True Blue ✷ Leo Valdez.

25: The Argo II.

"IF YOU DON'T STOP PACING," Blaire Sullivan began from where she leaned against a pillar in the Argo II's engine room, "I'll kill you before the Romans even have a chance. It's stressing me out, Valdez."

In response, Leo Valdez halted with an annoyed groan, running his fingers through his already disheveled curls, worsening their state. He looked an absolute mess— but then again, when didn't he? Leo Valdez wouldn't be himself if it weren't for the disarrayed-steampunk-esque appearance he took up. And his evident stress surrounding the upcoming day's events did nothing but further damage his physical condition.

"What if the ship malfunctions right over New Rome?" Leo queried, shooting the girl a look over his shoulder. "What if—-"

Cutting him off, Blaire exhaled a groan of her own, pretending to be already annoyed by his hypotheticals. "What if?"

   Truth be told, Blaire was also very on edge and she had been since she'd awoken that morning. She and the other four demigods aboard the flying warship Leo constructed had learned to begrudgingly work alongside each other in the small amount of time they spent sailing. No matter how hesitant Blaire was to admit it, she'd grown very fond of this routine and the smooth rhythm of it all. Seldom went wrong apart from the occasional monster attacks or prophetic nightmares.

And something felt different. When Blaire woke up that morning, an uneasy pit of dread nestled itself low in her abdomen, and an icy chill overtook the length of her spine. It was almost like a sinister force had joined them aboard the ship. Of course, this happened on the day they were set to reach the Roman Camp.

Leo sighed, this time turning to fully face Blaire. He surveyed her, his dark eyes wandering over her as if she were some sort of interesting artifact. He'd been doing that a lot lately without even meaning to.

Since they'd gotten back from their quest to rescue Hera, and Blaire had begun to consider him a friend (or something of the sort) he'd been unable to stop thinking about her. She changed, maybe only minorly— but she still changed nonetheless.

  Not only did her attitude toward Leo change, but so did her physical appearance. She took to spending more time with her little sister—Marlowe— and this meant she had certainly grown fond of the youngest Hecate daughter. Or at least, it seemed she did. Because Blaire had agreed to let Marlowe and her new friend (who was a daughter of Iris) test out the latter's newly established abilities on her hair.

The choppy edges of Blaire's brown hair were now tinted a deep shade of purple. She'd also grown her hair out longer, allowing it to fall in natural waves and cascade down her back in an array of violet.

    Leo thanked the gods every day for equipping Marlowe's friend with such powers, for they blessed the earth with the wonder that was Blaire with dyed hair. Something about the way the shade of purple clashed with the brown of her eyes and the slight coat of freckles the sun bestowed upon Blaire, was incredibly attractive in Leo's honest opinion. He didn't know why her dyed hair had such an effect on him, but it did. He'd never admit that aloud though.

"Did you come in here just to antagonize me?" Leo asked, tilting his head in faux confusion.

Blaire pretended to think for a second, before nodding with triumph. "Yeah."

Friends or not, Blaire still found joy in teasing the boy.

  Before either of the demigods could further prod at each other, an explosion shook the ship and nearly sent the both of them flying. They looked at each other, wide-eyed with shock and rapidly increasing panic.

  And then, they both made a beeline for the main deck in hopes of seeing what the commotion was.

  Their ship was now hovering over New Rome which was incredibly architecturally advanced compared to Camp Half-blood. And Annabeth was being hoisted to her feet by Piper Mclean. The weirdest part, though, was the shouting statue standing aboard their ship, surrounded by a fog of sulfurous yellow smoke.  Cinders popped around his curly hair. From the waist down, he was nothing but a square marble pedestal. From the waist up, he was a muscular human figure in a carved toga.