FAILURE TO COMPLY ┃ f. odair

4.4 porter millicent tripp

Bang. A bullet hit the target in an outer ring. Not bad, but it could be better. Bang. The next was closer to the centre. A quick readjustment of grip and... Bang. A bullseye.

Monica let her arms loosen and the gun relax. She was a natural, as it turned out, as good with her deadly aim as she was with her speed and dexterity. Even though she was Capitol, the soldiers of Thirteen at the very least respected her for her skills. Some envied her for how easily it came. She was just glad to be brave.

"You're getting better by the day," Beetee commented from his workstation nearby. Monica looked over just as he readjusted his glasses for the umpteenth time and went back to work on his weapon creations. "If the higher-ups allow it, you could probably upgrade to a better gun."

Fat chance, she thought. She was still using a pistol, even though she'd been training every day for several weeks. Whether or not she would ever get to handle an automatic weapon was unclear and something she hadn't yet dared to question. She shrugged her shoulders.

"As long as I'm a good shot, it doesn't really matter," she said. "If you're thinking of making me something, I wouldn't worry. You're already busy with... all that."

Monica motioned to the scraps of metal that lay about his table. She scrunched her nose at all the mess, wishing for a second that she was back in the clean city she called home. This bunker was horrible, but she was here for a reason. Beetee picked up the hunk of metal he was actively working on, turning it over in his hands.

"I may need your help sourcing a personal embellishment for this one," he requested, running his fingers down the fine edge of one of the blades on the trident head. It was still incomplete, but ready to be sharpened to perfection the second the finishing touches were added.

"You mean that coin he carries everywhere?" she guessed. Beetee was looking at a blank spot on the smooth metal, probably imagining a little engraving. The two fish were something close friends of the partners knew was important to them. "Turns out I'm good at being a spy and a soldier. Maybe I'll make a good thief too. I do have one request in return, though."

Beetee looked up at her expectantly, ready to hear her out. She still couldn't get used to the height difference. The man had taken the death of Wiress and the loss of his mobility in stride. It probably wasn't healthy for him to be keeping so busy and ignoring all the terrible things that had happened, but if it helped him then she didn't mind giving him some extra work.

"I want a spear for Calypso when she gets here," she said hopefully. Silence reigned for a second. "And knives too. She'll want knives."

"You're so sure we'll get her back?" he asked dubiously. Watching the broadcast of her short but defiant speech was like watching her sign her own death warrant. If she wasn't dead already then she was probably in the process of dying slowly and painfully.

"I am," Monica declared. "Please, Beetee. It would be good for all of us. You'll have something new to work on, Calypso will have a weapon when we get her back and Finnick might feel a little better if he just sees something made for her. It will give him hope again."

"I-" Beetee went to speak, but he was interrupted by an official voice speaking through the bunker-wide intercom. It urged all citizens to head for the central chamber, an announcement from their President waiting to be made. "I'll think about it. We should get going."

-

Finnick was alone in the crowd today, the same as yesterday and the day before it. He could not face being around other people. When sleep was scarce, he imagined hearing a knock on his door and answering it to see his love on the other side after a particularly bad night in the Capitol. He wanted to comfort her and he wanted her comfort. Until he could get it, he didn't want anyone.