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Mending the Broken

Chapter Five

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

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"Did he leave you too? Did the pathetic, scarred-up owl-fucker have enough of you too then?"

Stella's shriek could shatter glass and Stolas bore the brunt of it as she screamed at him in the hallway, wide enough to disperse some of the sound, but not enough to prevent the echo of it. Octavia had already slunk back off to her room, not wanting to deal with the craziness of it all, though it was all fair to her - Stolas wouldn't have wanted to deal with Stella any more than she did.

The owl met Stella's gaze levelly, unmoving, impassive. Not showing emotion had become a strength of his. If he could take the worst of Stella's rage, at least Octavia didn't have to. Stolas didn't want to become a martyr, not at all, but it felt like the best course of action to him, the next right thing that he could do, while he was focused on putting one foot in front of the other, simply carrying on.

"You know, I said I'd be happy if I never had to look at your pathetic, imp sucking face ever again," Stella sneered, her voice dropping an octave in pure malice. "But I rather like this look too. I think I'll keep it, you know, for those lonely nights."

Of course, Stella wasn't going to be having any lonely nights anytime soon, not like Stolas. She was making fun of him, though that was nothing new, nothing different, not as he stared at her blankly, blandly, the mask firmly in place. If there was one person in the entirety of Hell that he could not show weakness to, it was Stella. She'd feast on him the moment he slipped up, though she of all demons should have known how powerful he was. He might have maintained an airhead façade and not involved himself in court politics where not needed, but he was still one of the most powerful demons in Hell. It came with the territory of being a prince, passed down to him through the Goetia bloodline, though skills as sharp as Stolas' did not come without being honed.

Stella, however, seemed to forget that. Her claw clutched at his royal cape, ripping, tearing, and he wrenched himself from her with a scowl. She only scoffed at him, tossing the scrap of fine fabric that she had ripped free away with a look that said such a thing was not worth her attention.

"You'll buy another one I'm sure," she said with a flip of her hand. "Spending money was about the only thing you were good at, acting like a royal. Only that though, nothing else."

"Do not test me, Stella."

His voice dropped, flickers of dark, black and red magic pouring from him, his true form showing in a shuddering glitch of feathers, a monstrous owl-demon with a beak that could snap Stella clean in two. She stepped back, but hardly did anything that any demon with an ounce more sense should have been doing, which should have been very much fleeing for their lives.

"Or what?" She pressed the matter, rage blazing in her eyes, greed for something that had been denied to her fuelling it all. "You'll get angry? Oh, Stolas... Do you think I haven't seen you get angry before? An old coot like you could barely ruffle feathers. You've gone soft, darling, you couldn't do anything against me."

Dimly, Stolas was aware that Octavia had made good her escape and he bristled more and more, heat prickling and pulling at a hidden layer under his skin. At least, that was what it felt like, as if his veins were struggling and straining, somehow, to push their way to the surface. He took a breath, aware that she was speaking, but in the darkness of his mind he could not reach her. All Stella was had become a dull echo at the edges of his psyche, a harpy clawing and pulling, screeching at the place where she could not reach him.

He still saw, of course, and he still seethed. That anger would never truly go away, he had long ago accepted that, but he only saw her howling hatred at him, the blaze in her pink eyes familiar. It was like greeting an old friend and Stolas would have let out a weak chuckle if he had not been so far under. It was as if he was inside a dome, caught up there, though she could not reach him there, no matter for how hard or how long she beat her tiny fists against the glass.

She was out there and he was in there. But he could still hear her words.

"You're a leech! You've allowed me for thousands of years to carry the load of this family, to be the only one here at all concerned with our reputation!" She hissed, the harpy at her best, though it was what Stella saw as her best, her purpose in life in Hell. "I've done everything, teaching Octavia to be a proper lady, a princess, so much more than you could ever have done! And what have you done for her royal education, her teaching, everything that will make her an elite member of society? Nothing - that's what!"

He closed his eyes. It made no difference as a plant sailed past his head, the pot shattering, the inhabitant squealing as the carnivorous plant within twisted and sought sustenance for its roots. He'd repot it as soon as possible.

"You could never do anything right, never! Always with that scowl on your face, like you never want to be anywhere, never want to be socialising - always nothing if it wasn't with that wretched imp of yours!"

He tried to come around, though it was like swimming his way back up from the depths of a lake, or perhaps even the seas of Envy, bubbles streaming from his beak, further and further from the surface with every stroke. His eyes followed the path of those imagined, silvery bubbles, but they drifted every which way, not showing him the way back to the surface. Ah, well. It was all the same.

But Stella was still going. If he knew her, it would take her hours to run out of steam. In their separation, her rants were not something that he missed one bit.

Deep inside the demon, something pulled a notch tauter.

"If you continue to act like such a weakling, Stolas," he didn't quite know how she put such a sneer into his name, "it'll be no trouble at all to get full custody of Octavia. Everyone now knows what a disgrace you are, how far you've fallen. Everyone wants the best for her - everyone except you it seems."

He snapped back to reality, pain wrenching his heart, beak open before he'd even come to an understanding of what he was to say.

"I care about her more than anyone else, Stella, and you would do well to remember that."

"Or what? Finally found your voice, have you?" She laughed and flipped her hand at him, feathers fluffed up. "Face the facts, husband, your failed date with that little wretch of a lowlife is all over the news and he's gone and left you now too. Where does that leave you, Stolas? Do you really think there's any coming back from this for you, that any sane demon will ever respect you again? Your power is gone - fool! It's never coming back and every Overlord in Hell will be coming for you when they catch onto the fall you've taken!"

She leaned in close, shoving her face into his.

"It's coming for you, Stolas, your reckoning. And then there won't be anything left for you, not your weak little imp, not Octavia, not a friend in Hell."

He didn't think of what he was doing, only reacting. With a flick of his hand, Stella was thrown back, pinned to the wall without any impact, merely incapacitated. The mask was firmly in place, holding his ruse, and he stared her down even as she fought and squawked. He couldn't even feel glad at the first flicker of fear in her eyes, though he had no intention of hurting her. Regardless of what she thought of him and his powers, they were there, they were present. Stella had just forgotten that.

He did not grace her with words, not as she thrashed and howled, though Stolas did not take any pleasure either in his treatment of her. He pushed her, without causing her pain or discomfort, back to the front door, through the doors, locking them after her. An imp butler threw her coat after her and Stolas felt as if he should have cracked a smile at that, though couldn't summon the emotion nor the feeling. It was as if he had been turned into a block of wood.

Regardless, his power was there, his power was used. It had all been something of a non-event, really, Stella squalling outside, though without him to exude her fury upon, she would die off quicker out there. Back to her personal mansion, her servants, her luxuries. That would suit her better, rather than doting on a lost cause.

He kept moving. If he stopped moving, he might stop for hours, staring into blank space and not even at the wall or anything at all, time and life down there in Hell passing around him, as if he was no longer a part of it.

Octavia... Yes. She was the only one that could drudge him out of the sludge of dreariness, floating and drifting in grey that was more muted than his feathers, however they were becoming matted, needing preening. He no longer had a partner to preen him.

Blitz had helped to preen him, before. He had been so kind to do so, not the kind of activity that had gotten the imp anything in return, and he had not even needed the preening comb to do so, which was usually something used when anyone other than an avian demon assisted in preening. He'd used his claws, carefully and meticulously picking through Stolas' feathers, all over his body, tugging out the loose ones, the ones with broken shafts, those that were ready to be shed. A bird demon would go through moults, but preening was different, something that had to be down every few weeks - or more often if possible. But that was hardly often feasible without a partner and it was not as if Stella was amenable. She got her needs met elsewhere and he didn't begrudge her that.

Still, he missed the feeling of being fresh, of being clean, a sensation that only preening, being properly preened, could give him. No bath would suffice, even if it would leave his feathers glistening with the bath oils, only that careful attention and care, the memory of Blitz' fingers and claws combing softly and considerately through his feathers bringing a prickling rise to his skin.

Octavia would probably mock him (however good-naturedly, she was still a teenager, after all) if she knew how badly he needed to be preened. She was still focused on her appearance - and so was he - and tried to look her best, even if it was her own personal style and Stolas was quite all right with that. Still... What he had to do was to make sure that she was okay, especially after witnessing another uproar from Stella, regardless of how accurate Stella's jabs might have been. Half of them were just thoughts from his head anyway, so he could hardly say that they weren't true.

"Octavia?"

He wandered the halls, after not finding her in her room. Though where he did not expect to find her was out in the greenhouse, his clothing just about suitable for the garden with his royal attire still in place. He only cast aside the cape, murmuring thanks to the imp who took care of it for him. Steven, he thought his name was, but the imp was so quick and efficient at his job that Stolas could hardly catch sight of him before he was gone. He was fortunate to have such excellent servants in his employ.

But the greenhouse was separate to the house and Octavia held up a book beside one of his wriggling, carnivorous plants, clearly expecting to be fed.

"My dear owlette, whatever are you doing?"

She glanced back at him.

"Sorry, dad, we have a chapter on toxic plant identification for our studies this semester and I wanted to get a bit ahead. Seemed silly not to when you have a collection like this... I think you've had some of these since before I was born. And mom was..."

She paused and Stolas didn't blame her for not knowing how to phrase it. Best to drag himself away from that and to concentrate on Octavia. She had always been his starfire, the brightest light in the constellations, lighting up his life. She'd always given him that sliver of hope he'd needed to keep going.

"Yes, about that... Octavia, how are you feeling?"

She glanced at him, though did not meet his eyes for long.

"Um... Well... Seemed a bit...uh...unprecedented?" She seemed to fumble for words. "Just... I don't know what got mom like that. I even went dress shopping with her and everything. I tried to make her happy, but..."

His daughter shrugged helplessly and, despite everything, Stolas could not stop himself from bundling her into his arms, drawing her in soft and warm against his chest.

"Oh, my little owlette, that's very kind of you... Undoubtedly so. But your mother has her own reasons for doing what she does and you will never, ever, not even the once, be to blame. Please, believe that, for I would have no lie told as to your responsibility. We both love you very dearly and it is most likely that Stella has something else going on, whether with me or others, that is preying on her mind."

Or just that I'm a piece of shit.

_ _

Stolas didn't say that thought aloud, however. That wasn't for Octavia to hear.

"Thanks...Dad," she said slowly, leaning in close, loosely wrapping her arms around his waist. "I know... But I still didn't want to wind her up... Kinda...wanted to make it easier, y'know."

"Well, that's kind of you, Octavia, but not necessary. And if there is anything going on with Stella that you'd rather not be a part of, anything making you uncomfortable, please speak to me about it. You never have to make compromises on my behalf, my dear starfire."

"Daaad, come on," she groaned, squirming out of his grasp. "That was what you called me when I was a kid! Come on!"

He smiled, more genuinely that time.

"And you will always be my daughter, though I promised not to call you starfire in public. A promise is a promise, Via, but I hope you know just how dearly I love you."

She did. That was one thing that his broken heart knew, the fractured fragments of a soul that didn't know how to put itself back together. He had thrown Stella out, for once, but it didn't feel like as much of a "win" to Stolas as taking his daughter in his arms was. He knew that being with her mother was difficult for her, even if there was still love between them, a relationship that still need to work out what it wanted to be, how they were going to relate to each other. In that regard, they were both as hard-headed as the other, the flame of Stella showing through in Octavia too.

Still, it was harder to believe that Octavia loved him when all was quiet in the mansion again and she was busy working on her taxidermy, chatting away to her new friend on something called "face time". He didn't know what that was, but undoubtedly Octavia would show him one day and he would make a fool of himself, embarrassing himself.

Step after step. He'd grown thinner after so many days and nights walking the mansion alone when he was not able to sleep, though he liked the viewing gallery the best for long walks, even if it was really pacing, back and forth. The gallery boasted glass windows entirely on one side looking out over the garden and was a place intended for nobles to walk, to stretch their legs. He'd had it extended to a long veranda that ran outside too, though he didn't want to step outside just yet, enjoying the company of his many carnivorous and poisonous plants that made the most of the excellent light.

It was soothing there, the moonlight of Hell cast over the floor before him, the long carpet running the length of the middle of the gallery, the moonlight cut into rectangles where it was divided up by the windowpanes. He didn't mind that he wore a path into the carpet from time to time. It was hardly as if he had to worry about money, one thing in life that he was thankful for after seeing how the other side of the world lived.

Back and forth, back and forth... There was a time when pacing shifted from soothing to frantic, his steps a little more hurried, hands folded behind his back. Yes, the imps...and others too. He saw the depravity that they were forced into, the dirty bars, the filth lining their streets, how they were driven to work at jobs that they were not even paid at - maybe given a room, some food, but that was about it. Those that couldn't find work, well...they suffered.

At least Blitz had seen something that he could take for his own, going for his own business, even if it had started with him stealing Stolas' very own Grimoire. The owl could not help but smile, his beak twitching, however minute the motion was. Ah, the imp and his entrepreneurial spirit... It was the sort of thing that Stolas would have been excited and invigorated enough to back, if only Blitz had asked, though he understood why Blitz had not. They hadn't even known one another, not back then, though the imp had not asked for money since either, which had surprised Stolas. He knew that costs were still high and the pay not as great as Blitz would have liked while the company got up off the ground. But never once had Blitz asked for money just because or even for a loan.

That was a nicer memory, even if he did not like the squalor that Blitz lived in. The imp had never allowed him to come by and Stolas had respected his privacy, though he had still caught glimpses of the imp and his home in the soap bubbles of his bath, the room infused with magic of his design. It allowed him to see, for sometimes what he needed to see was not what he was looking for.

It had made sense to him at the time, the floating magic of the bathroom, spelt out in the drifting, spellbound constellations, always changing. Maybe it was still what he needed.

But what Stolas knew that he did need was the imp and, well...that ship had sailed, as the humans liked to say. That might have made Stolas smile if the prince had been in a better mood, the little saying, though it was passing and nondescript, something that didn't matter in the grand scheme of life in the Underworld.

His feet moved of their own accord, taking him back through the house to the entrance hall, though he had not realised that there was such destruction there. The imps employed by his household, so quick and so adept at what they did, would clean it the following morning, though they had realised some time back that he felt better when he was able to survey the damage. Stolas wasn't even sure how they had noticed, but somehow walking through the shreds of the damage that Stella caused made him feel like a chapter had closed - that chapter at least. It settled him a little, knowing that she was no longer there.

He was safe. Safer.

The logical mind could accept it even while the emotional mind fought against it. That was still something that Stolas would have to come to understand.

"Oh..."

But there was one thing that had not survived her rage, though Stolas honestly didn't even remember Stella breaking or throwing things when she'd been by. It was so commonplace as she strained and fought to rile him up, to get a real rise out of him or at least to use him as a punching bag, that he barely even fluttered a feather if something sailed past his head anymore. Whereas it could paint him as unflappable, it also was not something that was going to be all that beneficial to him in the long term.

His phone. That was a shame. He bent over at the waist, delicately picking through the shards of the screen, which had fractured and splintered off. It was a good model, but there was little that could stand up to Stella's force. He must have set it on the side table after he had come in from the limousine and the visit to the stables, not noticing when it had become just another object to focus on in her rage.

It was okay though. He could buy a new one and yet the owl's eyes welled up with tears, pain tightening in his chest.

That was the phone that he had used to talk to Blitz. It was silly, so silly, just an object used for communication, but he had had it the whole time, a constant in a life that always seemed to be on tenterhooks, wondering if he was even allowed to live, at least when he was around Stella.

And now it was lost, his magic not something that could be used to repair such an object. How pathetic.

He collected every last tiny bit of the phone that he could find, cupping it in his hands. It was ridiculous to keep it, beyond the Hell-card inside that could transfer the data over to a new one, though he'd probably choose a red phone next. Why? Well, it would remind him of Blitz and if he was going to be surrounded by broken reminders of how much he had failed each and every day, why not have a good one, at least, of the imp that his heart ached for?

A red phone. Simple. Easy. A little reminder of times that, at least for a time, had been better.

Tiredness weighed him down and the demon found himself back upstairs, in front of his double bedroom doors, silvery moons and stars and planets embossed over the wood. It had once held the sun too, for Stella, but that had been removed after they had started sleeping in separate rooms. That had been many centuries ago, so long that he could not remember the last time, honestly, that she had been in what he now saw as his room.

Out of his clothes. He was still in his royal regalia, his cape the only part of it that he had taken off, sticky and sweaty underneath, his feathers clumped together in uncomfortable, awkward ways. He should have had a bath or even slipped into the shower, which was just as nice, but he simply didn't have the energy. It might have been dawn, the early hours of the morning, sometime in the evening... Stolas simply didn't know. He didn't care either. Octavia would most likely sleep late the next day, both of them recovering from the ire that was Stella.

It was all he could do to drag his clothes from his frame, one after the other, his heart heavy, his limbs heavy. Everything was heavy, though it was not a physical ailment that ailed him, avoiding the mirror beside his walk-in wardrobe and dressing area. Although he was naked he did not feel as if he was, his steps dragging, talons scraping across the floor. Stella would have had a fit if she'd seen it. Blitz would have mocked him...and then probably scooped him up in his arms and carried him.

Stolas didn't know what that meant, but it gave him the energy he needed to get into bed, as horrible as he felt.

"I'll have a bath..." He breathed, as if he was making a promise to himself. "In the morning... Yes..."

But he did not tell himself that it would be okay, what he had said so many times over to Octavia as a promise, reassuring her from nightmares, her mother, the future ahead of her, every worry and ill she could possibly have had growing up as a young woman in Hell. For her, it would be okay. He already had seen it in the stars and knew it to be so, though he would have still told her, for he believed it as the truth whole-heartedly.

Him, on the other hand...

No. Best not to go down that route. Sleep dragged at him, his eyelids heavier and heavier, though the cold, empty space, his space, in the bed next to him screamed.

Sleeping restlessly, Stolas would wake more exhausted than he had been on going to sleep.

It was all the same.

*

There was not enough coffee in Hell for him, come the next morning, though he put on a show for Octavia. She was enough to pick up his mood just a little bit, enough that he felt as if he was not faking it for her, not putting on a mask, though the mask was always there. With Via around, Stolas could pretend it wasn't.

She read over breakfast, the quiet peaceful between them, tossing a steak to one of his favourite plants, who took precedence in their kitchen-diner. There was another larger kitchen for formal events and the big dining hall, though Stolas rarely ate there anymore. He wouldn't have been surprised to find a layer of dust on the table if he was not confident in the fact that the imp servants kept everything in perfect condition.

"Hm... Dad..."

Stolas lifted his head, unaware that he had been eating his cereal slowly, chewing so lethargically that the rest of his bowl was well on his way to becoming a soggy mess.

"Yes, my owlette?"

Oh, if only his Via could know how good it was to hear her voice, how much she lifted his heart. The mansion was a forlorn place without her, though she did prefer to spend a lot of her time in solitude. In that way, she was rather like him too, though he would have to ensure she knew she was always welcome to share time and space with him, even if they weren't talking actively.

The younger owl brushed her fingers across the table, tracing a pattern, stalling for time.

"Dad, I was wondering..." She said slowly, as if she didn't want to break the silence between them, the quiet peace that had somewhat settled. "There's this band, not Fuck You Dad, another one... They've got a gig on at a small place in the Pride ring, so it wouldn't be far, not really, I could be back before eleven..."

Stolas smiled, half-lifting his hand to cover his amusement. Oh, he'd been the same at her age, testing the waters, trying to see what he could do. But, in his case, things had not been as free for him as they could be for her. All with her safety in mind, of course, as that was still his utmost concern.

"My little owlette, are you asking to go out to see this band play? What is it? Where are they?"

Octavia rubbed her arm, not so much shy but trying to play her cards right. It was hardly the sort of venue that her dad would have wanted to go to.

"Um... Black Horse, it's a club. For teens too, though there is drinking... Not that I want to drink!" She added quickly, holding her hands up defensively. "Shoot, I mean... I just want to go for the music, I've never been out of the Pride ring to go and see them when performing in Lust and Envy and...well...they might not be this close again."

"A...club?"

Stolas tilted his head doubtfully. He had to admit that that was not the sort of thing that he would have wanted his daughter at. Alcohol, pounding music, probably more like screaming music, judging by the sort of thing that his owlette enjoyed listening too... More alcohol, sweaty, gyrating bodies. The feathers around his neck bristled at the thought. No, she had just turned eighteen and could if she wanted to, but that didn't mean that he wanted her to just yet.

But did he have any right to stop her either? He remembered, too clearly, how his mother had scoffed at him, many, many centuries ago, for wanting to listen to a performance. It had not been something that nobles listened to, the music harsher and more grating, though he had put the band name from his mind. It brought the memory to a painful jab in his gut, as if a blade had been sunk deep and twisted, the image of his deceased mother looming over him, laughing at him, scorning his choice.

"That is not for people like us, dear," she had said, though it had been the derision in the elder owl's voice that had done it for him. "That is for commoners. And you are not a commoner. Do not lower yourself to the status of one, Stolas."

It may have been a memory, but just where it was stored in his mind made him think that it had only happened a single day ago, so close, so fresh. So raw. The owl sighed minutely, still aware that he didn't want to let Octavia catch onto anything untoward going on, what lingered the breadth of a single feather under the surface.

He couldn't do that to her. Not when he had not even set foot in a club of any kind to see any music that he liked for... Well, not ever. Not once. The memory had stopped him, every time.

"Octavia..." He began, rubbing the back of his neck. "It might be a bit much for your first time, a place like that... How big is it? Maybe I can look it up on Voxnet first? To get the lay of the land, though it should not be that difficult for my regular driver to ensure drop-off and pick-up, even to a venue like that."

Her eyes widened.

"What...you're..." She struggled to find the words. "You're not shutting it down...right away?"

"No, I'm not," he said, buoyed up by her enthusiasm, however restrained she was. "I... I don't think it's right. You are, technically, of age, even though things in Hell, well...they don't run that way, usually. But I wanted you to have a little maturity before indulging yourself. I'm sure you've seen by now what happens when some take things to excess."

Octavia nodded slowly.

"Yeah, I think so... But I don't want to drink, dad. I don't even really like the wine you have with dinner anyway; I don't think I'd like anything else better."

Stolas winced, but spared his daughter the lecture on what a fine vintage that wine was, despite the expense. It wasn't the time.

"I think it might be something we can consider, but I'll have to look it up first, Via," he said, an edge of firmness entering his tone. "I want to make sure you're safe there. Who are you going with?"

He did not miss how her eyes slid away.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, dad, it's a popular place, supposedly, not that I've been there before," she said, waving her hand dismissively, dodging his question. "There are bouncers and guards and I heard some from school have been there before, they didn't seem to have any trouble."

She paused, her beak partly open, eyes shining a little more pinkly, though it was only for a moment. If her father had blinked, he would have missed it.

"Maybe you could come with me, dad, you know..." Octavia coughed into her hand, her tail feathers tucking down a little more closely over the back of her seat. "It wouldn't be so bad, you know, for my first time going out and all that... We don't have to stay too late, though I know you don't mind being out at night, with the whole owl thing and all..."

Stolas' eyes creased in surprise, though his brows were not defined enough to lend strength to the expression. Having four eyes, however, at least allowed him to be as expressive as most other demons, if not more.

"Don't you have any friends that you would rather go with, Via?"

The words were out of his mouth before the owl could pull them back, though it was a fair question, a very fair question.

"Ah... Well..." She scuffed her toe across the floor, averting her eyes, the faintest rise of a blush colouring her cheeks. "I don't think...anyone...would be interested in seeing this band. It's not like listening to an orchestra. Not really your thing either, dad, but, well..."

"Oh, no, no, no, Octavia - not what I meant at all!" And he did genuinely mean it, spreading his arms wide, his smile stretching further, sincerely warming him through to be thought of in that way. "It would be my pleasure to escort you! That is, of course, if you are happy to have your old man there, though I would need a little assistance in picking an outfit..."

"Yeah... It's cool, dad, I think...it might be fun."

There was something there, something that Stolas would, hopefully, tease from her later, but the owl bubbled over with such brightness that he could not help chasing away the gloom, at least for a little while. He smiled genuinely again and, for a moment, it felt as if the darkness had not been there, as if he could, once again, be his true self with his precious starfire, the light of his life in the Underworld.

It gave him something to look forward to, something that pulled him out of the drudgery. Maybe, just maybe, it would be a step in the right direction. And it coming from Octavia too helped, more than her father would ever let on to her.

His daughter really was the best thing in his life.

Along with one other thing...

Sometime later, smiling, Octavia sat back on her bed, her phone in hand, Voxtagram opened. A quick photo of the tickets, that she may or may not already have purchased, and a genuine smile on her face. Not what she would usually put up, but her excitement was bubbling over too much to not share it, even if she didn't have any genuine friends, not close by, that would be as excited about going to see the band as she was. With how overbearing Stella had been, all the friends in supposed high society that she'd been supposed to get along with just hadn't worked out. They'd been shallow, concerned about appearances, closer to the sins of Hell than Octavia had ever felt.

If she wasn't like them, she didn't fit into their little circle. But there were wider circles to be had too, her fingers flying across the Hell phone touch screen, her photo ready.

@Gothchk17

_ _

Win! Going to see Demon Drool next week!

_ _

No more than that was needed, her tail feathers splayed out lightly against the bed, sinking back with her phone clutched to her chest, the post made. Maybe she would even find someone that was more her speed with regards to friendship at the club, though she thought it would still be too loud there to talk. That was what the videos she'd looked at online had seemed like, after all - but she was going and that was all that mattered!

Briefly, Octavia considered that it was rather lame to go with her dad, but, well, it felt less lame that she had invited him. Or maybe she had just wanted the company and she could properly dress him at Stylish Occult first, making sure he fit in. Something his style, but also the style of the club. She might not have been into the kind of fashion that her mother wanted her to be into, but Octavia was still a dab hand at putting an outfit together.

Maybe it would even be fun to spend a little more time with her dad? Only the night itself would tell the answer to that one, however, but it had to be better than not trying to do anything at all.

At least, that was what Octavia hoped.