Chapter Text
“Octavia, darling, it is time for your lessons!”
Stella Goetia raps on her daughter’s door with three ladylike taps.
There is a muffled reply.
“What was that darling?”
Stella enters the room.
“I said to give me a sec! I’m trying to get on my dress.”
Stella is mildly surprised that her daughter has voluntarily chosen to dress herself in the proper manner. Under ordinary circumstances, she would need to hound her daughter out of bed and into a proper dress before dragging her to the study for her lessons. Something about her daughter’s behavior had recently changed. Stella was loathed to admit it, but she suspected that Octavia and Stolas’ trip to Loo-Loo Land was the primary cause. At some point she would need to pry the information of what had transpired there out of the girl.
Stella takes a moment to glance around her daughter’s room. The sounds of struggle and fabric can be heard coming from the restroom.
Stella is about to offer assistance when she spies a shoebox haphazardly poking out from beneath her daughter’s bed. The brand is some cheap fare that Stella would never allow Octavia to wear. She takes the box and opens it.
A gasp slips from her beak.
Octavia stumbles out of the restroom with her dress partially undone at the back.
“I almost got it! Mom, I just need you to-”
She freezes when she sees her mom staring sternly at her, box in hand.
“Octavia, what is this?”
“Oh shit…mom, it’s not what it looks like. I’m just holding it for a friend!”
“I knew it. Marijuana! I cannot believe it. Wait till your father hears about this!”
“Wait mom, no! Don’t tell dad. Things have been going well for us lately and I don’t want to-”
“You should have thought of that before bringing this garbage into my house! Stolas! Come see what your daughter has done now!”
Stella’s thunderous voice carries down the hall, quickly bringing the owl prince. He gingerly pokes his head into his daughter’s room.
“Oh dear, Via, is everything alright?”
“Dad, I-”
Stella does not give her a moment.
“Look what I found hiding under our daughter’s bed!”
Stolas steps into the room and Stella shows him the poorly rolled roaches.
“Oh, how dreadful! Octavia, I am so disappointed in you! This must be dealt with at once! Young lady, I will see you and your mother in the parlor in five minutes for a stern chat. This is most unacceptable behavior, but I’m sure we can overcome this together as a family.”
Stolas disappears.
“REGINALD!”
Stella screams. It is more out of force of habit than necessity, as the imp butler is seldom outside of talking distance.
“Here madam.”
“Reginald! Tell Matilda we will take our afternoon tea in the East parlor!”
“Very good madam.”
“And Reginald? Go to my boudoir. In the bottom left drawer of my armoire, there is a sandalwood box. Fetch it for me. That is all.”
“Very good madam.” The butler disappears.
Stella knows instinctively that Stolas means for them to meet in the “family” parlor in the East-wing. The lady and her daughter transit in shameful silence. Octavia’s mind whirls, trying desperately to think of some defense.
They arrive.
Stella sits in a magenta chaise lounge. Her hands are folded neatly in her lap, her head held high. She does not look at Octavia, nor say anything.
Octavia sits in a matching armchair. Her dress is still not fully up. The cushions will not swallow her.
Tea arrives. It is placed on the table between them. Stella’s reticence continues as she pours her sugar and cream.
“Mom, if you would just let me-”
“Silence! You are to say nothing until your father arrives. Drink your tea.”
Octavia does not touch her tea. Stella sips silently, eyes closed.
Reginald arrives. In his arms is a wooden box, roughly the size of a trumpet case. He deposits the box on the tea table.
“Will there be anything else madam?”
“That will be all Reginald. You are dismissed.”
The butler vanishes the same moment that Stolas enters the parlor. He occupies the final chair in the room, opting not to sit next to his wife on the loveseat. In his hands he holds a plastic bag, containing what appears to be the dankest of weed.
Octavia’s eyes bug out.
“Dad, is that… pot?”
“Well of course! Fresh from the garden. What else would it be, spinach?”
Octavia’s mouth falls to the floor. “But… I thought you and mom were mad about-”
For the umpteenth time the teenager is interrupted mid-sentence.
“Honestly, Octavia, I was looking forward to our first daughter-father smoke session. I would finally get to show you the wonders of ganja and share with you my special strains! And here I come to find that you’ve been smoking some cheap street plant grown in Lucifer knows where! Very disappointing young lady!”
Octavia, wide eyed, whirls to face her mother.
“Mom, did you know about this?”
Stella pops open the sandalwood box.
“Know about what darling?” She says as she draws forth a beautifully crafted, solid crystal bong. She pours water into it from the tea set’s carafe and motions to her husband for the baggy.
Octavia’s pupils have dilated to the size of coins.
“You’re both stoners?”
Stella stops packing the bowl and looks at her husband and then at Octavia.
“First of all, daughter-mine, a lady is never a stoner. She is someone who occasionally partakes of hashish. Second of all, when she does partake of hashish, a lady smokes it properly from a pipe, not in the form of those nasty jazz cigarettes the commoners love so much. Finally, and most importantly, were you not paying attention when we first explained to you your father’s position?”
Stolas chimes in. “Remember sweetheart, I’m the demon prince of astronomy and herbs. And ‘herbs’ naturally includes ‘herb!’”
He hoots happily at his own joke while Stella finishes packing. From her sandalwood box she produces a solid gold lighter, engraved with the initials samk and geml in the old Canaanite way. She strikes the light and presses the flame into the sticky icky.
Bird dad leans towards his daughter.
“One thing you should know is that fresher plant is wetter, so it takes longer to light sometimes. Oh, I can’t wait to show you my special garden!”
“Our special garden, Stolas.”
“Of course, dear.”
The plant finally catches, and Stella brings the mouthpiece up to her beak. Before taking the hit, she tells Octavia to “watch carefully.” Then Lady Goetia proceeds to take a fat rip off her solid crystal bong.
Octavia feels a part of her soul die.
“This isn’t right… you guys are supposed to discourage me from doing drugs, not show me how!”
Stella is still exhaling so Stolas answers for her.
“Oh, come now Octavia. You have been watching too much human television. We’re demons, of course we do drugs!”
After the last puff of smoke leaves her mouth, Stella adds, “Yes darling, don’t be such a prude.”
Octavia has had enough. She stands and angrily points a taloned finger at her mother.
“Who are you calling a prude!? You’re the one who won’t stop screaming at dad about cheating on you!”
There is a profound silence as Stella blinks slowly at Octavia, as if trying to process a statement that she considers to be unfathomably stupid.
“Octavia, your father is a prince of hell. I expect him to ‘cheat’ on me. The problem is that rather than taking a high-end concubine or having a turgid, sexy affair with another lady, he insists on sullying our good name by publicly cavorting with an imp.”
She turns to stare red tinged daggers at Stolas, who coughs awkwardly into his hand. Octavia stops to process her mother’s use of the words “turgid” and “sexy,” finding that she has now grown immensely more uncomfortable, something which she would not have previously thought possible.
Stolas finally finds his voice.
“Yes well, I… um… don’t you think you should let Octavia have a hit, darling?”
“Indeed husband. Here Octavia, be careful now, its heavy.” She holds the bong out to her daughter.
Octavia does not take it. Her hands are pulling at her beany, trying to bring the cap down over her face to provide a thin but dark barrier from her parents.
“What even is happening right now?”
Stella has had enough.
“Young lady, if you don’t smoke this bowl right now, you are grounded for a month!”
“Ok, Ok, geeze! Here…”
The teenage owl takes the bong from her mother’s hands and holds it up to her beak.
“Like this?” She draws a small puff of smoke from the bong, coughing heavily on exhalation.
Stolas does not criticize. He claps his hands. “Well done my owlette! Oh, my daughter’s first bong hit! Now pass it here, it’s daddy’s turn!”
Octavia does so, and slumps back into the armchair, defeated. Stolas smokes and passes the bong to his wife.
“Don’t be so dour darling! Why, didn’t you want us to be doing more family activities?”
“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
Stella sends another puff of smoke up into the air, her husband’s last statement fermenting in her mind. The parlor stinks of weed now.
Octavia sighs.
“But I suppose it will do.”