A Guild of Moonlit Shadows (A KOTLC FanFic)

~18~Taking the Lead

Thanks for being so patient loves. The day I was supposed to post, my mother and I got into a bit of a car accident. Don't worry, we're both fine, but it did set my uploading schedule back a few days! With all that said, enjoy this very Sophie-oriented chapter!

Unedited.

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Sophie's breastplate was woefully bitted through, so she had to compromise. It was all organic wraps and heavy clothes as she slung the remaining weapons she had on her body. She was lucky enough to have a hood, which gave her some sense of familiarity.

Okoye's isalnd was in a blaze. The Spartans were nowhere to be seen, but a few pirates were taking cover and healing the wounded on the other side of the island.

One of the pirates snuck up next to her, "You're Inalian, right?"

Sophie didn't take her eyes off the burning island, "How is that relevant right now?"

The boyish sailor held out a small tin disk, "The Spartans use this stuff. They say the ancient Inalians wore it too. I snatched this from one of their tents, I use it for my paintings. But I think you might need it."

Sophie raised an eyebrow at the pirate, unscrewing the lid. A thick red war paint lined the walls of the tin. It was clearly used before; there was only a little bit left.

Sophie had never used war paint before. Only Spartans and Monarchs supposedly wore it. She only wore such things during festivals or traditions, and it was never war paint.

The deep red patronized her. But she didn't want to reveal her identity as a Cyevan Assassin to their enemies. This would help her blend in with the Spartans. Especially since she had no shining golden armor to don.

"Thanks." She muttered, the sailor nodding quietly before returning to their station. Sophie didn't know exactly what to paint on herself or if she should at all, the predicament distracting her as they slowly pulled into the docks. Her mind drifted to the stories of Spartans she was told during her youth. There was a woman at her dance academy, an old music teacher who taught the boys voice lessons. She would tell the most extravagant stories to the kids that had to wait for their parents to pick them up after lessons. And since her father was a vigilante assassin, that happened every once and a while. Sophie's poofy tulip skirt made her look like she was sitting in a pink cloud during the stories, her hair always in a tight bun at the nape of her neck as she shuffled closer and closer to the storyteller.

Her father knocked on the frame of the door, giving her a gentle but exhausted smile. She ran to him, jumping into his arms giggling. The front desk lady awkwardly flirted with him as he signed her out, but Allesandro was engaged with his daughter, listening as she recounted the story the music teacher told her. She told it their entire way home.

The old woman held three fingers as she drew imaginary war paint down her chin that day, enthralling them all with the story of Calix, the Spartan spy.

Three long lines down the chin, ending at her collar bone. One line along the bridge of her nose. And the very last of the color staining the largest portion of her face around her eyes. It was at least how she imagined Calix's warpaint from the music teacher's stories.