FAILURE TO COMPLY ┃ f. odair

3.6 the past that haunts

Three years ago, Calypso did something she wasn't supposed to. It wasn't that she wanted to risk her neck by so obviously breaking the rules, but it seemed to be a recurring thing. During her last individual assessment, she'd bashed open a fuse box to make an electrified weapon and somehow walked away with a good score and no repercussions.

Maybe that's what made her dare to try it again. Under the watchful gaze of Plutarch and his gamemakers, she went about testing a theory of hers. He'd mentioned to Monica during their secret meeting that the arena was going to have a forcefield, and it was a problem they had yet to address. Convenient, then, that there was also a forcefield in front of their comfortable viewing station, barely visible save for the prismatic light that bounced off of it.

Growing paranoid, Calypso thought. Then again, she couldn't blame them considering what she was about to do.

What with the flickering lights around the room, it wasn't hard to determine that the forcefield was essentially sucking power from the rest of the place. Enough of a surge, and it would take the whole thing out. It was almost nostalgic to pick up the wire and the sword and wrap it in the same way she'd done before.

It should've been so predictable, but back then it'd been Seneca Crane, and now it was Plutarch Heavensbee who had to deal with her antics. It took the gamemakers until the moment she approached that damn fusebox with a knife to make noise about it. Calypso didn't bash or force it this time, instead wedging the knife into the gap and prying it open.

"Hey, hey!" Plutarch called out to any peacekeepers outside the door that might've been listening. "Hey, stop her!"

"You guys should hide this thing next time!" she yelled over her shoulder. "Think about it."

Not wasting her precious seconds by turning around, she snatched a handful of wires and wrapped them around the end of her cord. Half of the room went dim, but when she looked, the forcefield was still up. One, two, three long paces... Calypso held the sword over her head in both hands and then sent it flying upwards. As it hit, electricity surged through the forcefield, making it spark brilliantly before fading into nothing. The whole room went dark for a moment, and then the main lights returned.

Half the gamemakers were cowering in the corner, fearing they'd fallen victim to an attack. Not quite, but it must've been scary on their end, seeing their only protection disappear in the blink of an eye. Calypso felt peacekeepers gripping her arms, ready to drag her out of the room, but her stare did not leave the wide-eyed expression of Plutarch. He was alarmed, but impressed, she could tell. And he got it. He understood what she'd done and why she'd done it. With the subtlest of nods, the forcefield problem was all but solved.

-

Plutarch was kind enough to give Calypso a generous score of six. Any higher, and it would probably be brought into question by his peers. But she was fine with it because in reality she simply did not care. There were more important things to think about than a number. Whether it provided her extra sponsors or not, she was more concerned with simply escaping the games than lasting a long time. She did not plan on them being so long.

Standing backstage on the night of the interviews, Calypso was silent as Vega and Monica troubled themselves about her outfit, chatting with each other but ignoring their model. It was not an uncommon occurrence, and she was glad not to be involved now especially, when she could hardly muster a thought, let alone speech. Tonight, she wore a simple but formal black dress with tights and boots, paired with the same leather jacket she wore for the parade. It took a lot of convincing for Vega to allow such a simple outfit, and he'd embellished a little with her glittering makeup and diamonte detailing, but it was something they were both satisfied enough with.