Chapter Text
“How lucky are we? Our first year in the bowl is a Quarter Quell,” Louie commented sarcastically. He had been the one to finally break the silence stretching between the three brothers.
Donald had told them to go get some fresh air before the announcement. They hadn’t really wanted to leave. Their Uncle always got weird when the reapings came, and would probably be even worse now that his nephews had their names entered.
So, they were left to trek through the narrow streets of District 3. Puffs of smoke from all of the factories polluted the city, always making it somewhat impossible to breath in fresh air. There weren’t many others outside, but the ones the triplets did pass looked rather tense.
How could they not be? The 200th Annual Hunger Games and 8th Quarter Quell promised to be electrifying. Surely it would be extra cruel for the districts, and exhilarating for the Capitol.
“Yeah, it’ll be a real show stopper,” Dewey said gruffly.
Huey, who was always one to try and alleviate tension, even in their incredibly dire circumstances, attempted to cheer his brothers up. “We’ll be fine you guys. What are the odds, right?”
Dewey and Louie contemplated this. It was one of the Capitol’s most famous catchphrases; may the odds be ever in your favor.
Sure, their names were only in once because they were twelve. That must’ve already put them in a better spot then the other kids of their district. Three names amidst all of the boys. Could such a small number also make it more possible that one of them would be picked?
But the oldest triplet was usually right about the nerd stuff, so they decided to take his word for it. “We should be getting back to Uncle Donald,” Huey suggested. The announcement would broadcast soon.
“I wonder how long he’ll be in his funk,” Louie laughed. “Maybe until the next victor’s crowned?”
“It’s not a funk!” Huey defended their Uncle.
“Uncle Donald lost Mom. Anyone would be sad if they lost a sibling,” Dewey murmured, uncharacteristically somber. It was a mood he only took on during the Hunger Games.
“We all lost her,” Louie sighed, perhaps realizing he’d been tactless with his words.
Della Duck had been a young mother. She’d had three eggs at the age of eighteen and was rich in love. Unfortunately, the odds weren’t in her favor and she was reaped for the 188th Hunger Games.
Oh how the Capitol had sympathized with her. Judging from the old footage the triplets had watched, she’d had the aid of many sponsors in the arena. That was because Della had been crafty in her approach, using the incentive of getting home to her boyfriend and kids to win affection.
Their mother had been quite the fighter, willing to beat every adversity just to get home to her family. And the most agonizing part of the whole story was that she had been so close. She’d placed second.
Della lost to the District 8 girl by a ruthless machete cutting open her stomach. Della had met her end, never getting to see her own children.
That was what continuously put Donald in a ‘funk’ year after year. He just didn’t want to lose any more of his family to the Games.
Huey, Dewey, and Louie soon returned to their rickety little apartment building crammed in between their neighbors’ houses. It wasn’t uncommon to hear the other inhabitants talking through the walls since they all lived so close together.
Donald was already hugging his nephews before they were fully through the door. “Boys!” he cried. “You’re safe! You didn’t mess with the Peacekeepers again, did you?”
He was referring to the time (four years ago!) when Dewey had pranked a squad of Peacekeepers by giving them a contraption that shocked them when they touched it. Somehow they’d been fortunate enough to get off with a warning.
Yet Donald still asked them about it every time they returned home. The boys just thought their Uncle was being uptight. Why would they be flogged for a lighthearted prank?
“No, I didn’t,” Dewey rolled his eyes.
Donald ushered them to the couch, and the familiar uneasy feeling became visible in each of their movements. He offered the boys some rather unappetizing snacks, sardines on a cracker.
“Not hungry,” Louie spoke for all of them, his gaze trained on the TV. The Capitol emblem flashed across the holographic screen, with the triumphant music playing along as an accompaniment.
President Graves came into view as he took his place at the podium. He was a large falcon with dark brown plumage. Compared to the residents of the Capitol, he actually looked quite normal. Like he could live in the districts, but was too good for them since he owned a suit.
The citizens of the Capitol, who were all different species of birds, were never shy about altering themselves. Many had dyed their feathers with outrageous color combinations. When the camera panned across the crowd it was like seeing a flood of unicorn barf.
“Good evening,” the President began. “We have arrived at the two hundredth anniversary of the Hunger Games. And as we all know, every twenty-five years there is to be a Quarter Quell, a unique version of the Games that serve as a reminder to those in the districts. Tonight we celebrate the Eighth Quarter Quell.”
A thunderous applause composed of whoops and cheers rose up throughout the stadium.
Graves made a show of deliberately opening the decree of the next Quarter Quell slowly. Perhaps it was only because he knew that everyone in the districts was waiting for the verdict with baited breath.
“To remember that even the bond of family was broken when opposing the Capitol, four tributes will be reaped; a pair of brothers and a pair of sisters.”
The Capitol was deafening in their support. How enthralling this must seem to them. How bloody and brutal it promised to be. How entertaining they’d find it to watch siblings murder each other.
But while the Capitol celebrated, the rest of the country was silent. Donald audibly gasped. The triplets stayed quiet.
The pieces were beginning to fall into place. Four tributes from each district would mean double the amount of kids to face. Forty-eight tributes. Forty-seven standing in the way of getting home. One of them, your own blood.
Numbers. So many numbers. Huey, Dewey, and Louie knew that only one of them needed to be drawn for two to be sent to the Games. For the other to be left behind, and become broken just like their Uncle.
They could sit and marvel over statistics all day, deducing that there were still lots of kids in District 3, even when narrowing it down to siblings sets.
But they still had to accept that the odds had been stacked against them this time.
None of the triplets spoke to each other on the day of the reaping. Donald tried to reassure them that they would all be okay, but they knew he couldn’t know for sure. Their Uncle even accepted that it was best not to talk. As hard as he was trying, whatever he said wouldn’t do much to calm their nerves.
The clock struck noon as Huey, Dewey, and Louie were corralled into a pen with the other children. Boys were gathered in one place, and girls in another. Some siblings were holding each other for dear life, while others stood stoically apart.
Louie seemed the most scared, and was already shaking. Huey and Dewey stood close and comfortingly pat his back. Beyond the kids stood a wall of adults, anxiously waiting to see if their babies would be returning home to them. A few only-children could even be spotted, but they were few and far inbetween.
Their district’s escort, Goldie O’Gilt, soon took the stage. Her shimmering green eyes stood out like emeralds amongst the pale, ashen faces of District 3. Goldie quickly moved through the standard announcements, and chose a slip from the girls bowl.
It was unsettling to see that Goldie didn’t find the whole event a bit grim. She was almost excited , awaiting the new tributes in anticipation. Of course, that really shouldn’t’ve come as much surprise. Goldie was from the Capitol and would act like it.
A grayish duck named Simmy was the chosen name. She appeared rather emotionless as she clutched onto her younger sister’s hand, dragging her along up the steps.
The younger girl was in hysterics, and looked about thirteen. After some prodding from Goldie, the smaller duck revealed her name was Cinder.
The crowd of girls heaved a collective sigh of relief, thankful they’d been spared for another year and sympathetic to the two chosen for slaughter.
“And now for the boys,” Goldie continued, quickly reaching for a slip in the opposite bowl. She confidently read the name out loud. “Louie Duck.”
Louie made no noise as he staggered back a step. Huey and Dewey momentarily froze up in shock as they processed.
“I’ll go with you,” Huey immediately volunteered himself.
Louie only stared back at him, wide eyed. The rest of the crowd had realized that triplets had been reaped. They understood that one would be fortunate enough to stay behind.
Dewey snapped to his senses as he realized Louie was trembling. “I’ll go too. It’s okay Lou, you can stay.”
Louie shook his head, and his words came out in a whisper. “No. You stay, Dewey. I don’t want to watch you guys in the arena.”
Then Louie and Huey were walking up together, hand in hand. And Dewey was left behind to watch his brothers submit to their inevitable deaths. He wondered if he should’ve insisted on taking Huey’s place, but it was already too late for that.
Huey and Louie cast a final glance back at their Uncle, who had pushed towards the front of the onlookers, as if he would be allowed to reach his nephews. His eyes were somewhat glazed, and his beak hung slightly open. This was all unbelievable.
It was the first time Donald Duck had had nothing to say.
“Well, there you have it folks!” Goldie stated after Huey and Louie had told their names. Her tone was nonchalant, as if she could care less about the death sentence she had just dealt four innocent children. “The District Three tributes of the Eighth Quarter Quell!”
Silence met her words as the four tributes stood tall. Dewey realized that Huey and Louie hadn’t once let go of each other.
Before getting on the train, Huey and Louie were allowed a goodbye. They tensely awaited their family. However, it wasn’t Donald or Dewey that came in first, but Boyd.
Boyd appeared as a normal gray parrot, and acted just like a real boy. The triplets always treated him as such. But below the surface, he was a robot, engineered by his father, Gyro Gearloose.
Gyro never talked to the Duck Family, but Boyd had become a great friend of theirs.
“Boyd!” Huey exclaimed happily. He’d always been the closest to the parrot.
“Hello!” Boyd replied cheerfully, leaning in to give them each a hug. “I came to wish you luck.”
“Thank you, Boyd,” Huey told him earnestly.
“Yes, I will be rooting for you both. But I would advise you to always remember your loyalty to each other while in the arena.”
“Thank you,” Huey repeated. Although he couldn’t imagine ever forgetting. Louie stayed silent, his gaze angled down at the obnoxious blue carpet.
Boyd left and Donald and Dewey burst in. It was then that Louie began to quietly sob. Donald pulled all three of his boys close.
“I’m so, so sorry. I love you,” was all Donald kept saying.
When the family eventually broke apart, Dewey turned to his brothers. It was still out of the ordinary to see the middle triplet so serious because it was a mindset he only adopted during the Games.
“You’re both really smart. I bet you could win,” Dewey didn’t specify who, and no one wanted him to.
“We are pretty smart,” Louie grinned through his tears.
“Yep. And I’ve always been the dumb one,” Dewey’s chuckle half sounded like a sob.
“You’re not dumb, just gifted in other ways,” Huey interjected. His feathers were still wet with tears, but he was crying the least.
“That’s true,” Louie simultaneously agreed with Dewey.
Donald and his boys sat there for what felt like too short of time. Soon the Peacekeeper’s were breaking them apart, and leaving the boys alone behind a dramatically shut door.
There was nothing to say, so they didn’t talk. The gears were already turning in Louie’s head, mostly about the strategies of past victors. But then he was thinking of how quickly his older brother had opted to join him as a tribute. And his heart sunk as he realized his brother’s true motive.
“Hey Hue?” Louie murmured. Huey looked up at him expectantly. “Don’t count yourself out of the Games.”
Huey gave a sad smile. “Sure.”
The two brothers glanced away from each other and elapsed back into silence. Perhaps the fact that they’d probably never see their Uncle or brother ever again had finally sunk in.