an innocent blonde girl in a white dress to be killed while quietly giving the signal to begin things moving with the symbol of a little golden bird. A necessary casualty in their view.
Loki was sick of necessary casualties, and his lips peeled back from his teeth in a wolfish grin. Well, they had played one trick on the Capitol. He may as well play another back on them.
When the girl met Gale the next day, she was still convinced of her upcoming death, but Loki was perhaps the only one to see how her heart bled over the boy. The other girl, the dark-haired one with the walk of a hunter and eyes that had known desperation, didn’t know what to make of her. None of them did. None of them knew.
So when Haymitch arrived late, so drunk he could barely stand in an effort to blot out what he knew he was doing, when everyone’s eyes were directed elsewhere, Loki made the switch. The glass globe full of the name Madge Undersee vanished, and the true names reappeared. Hers was still there, of course. Fair, by their mad rules, was still fair, and if fate had truly chosen the girl with the courage of a Valkyrie as its victim, her name could still be called.
He watched as the ridiculous Effie pulled a name and read out “Primrose Everdeen.”
It was almost fun to watch Haymitch nearly pass out from shock, the look of stunned surprise cross over Madge’s features, the sudden realization that somehow, miraculously, she had been spared. Loki laughed. Oh, how he laughed, and then…
Then he saw the tiny girl stand up in answer to the summons, and the laughter ended. This was the replacement. She was, he supposed, an insignificant human child, beneath his interest. But he couldn’t help feeling slightly uncomfortable that by saving the other one, he’d doomed this one. She stood no chance at all, delicate as the primrose that was her namesake and just as likely to be trod underfoot. He would, perhaps, see to it her death was particularly swift, painless. It was the least it he could do.
“I volunteer as tribute!”
Did this district have no end of willing virgin sacrificial victims?
It was the hunter girl from this morning, the dark-haired one, and apparently sister to the little fawn-like child. She wasn’t ready to die for a cause or through a trick of fate. She was willing to die out of love for the child. Sibling love, he thought. How quaint. And how rare.
The girl took her place on the platform, head up, loathing the whole Capitol, and Loki could almost see the gears turning in Haymitch’s mind. Perhaps this was salvageable. And yes, Loki thought, looking at the weeping child and then at her stone-faced sister, yes, there might be something there yet. Also, she had a look about her that put him in mind of someone else.
The boy he did not care about as he was called to his place, but this one, Katniss, fine, yes, she would do. Invisible, he placed a hand to her head. No harm would come to her. Of course, that meant he had doomed the others in her place, the trade once more, but he thought perhaps, maybe, the fire in this one’s eyes spoke of a different sort of chaos.
“You will bring them down,” he whispered in her ear, his voice deadly, firm, a command to a girl who was now a general in his army. “You will tear this world apart, topple cities, rip holes through the sky, uproot civilization itself. But this ends. Now.”
Madge gave her the pin she had intended to wear, though this girl was unaware what it truly meant. The seeds of rebellion were sown, and the orderly, clean, lethal process of choosing victims would be replaced with a whirlwind of rebellion and the crumbling of Panem. As it happened, he stood silently in shadow, watching as the world ended and began again. There was, after all, more than one way to bring about Ragnarok.
Loki enjoyed music. All the different realms had their version of it, some more to his taste than others. Very little of it was joyous in this place, though, and usually was of the vocal variety as money for instruments was scarce, yet he preferred it to the ludicrous sounds of the Capitol. Even a district as poor as this one had its surprises, though, and on the night before the Reaping, he stood silently outside the window of the mayor’s home, listening as his only daughter played the piano.
She wasn’t lovely. Even the comparative wealth of her family hadn’t been able to assure her truly decent nutrition, a good doctor, a dentist to straighten teeth, but she was still relatively pleasing to the eye as he watched her. It wasn’t that sort of beauty that intrigued him at the moment, though. It was the music that came from the old piano. Sad, yes, this place was always sad, but in a different way. It sounded strangely like goodbye, and he wondered briefly if she were considering taking her own life, but no, that wasn’t it. It was something else.
The music ended, and her hands became motionless. Her fingertips still rested against the faded white and cracked black of the keys, feeling them in a way he recognized. When he had been little more than a child himself, he had sought solace in books, sometimes pausing at the end of a story that that touched him deeply, wishing it would not end, and reverently stroked the pages that had given him such pleasure before he was forced to move on and leave this one behind. He was certain she was doing the same thing, and it made him curious.
“Madge!”
“Yes, Father,” she answered with swift obedience, possibly a shade too swift as she seemed to start almost guiltily. Again, he sympathized.
“You’d best be going to bed soon. It’s a long day tomorrow,” the man’s voice said, and there was regret in it as well as resignation.
“Yes, Father,” she repeated, carefully shutting the cover over the keys in a way that made Loki certain she had no intention of ever opening them again.
He reached out and felt her distress, even seeing images: a white dress and pink ribbon that hung in the closet, ready for the next day, and a golden pin with a bird. It was the dress of a sacrificial victim. He had certainly seen that before. It made no sense still.
He was aware of the barbaric custom here of sacrificing the children and their innocence in the arena. He hated it, mostly because he had often felt his own father would be more than happy to sacrifice him for the sake of his brother. This is how it had been for over seventy of their mortal years, and still it persisted because no one spoke out. But this girl… something was different. She had no reason to assume she would be the chosen lamb, not without the tesserae so many others used, but she seemed certain of her own death.
As he watched, she turned off the light in room, but he was surprised to find another person striding through the darkness towards the house. Loki also noticed the stench of alcohol reeking from him. The man threw a pebble at the window, and the girl, Madge, nearly jumped out of her skin. Quietly, she opened a side door of the house and walked barefoot across the grass to the man.
“Feeling alright?” he asked her.
“No,” she said.
“Good. Then you’re still sane,” he said.
“I doubt that,” she said, and Loki noticed that she had gone very pale.
“You’re not backing out, are you?” he said.
“No,” she said, and the level of resolve in her voice was startling. “It has to end, and if this starts it, then it’s worth it.”
The older man looked at the girl with something like pity, regret crinkling the corners of his eyes before he took a deep breath again.
“Trinket won’t know every slips of paper all have your name,” he said. “Everyone will think it’s the luck of the draw. Rotten luck, but that happens often enough.”
“And this will work? You’re sure?” Madge said.
“The Capitol’s done it themselves. You’ve seen how often the kids of popular victors wind up back in the ring,” the man said, then spat on the ground. “You won’t get caught.”
More like she certainly will, Loki thought, stunned by her bravery. He had known warriors with less courage.
“Any word about the arena?” she asked, and there was a tremble in her voice.
“No,” he said. “It won’t be ice again. Too unpopular last time, so they’ve all but banned that idea. Anything else, and I do mean anything, is possible.”
The girl laughed, but it was a hopeless sound.
“You’ll wear the mockingjay pin in the arena?” he said.
“I’m not stupid, Haymitch. It’s the signal to the others, a call to begin the rebellion. I won’t forget it. After all, I’m probably dying for this,” she said, a bit of acid in her voice.
“Probably,” Haymitch said, “but not definitely.”
Loki smelled the lie even through the haze of alcohol that clouded the man. Not only would she die, but it was intentional. The rebellion was looking for a martyr, an innocent blonde girl in a white dress to be killed while quietly giving the signal to begin things moving with the symbol of a little golden bird. A necessary casualty in their view.
Loki was sick of necessary casualties, and his lips peeled back from his teeth in a wolfish grin. Well, they had played one trick on the Capitol. He may as well play another back on them.
When the girl met Gale the next day, she was still convinced of her upcoming death, but Loki was perhaps the only one to see how her heart bled over the boy. The other girl, the dark-haired one with the walk of a hunter and eyes that had known desperation, didn’t know what to make of her. None of them did. None of them knew.
So when Haymitch arrived late, so drunk he could barely stand in an effort to blot out what he knew he was doing, when everyone’s eyes were directed elsewhere, Loki made the switch. The glass globe full of the name Madge Undersee vanished, and the true names reappeared. Hers was still there, of course. Fair, by their mad rules, was still fair, and if fate had truly chosen the girl with the courage of a Valkyrie as its victim, her name could still be called.
He watched as the ridiculous Effie pulled a name and read out “Primrose Everdeen.”
It was almost fun to watch Haymitch nearly pass out from shock, the look of stunned surprise cross over Madge’s features, the sudden realization that somehow, miraculously, she had been spared. Loki laughed. Oh, how he laughed, and then…
Then he saw the tiny girl stand up in answer to the summons, and the laughter ended. This was the replacement. She was, he supposed, an insignificant human child, beneath his interest. But he couldn’t help feeling slightly uncomfortable that by saving the other one, he’d doomed this one. She stood no chance at all, delicate as the primrose that was her namesake and just as likely to be trod underfoot. He would, perhaps, see to it her death was particularly swift, painless. It was the least it he could do.
“I volunteer as tribute!”
Did this district have no end of willing virgin sacrificial victims?
It was the hunter girl from this morning, the dark-haired one, and apparently sister to the little fawn-like child. She wasn’t ready to die for a cause or through a trick of fate. She was willing to die out of love for the child. Sibling love, he thought. How quaint. And how rare.
The girl took her place on the platform, head up, loathing the whole Capitol, and Loki could almost see the gears turning in Haymitch’s mind. Perhaps this was salvageable. And yes, Loki thought, looking at the weeping child and then at her stone-faced sister, yes, there might be something there yet. Also, she had a look about her that put him in mind of someone else.
The boy he did not care about as he was called to his place, but this one, Katniss, fine, yes, she would do. Invisible, he placed a hand to her head. No harm would come to her. Of course, that meant he had doomed the others in her place, the trade once more, but he thought perhaps, maybe, the fire in this one’s eyes spoke of a different sort of chaos.
“You will bring them down,” he whispered in her ear, his voice deadly, firm, a command to a girl who was now a general in his army. “You will tear this world apart, topple cities, rip holes through the sky, uproot civilization itself. But this ends. Now.”
Madge gave her the pin she had intended to wear, though this girl was unaware what it truly meant. The seeds of rebellion were sown, and the orderly, clean, lethal process of choosing victims would be replaced with a whirlwind of rebellion and the crumbling of Panem. As it happened, he stood silently in shadow, watching as the world ended and began again. There was, after all, more than one way to bring about Ragnarok.