Chapter Text
Stolas stood at his daughter's door, her booming punk music ruffling his feathers, causing tension in his shoulders. Even as her door did an excellent job muffling her rather boisterous 'music,' it still shook Stolas' bones with anxiety. On his body, a simple loose, almost drab grey-white article of pyjama. Like the one, an old man would wear back in the 1800s. He was still cleaning out the... stains on the other one. But upon closer inspection, one would find tiny stars and constellations sprinkled all over his clothing, giving it an almost child-like flair from the passion he exuded for his hobby, a decision his 'sweet' daughter Octavia could never get over. His wide v-neck let the fluff on his chest almost spill out, allowing his body to breathe in the cold hallways of his empty mansion.
And that is something, Stolas thought, one long, spindly fingering going in the neck of his, I am SO... immensely grateful for . Oh, Stolas... He pivoted on one of his talons, no longer facing the door with a determined look but gazing askance with his shot nerves making themselves known on his wrinkled expression. What are you even DOING? !
Stolas was a man of composure, raised up with skill, elegance and a steel will. Rare was his now pitiful sight, where he looked more akin to a lost ghost, forlorn and lost in its own domain than a sophisticated High Prince of the Ars Goetia. But alas, there he stood, practically unable to move even a step away or toward a teenage girl's room. Effectively... He was all but trapped. And he had nobody to blame for this sudden ambush... but himself.
Stolas muttered nothings into his hands, covering his face, before pulling them down, miserably groaning, "What made you think this was a good idea? Foolish old man..." The truth was that Stolas just could not sleep. Not for a few days, perhaps even weeks, now. He would wake up, his heart pounding and chest heaving as he jolted upright. Almost every night, the same reoccurring dream began haunting him. Urgh, more so a nightmare compared to my usual dreams with Blitzy...
Stolas felt his legs wobble, either countless nights of sleep deprivation or the building stress that occurred afterwards getting the best of him. But if he was to have no elegance, he would at least like to keep his dignity, no matter how hard it was to resist on the wall adjacent to her door, booming with her usual punk rock. So all he allowed himself to do was to lean against her wall, safely assuring himself that she wouldn't hear the back of his head thumping softly against the expensive wallpaper.
Grimace intensifying as he pinched the bridge of where a human noise ought to be, Stolas could only whisper lowly, "You know it's doomed to fail... Just go back to sleep. Just GO."
And yet, his legs would not. His arms did not push off the wall, and his neck did not swivel back down the hall to where his empty, cold bed awaited him. And that was cause for Stolas to become more petrified than those who dared to insult him or his family. His throat was dry and felt like it had clumps upon clumps of dry saliva building up the longer he stood still with that blank yet mortified expression staring out into nothing. No, no, no, no, no, NO. His thoughts were becoming increasingly nonsensical, yet one would find it hard not to sympathize were they to find out their cause. I have no RIGHT! It's a dumb plan, regardless. Hells, it's not even a PLAN; just a spur-of-the-moment, idiotic decision of a tired, selfish FOOL!
In Stolas' case, there would only be two people in his life that would be cause enough for him to dress so shoddily. The imp who took his breath away, both in bed and out... and his dearest owlette, Octavia. It was quite easy to reveal that hidden, ashamed part of himself to the rather audacious imp who managed to woo his way out of being sent to the hidden ninth layer of Hell for being brash enough to try and steal HIS Grimoire. But I haven't a bloody clue-- Stolas finally gave in to the despair as he shrank down with a slight whine-- on how I should even BEGIN this with her. .!
For the last few months, right after he finally realized just how deeply he had let that unknowing imp into his heart after the Summer Festival, Stolas had only two thoughts on his mind: how to confess his love for his darling... and how to come out to his most precious daughter.
Stolas was beside himself with emotion, simply just THINKING about it. On the one hand, Stolas looked down between his curled-up legs, the thumps on the wall behind still slow yet growing in intensity. I... I just NEED to tell her. But then, no matter how hard he tried, his heart would not stop beating as cruelly as it did. But... what right do I have ? Beginning to become too much for the owl, something he absolutely despised with all his heart began to happen.
Once terrified and anxious, Stolas' features were starting to shut down. A wave of reluctant serenity washed over him, this feeling of 'acceptance' far too sadly familiar. There was only one other time that this would always happen to him, and that was when his wife, Stella, simply entered the house. It was as if all the life would be sucked out of him in a moment's notice like he desperately tried to become the lifeless doll she wanted him to be. It works . He found the strength to finally stand up when, with the disappearance of all his anxiety, alongside hope for a better life, once again began to fade away. Or at least it used to. Not that demonic witch bitch... still isn't satisfied .
His lanky posture swayed like dry grass in a storm, like an emotional drunkard far too deep over his cups. Stolas's senses, at this point, were so far dulled, himself lost so much in his mind that he didn't even notice how Octavia's music had ceased rather abruptly, a tiny sliver of light peeking through the bottom of her door as expensive lights came on. But... there IS a modicum of truth in those cruel words... isn't there? How else could she know just who I am so well? Liar, cheater; worthless; just an overall useless husband and..!
Stolas choked on that last word, his white pupils shaking in their red domains as his body seemed to be instinctually terrified of admitting the 'truth' of who he was. But with a trembling beak, his hoarse voice went to speak, tears built up in the corner of his eyes as he rasped out, " And a terrible -!"
"Dad?"
"Hrm?!" Stolas turned around, his heart exploding in his chest. He never understood what it was about his daughter that made him like so, but even hearing her say that one simple, honourable word made that wretched veil of self-imposed shame and unworthiness shatter and fall from his shoulders like it was nothing. Oh, no. Oh no, this is, Stolas, caught so off guard, failed to keep his breath under check, much less his petrified, caught-in-the-act expression. Oh, this is horrible! H-how much did she see?!
Stolas thought himself a pitiful sight before, but now he thought he must've looked the most pathetic sight in all of Hell, with how Octavia blinked at him, confused in her doorway . Look what you've done now, Stolas, you sad-! Look at her face!
There she was. My most glorious, beautiful creation. The one good thing that's come out of this miserable marriage..! Stolas' claws started to prick at his palms as, after he managed to bring them down by his hips, they curled up so tightly he barely bit back a wince. And I'm already making her so... SO..! SO WHAT, STOLAS? !
In truth... A surge of anger rose in his chest, though he dared not show even a single indication of it, the worry that his daughter would think she was the cause of it overriding any desire he had to punish himself. Once again, as he looked at her squinting, tired, sleepy expression, Stolas' fists grew tighter than ever. I have no BLOODY clue... what my OWN DAUGHTER MIGHT BE THINKING !
Octavia's head was peeking out from the very frame of her doorway, and her face looked blank, her usual grumpy appearance glaring at him, looking him up and down like she didn't get paid enough to do this. Though Stolas' heart quickened when he noticed just a small sense of urgency lingering in her eyes like she got up as fast as she could to speed walk over to the door before he could've gotten away. "Er... Dad," she murmured, coming out to fully stand in the hallway with him with a rub of her eyes, confused as he was shocked at the bizarre nature of their little meeting. "What... were you even doing outside of my room? Did you TRY knocking, or..?"
Much like him, as she looked at him up and down, hesitantly pointing to his fist and her door with a look of exasperation at what she could've only guessed were more of her father's antics, Octavia wore only a petite, uninspiring, BORING robe. It was practically a blanket with how loosely it hung off her bare shoulders, revealing not even a single blossoming curve of her body. But Octavia never lost that sense of inherent grace and majesty even as she stood before him, exhausted from a day of studying and the other worries nobles like themselves had to worry about.
Her natural, confident poise, her naturally regal appearance was one of the FEW THINGS that Stolas was grateful for Stella for in their... 'relationship.' It HAS to come from HER side... He couldn't help but break the eye contact to stare at his own gangly limbs, his own slouched, hunched-over, pitiful posture, his own drab moulting feathers. She could never have gotten it from me. ..
"Dad..?" her tone was growing more curious, though there was frustration growing, the longer she remained unanswered. "I'm NOT really in the mood for games right now, okay?" Stolas was ripped from his thoughts when Octavia made a little snap of her talons, the shroud of dark disappearing in an instant as her little spell lit the candles of the chandelier roaring ablaze. With a rub of her face, Stolas watched as the young woman rubbed her face, groaning, "I've... had a long fucking day dealing with Helsa again. I REALLY DON'T need this. I'll play... WHATEVER this is tomorrow with you in the morning or something, alright?"
The dark in the hallway around them disappeared in the arrival of the soft, orange glow above, his true nature being exposed harshly. The comfortable cover of the dark was ripped away. It was the only thing that hid from his daughter the waves of his shame, and now it left him subject to a sense of embarrassment untold as he watched her eyebrows slightly curve, seeing him gasping and cowering underneath the chandelier's light. "Unless... This can't wait..?"
Her long, almost feathery hair was undone, entirely revealed to the world in all of her inherent, hereditary magnificence, the very tips resting at little knees. Stolas could only imagine how elegantly his rather coarse Princess was probably combing it before bed. No matter how she tried, the dark, young owl must've instinctually picked up on her mother's and father's habits; her own body was preened to near perfection. No matter how she tried to pretend she wasn't through disobeying her mother or 'disrespecting' her father, it was clear that she would always remain an unmistakable symbol of her upbringing as the daughter of one of Hell's most prestigious families.
But of course, she was raised and was still very much her own person, which was made evident how she, quite inelegantly, leaned up against her doorway, arms crossed like his darling Blitzy's Moonie would. This, of course, only made the rage Stolas felt for himself just that much worse. Look at her: dignity and grace personified! Everything that I was and never WILL BE! And I would even dare to... to..! DAMN IT ALL, STOLAS. You have no right to put YOUR WORRIES on her, MUCH LESS before her BEDTIME! THINK, YOU DAFT... Just calm down and think, Stolas. You CAN still fix this!
But underneath his derisive confidence, Stolas felt only one thing as his daughter NEVER took her gaze off him.: small. And only one other person could ever make me feel this way... If there was one thing that carried over from her side... Stolas gulped a spitball down his throat, even his love for his daughter being overwhelmed by the stifling aura always unleashed by those piercing pink eyes. It just had to be that, didn't it ?
Stolas struggled for a moment, but he was finally able to react, much less speak, after comically clearing his throat as loud as he could, attempting to feign normalcy, quivering, "Octavia! DEAREST! W-what are you doing out here?!" Immediately, Stolas mentally face-palmed himself with the force of his Creator. REALLY? REALLY. Stolas felt a singular bead of sweat drip down his porcelain features onto the floor. However, three extras began to form as Octavia's mouth went slightly agape in disbelief. GOODNESS GRACIOUS, you dumb FU- !
"I..." Octavia broke her father's mental self-deprecation before it could begin, rocking back and forth until she 'launched' herself off the door frame to approach him like one would a nervous dog. "I could ask you the same thing..."
Crap, Stolas thought, thankful for his loose garb allowing him to breath as freely as he could, she's good . Stolas straightened himself out, yet he couldn't help but still cower before his daughter as she drew closer and closer with every step. "O-oh, it's nothing, sweetie! I was just prancing about, is all; you know, enjoying the views! And when I heard your music..! W-well, I, er... Just was about to knock, you know," he pointed at her with two little finger guns, though since his hands were trembling so much, any 'cool-factor' that COULD'VE existed in the lame display was nonexistent. "Shoot the shit, as all you younguns say! Hahaha! Ha..." Stolas wanted to do nothing more than start chewing not only the tips of his talons but his whole fingers off. For Satan's sake, Stolas! She's your DAUGHTER; man-!
"Ha!" Stolas' trailing, awkward laugh ceased immediately as the voice of Stella screaming at him echoed in his skull. It rang and rang, that one word endlessly repeating, over and over. Stolas knew what he had to do. He had to finish the sentence for her. Something... that hurt him more than any angelic bullet could've.
Man up.. .
Octavia herself had to pause as Stolas' entire body went rigid like he was just shocked by a cattle prod. In the light, Octavia could easily see how faint wafts of demonic energy started to pour out from beneath his feathers. She had seen this behaviour once before. When he felt he was nearly about to be assassinated in front of her, his defences immediately went up, guarding him against any potential danger. It was like he almost sensed another person in the hallway with them. But as she looked around, tearing the faintest sign of worry off her expression... she could find no other. Which only made how her father was acting all the more perplexing... and concerning. "Daad..? Are you," she put up one hand to show no danger while the other went to touch his elbow hesitantly. "Are you... feeling alright? You're acting weird... er than usual."
Man up! Stolas had no reason to think why those two words hurt and stressed him. After all, he knew who said those cruel, cruel words to him all the time. Every argument, every thrown, special pot he and Octavia handcrafted themselves back when she was somehow even more precious to him, every push into a chair or wall was ALWAYS followed up by her shrieking those two damnable words. He couldn't think, let alone speak. Not only did a migraine begin to torment him in the least opportune time, but the lump in his throat made him gap like an idiot he and his darling would laugh at on their city walks. But the worst part was. .. I'm... so WEAK , I... I can't even soothe my own daughter..!
Stolas could only stand there; the combination of his daughter's eagle-like eyes digging deeper and deeper into his soul and those words he wished he could never hear again made him tense up more rigidly than the statues he had strown about in his yard.
The poor demon had no choice but to look down and on as an increasingly distressed daughter, weakly tugging and tentatively rubbing his elbows, looked him up and down like he was about to faint in her arms. Which, with how he felt like he hadn't had a proper breath in one thousand years, might happen very soon. No, no, Stolas, look at her face! Can't you see how worried you're making her ? Compose yourself ! Oh, Stella is RIGHT! You're no man at all !
Stolas wasn't exactly sure when it happened, but the dull roar of the flames above became a distant hum, the throb of his blood rushing from his heart and into the rest of his body a dull thud. The voice of his daughter calling his name as calmly as a morning dove... a whisper he had no right hearing. Stolas could only watch as his normally unemotive offspring tug on him more and more, moving his numb body... somewhere. Stop this at ONCE, STOLAS ARS GOETIA. You're acting like a petulant child! Move! Say something; anything! Get yourself out of here! What was I even thinking?! Octavia, she doesn't deserve this, let alone me !
Stolas' grimace had grown so tight, so unbearably tense at this point, he wasn't sure if his face was blank with apathy or breaking down into the world's ugliest sob. And it only got worse as Stella's voice, her simple presence once more, began to dominate him, even in his own mind . Urgh, why is it that can't I do ANYTHING RIGHT?! I ALWAYS do this! This wouldn't have even happened if I was-wasn't such a selfish PRICK! The mixture of anger, fear, and sorrow was growing too much for the old man. He felt like he just wanted to... fade away .
The world around him was a grey fog, a stifling mist that enveloped all that he knew. A familiar place: his dreams, for thousands upon thousands of years, were usually nothing more than this. After all, it was how he had felt since the day his parents signed him off to that awful school. Besides being able to look down at his own miserable self... The only other thing that he could make out was the look of immense unease and slight fear on his daughter's face. Of which... I'm the cause of all her worry .
Octavia, now grabbing both of his hands, clasping them together so that he was standing at attention, pulled him into... somewhere else. The only reason he could discern that was only because the everlasting fog around him turned darker, more... soothing. At least to himself. The faint glow of orange turned to a pacifying blue, though Stolas felt anything but calm.
Stolas' eyes followed her lips moving as she came to stand in front of him, rapidly saying something, her voiceless words further causing Stolas to become even more infuriated at himself. And then, with a dull thump of her hands nervously patting his shoulders, she was off, running past him for whatever reason: a demonic blur of black. Leaving him only to his thoughts as he stood around like the idiot he was . Pleeeeease, Stolas , he felt on the verge of collapsing, his gaze directed towards the sky that most likely lied beyond that suffocating, blue-grey veil. Why can't you do anything RIGHT?!
Seconds, minutes, maybe an even hour passed. Stolas had no idea; it all felt the same to him, lost in that nightmare world he called his thoughts.
Look at what YOU'RE DOING TO YOUR DAUGHTER! Look at everything that's being FUCKED UP BECAUSE OF YOU ! Stop this at ONCE, STOLAS! She'll be back ANY SECOND NOW! I-I-I can hear her!
Indeed he could. By his side, Octavia materialized, carrying a cup, no doubt something she obtained in quite a hurry with how whatever liquid that was inside of it trickling down the side of what he figured out was his favourite, "I'm a HOOT" mug. No, no! Please, PLEASE! SAY SOMETHING, GOD DAMN IT ! She-she- YOU HAVE NO RIGHT! She was just about to go to bed..! My little owlette doesn't deserve this; doesn't deserve ME! She's my everything! SHE'S SO PERFECT! I never wanted to do this to her! I never wanted this! To be like what I am ! She- She...
She's... smiling?
H-how... Why is she smiling?
And... at me..?
The deafening rush of blood in his head was starting to slow. The world of mist evaporating into nothing as it should've long ago. Everything he felt and all of HER words; all the rage, sorrow, and torment that manifested wherever SHE went... was growing quieter and quieter, more... unimportant.
For in his daughter's bedroom...
No...
In all of Stolas' life, there were ONLY ever two things he would EVER need to see.
My darling Blitz, standing in a cold of cigarette smoke like he too, was revelling in the Full Moon's light after a passionate romp that stole away my breath and gave into me... new life.
And, without a shadow of doubt in my heart of hearts...
Words came not to Stolas, not just yet, which meant that he should've had no idea what his daughter, still mute, was yelling at him after she stepped aside to put aside what smelt like his favourite tea, going to lightly shake him before gently urging him to sit on something comfy.
But a real father knows... just how important that... ONE word is .
That oh-so endearing, kind, passionate... loving smile and voice of my Starfire, my one and most important child... My little owlette... calling out...
"Dad!"
He looked down at his daughter, only just realizing just how wet his eyes and face had become. "Hm?" Stolas snapped back to reality rather harshly with that one word. "Hrm?! Wh-what? Wh-ere?" His neck, as it pivoted around like a jittering robot's taking in his surroundings, for once in his life felt loose. I'm... in her bedroom. He looked down, his puffy, red eyes and white pupils shaking with an untold amount of emotion as he realized something that made him look back up at his daughter, who was still bearing his hands in hers. I was sitting on her bed. When..? Stolas decided that didn't matter. "Dad..."
Looking his daughter up and down, his gaze settled on her face, which gathered its own set of silent tears, her face scrunching up with worry. He looked down at how she leaned forward, pushing his hands into his chest, scooching closer and closer to quietly heaving man. Please, Octavia... P-p-please ...
"Dad..?" her voice was steady, but Stolas felt daggers in his heart as he saw how her eyes, typically 'lifeless' like she tried to make them appear, were now BRISTLING and BUBBLING with what he bet was the same array of emotions he felt. "Are you alri-!"
Stolas collapsed, his hands breaking away from hers-- a challenging task for the man-- as they came to interlink themselves around her back. "O-O-OCTAVIA, f-forgi-," In a reminder of his inherent strength, Octavia felt her back arch, though not painfully, as he pulled her too close to let loose into her bare shoulder, the loudest sob he's ever heard himself make. "I'm SO so-ho-ho-ho-orry! I--I-I-I-I...! IIIIIIIII! Haaaaah..! I'm s-s--s-ss-orry! I--I-I- AM! I am, I am, I... I am..! I'mmmmmrh..!"
His sniffs, pants, dry heaving and nonsensical whispers must've sounded so unbelievably pathetic to the young Princess. Seeing what was supposed to be one of Hell's most powerful Princes like this .
So that is why Stolas had no choice but to tighten his squeeze when he felt his precious daughter's hands join each other around his back as well, her gentle voice whispering only one thing, over and over again, above his muffled wails and cries with reassuring rubs on his trembling back.
"It's okay...
Hey, it's okay! Hey... It's alright, Dad. I'm right here. I'm right here, Dad. Always will be. Always. Always, and always...
I'm always here for you, Dad."
Octavia leaned backward, cupping her father's ugly crying face, smiling with all the positive emotion she could muster before she went plant a small peck of a kiss on his forehead. And what she said, something that should've been only meant for her, sent a chill down his spine and unholy soul. His eyes closed, his beak trembling as he tried keeping in his cries until it grew too much for him to handle.
"You'll be okay."
Stolas felt miserable.
Stolas felt pitiful.
Stolas never felt this free in his life.