Chapter Text
Six years old.
It's a really, really good day.
Octavia bounces around her room, clothes strewn over the furniture. She gets to pick between a pretty dress with stars, or a pretty dress with moons, or a really pretty dress with stars and moons! Her mum laid them all out for her this morning and she is allowed to choose her favourite to wear for the family portrait. Her doll, Ester, even gets to match whatever she picks.
She grabs the one with stars and moons and shows it to her mum. She rests her hand over Octavia's bushy, feathery hair and nods.
“I love it, Mummy!”
“I knew you would, sweetie, that's why I picked it,” she replies.
One of the servants quietly clears his throat. He gestures to the watch on his wrist. Her mum’s hand stiffens against her scalp.
“Give me a moment,” she says, “I need to hurry your father along.”
Octavia doesn't pay much mind to it. She twirls around in her new dress and thinks about how cool it will be to be in another portrait. Her last one is from when she was a shrivelled, gross little chick and she's really hoping her mum will replace it with this new one of her in this nice outfit she's letting her wear.
Her dad enters the room, still in his robe. He smiles down at her.
“You're a picture, Via! Ah, every bit my lovely little Starfire.” He pecks a kiss on her forehead and claps when she twirls for him.
There's a sound from over the hall, like a door slamming. Octavia tries to peer over her dad’s shoulder to see but he straightens to his full height and ends up blocking it.
Octavia frowns up at him. “Daddy, where's your pretty cape?”
“It's… still in the wash. I will have to be without it today.”
“The servants should do their jobs,” she parrots her mum to make him laugh.
His expression goes tight. “It's not to worry, sweetie. I'm sure I'll find something else.”
“You should let Mummy pick for you,” she tells him, “she got me this dress!”
Her dad turns away then, a little tense. She tugs at the hem of his robe and he reaches out to ruffle her feathers, still not looking at her. Happily, she leans into the contact.
“Your mother has lovely taste, you are quite right. I'm sure she is finding me something appropriate to wear now.”
Seven years old.
It's a really good day.
Octavia eats dinner with her parents. They're going to her uncle's palace afterwards which means she will get to play in the snow. He usually lets her sled down the slopes even though her dad thinks it's too scary for her. She's a big girl now and she can handle it!
Octavia takes a loud slurp of her pomegranate juice. She hopes her dad will speed up with eating so they can leave for her uncle's sooner. Her mum’s plate is already empty.
“Wasn't that just positively divine?” She asks Octavia, not really expecting an answer. “Good girl for eating so much of it.”
Octavia blossoms beneath the praise. She opens her beak to thank her.
“But,” her mum continues, “you must mind your manners, sweetie. We don't want you ending up like your father, do we?”
She deflates a little. “No, Mummy.” She takes a more sensible sip of her juice.
Her dad places his fork down beside his plate. Octavia fidgets in place. She just wants to go to her uncle's.
“She's fine, Stella,” he says.
She rolls her eyes. “No need to kick up a fuss at the dinner table. It's not polite.”
“It's -”
Her mum snaps at him then, “Don't you talk back to me in front of Octavia!”
“I…” her dad looks down to her, still slowly chewing through her final bite. “I apologise.”
Her mum returns to her good mood and Octavia relaxes, finishing her dinner. It's so nice when they're all happy like this. She just wishes her dad would hurry up with eating - he still hasn't picked his fork back up!
“Daddy.” She nudges him and he reaches for his cutlery.
“Don't mind him,” her mum orders, “just finish your juice, sweetie. No need to wait around for an anorexic twig like him to finish eating!”
Octavia isn't sure what she means but she laughs so Octavia laughs too. That always makes her mum really happy and then it usually ends up as a good day. She does her best to politely but quickly finish her drink, not able to see her dad over the rim of her cup. When she places it carefully back on the coaster, he's smiling shakily down at her. His food remains practically untouched.
He doesn't end up joining them at her uncle's house. Octavia feels bad for him; her mum and uncle always seem to have such a good time, laughing in the drawing room while she plays outside. It must be sad that her dad so often misses out.
Eight years old.
It's a good day.
Octavia's mum is out with her friends after a noisy conversation she and her dad had. Octavia isn't sure what it was about but her mum said he started it. He usually does.
She hopes he will read a book with her while they're alone in the palace together. Her dad does voices for all the different characters and he rereads them as many times as Octavia asks. Her mum doesn't like reading as much so when she's at home they mostly attend cotillion or work on her posture training. It's a bit nice to have a break.
When Octavia knocks on her dad's door, he does not answer straight away. She gets onto her tip-toes and grasps for the handle. Just about, she nudges it down and the door opens.
It's dim inside. All the curtains are closed and all the lights are off. The hellfire outside still casts a faint glow over the space. On the bed, her dad seems to already be sleeping - which is silly, because it's not even Octavia's bedtime yet. He lays on the bed with his back to her. Maybe he's sick? Sometimes he gets sick and her mum tells Octavia to leave him alone so she doesn't catch it from him. He gets sick way more than her or her mum, now that she thinks about it.
Her gaze falls to the floor. It's a bit messy; she sees some dirty glasses and clothes strewn about. Octavia should remind the servants to do their jobs so her mum doesn't get upset later. Nearer to the bed, there's a plant pot with its soil spilled. She shuffles over to it and finds the pot is cracked in two.
Carefully, she picks up the broken pieces. Her dad loves all his plants but Octavia isn't really a fan. Some of the ones downstairs are quite bitey. This one doesn't look like those, though, it's just a leafy green shrub with a few red flowers.
Her mum will be upset to see this on the carpet too. The servants need to hurry up.
She leaves with the plant pot and searches for a butler. He refuses to go to the room until Octavia says she will call her mum if he doesn’t. She won't actually do it - she only knows her dad’s number.
While he goes to deal with the dead plant, Octavia fishes out her craft supplies from the bottom of her wardrobe. She pastes purple, glittery glue over the jagged edge and presses the two pieces of the pot back together. After holding it for a few minutes to let it set, she places it on her desk.
Since her craft stuff is already out, Octavia decides to make the pot prettier by painting a series of plants around its sides. She even includes the scary ones her dad likes! Then, she draws a picture of their whole family holding hands with herself in the centre, like they're in a meadow. She makes sure to show her mum is frowning so it's accurate.
The pot has to dry for two whole days before Octavia can move it again. She touched it after only a few hours and smudged her dad's tophat.
Despite that, he's really happy when she hands it to him. He puts it to one side and squeezes her in a right hug.
“Oh it's amazing, darling! I love it far more now,” he says.
“I'm sure you'll like it even more when you put a plant inside!” She smiles up at him.
Her dad hesitates. “That might be… I wouldn't want to knock your beautiful pot over while I am watering.”
“Is that how you broke it before?”
“... Yes. It was, ah, so silly of me.”
Octavia understands. That's why her posture training is so important; to make her more careful.
Nine years old.
It's an okay day.
Her mum is throwing a big party in their palace but Octavia is starting to realise that she does not like parties very much. She goes anyway and she wears one of her favourite dresses and she tries to smile at all the people she doesn't really know. After an hour, all the kids are shuffled into the conservatory so the adults can discuss ‘politics’ in peace. There's only one other kid in attendance so Octavia is stuck hanging out with him.
He's the son of one of her uncle's friends. Some kind of cardinal with bright, red feathers. They are about the same age but they sit on opposite sides of the room and both do their best to ignore one another. Octavia occupies herself with reading a magazine her mum left on the coffee table. There's a lot of tips about preening that her dad should probably catch up on.
They manage to reach the end of the party without even exchanging names. The cardinal leaves with his parents and Octavia's mum and uncle come in to see her.
“Did you have a good time with Giric?” Her uncle asks.
She shrugs.
“His family are very influential, you know,” he continues, “you should be mindful of your social position.”
Her mum nods. “Especially with your father as he is - you are already working with a huge disadvantage.”
Octavia hums in agreement. Her dad is very similar to her and doesn't have any friends, as far as she knows. He doesn't speak to any of his many siblings either. It makes her annoyed sometimes - in the stories he reads to her, the protagonists always have great groups of friends. They have protective older siblings and sweet younger ones too. Octavia has no one. She does have cousins on her dad's side but he's too antisocial for her to meet any of them. Unlike the cardinal guy, she thinks she would like to spend time with her cousins. They might be like her.
“Plus,” her uncle’s voice becomes excited, “if you can make a good impression with a young man of high status, your mother and I might be able to set up an… arrangement for you. Of sorts.”
Octavia tilts her head at him. Her mother suddenly tenses.
“We did not speak about that.”
Her uncle grabs her mother's hands. “Come on, it's in Via's best interest -”
“Don't tell me what's in my daughter's best fucking interest!” She snaps, pulling away from him.
“It won't turn out like -”
“And don't talk back to me!”
Octavia flinches away from them both, staring between them. Her mother is livid. She wants to comfort her but can't find the nerve to reach for her.
She wishes her dad was here, she realises. But he's never around after the parties - he always goes straight to bed. And he isn't very good at calming her mum down anyway. It's probably selfish to want for him now.
Her uncle simpers, “My dearest sister, my greatest apologies. I was just intending to secure Via’s future.”
“Well stop,” her mum commands. “I'm lucky Stolas is so - urgh, can you imagine if I was stuck with some limp-dicked fag with a spine?”
“I understand. I won't speak another word of it.”
It takes Octavia a long time to fall asleep that night. She plays her uncle and mum’s conversation over in her mind again and again, trying to unpick it. All she really understands is the topic of the argument. Like it often is with her mum and dad, it's Octavia herself.
The door to her room creaks open, light flooding in from the hallway. She sits up and squints at the threshold. Her mum peers in.
Octavia can't remember the last time her mum came to her bedroom.
“Sweetie, are you okay?” She asks.
“I'm okay.”
Her mum makes her way over to the bed, perching on the edge of the mattress. She frowns at Octavia's galaxy bedding.
Then, she does something Octavia doesn't expect; she pulls her in for a hug. It's a little stiff and the beads on her dress’ bodice dig into Octavia's chest. She sits frozen for a moment before wrapping her arms around her mum.
Her mum pets her head feathers. “I did not want you to see that, hmph, discussion with your uncle.”
Octavia blinks away tears. “I didn't mind.”
“He can be a bastard,” she says. Then she sighs. “He meant well, though. Do not tell him I said that.”
She laughs wetly and pushes her cheek further into the beads. Her mum strokes down, hand warm over her back. Octavia would stay here forever. A moment later, her mum is pulling away.
“Your uncle knows better than to speak to me like that now,” she tells her, proud. “So don't worry about any of this coming up again. As long as everyone remembers their places in this family, there will be no need for me to shout.”
Her mum leaves and Octavia relaxes in the bed again, pulling the blanket over her face. In the dark, she feels safe. She wouldn't say it to her mum, but It was almost comforting to hear her yell like that at other people. That's just who she is. It's not Octavia or her dad - it's simply that her mum gets upset easily. It's best to keep her happy.
Ten years old.
It's a bad day.
Octavia spends most of the morning studying with her dad in his office, looking up star charts and tracking comets through the sky. He has put an extra, taller chair behind his desk so that she can work with him. She begged to decorate her part of the desk so now it's strewn with plushies and glittery pens. On her lap sits her doll, Ester, who isn't much help with astronomy. Between them, her dad placed the cracked plant pot she decorated when she was younger.
Octavia's favourite thing to learn about is the constellations. Even when they don't have lessons, she'll study them in her own time. Then her dad will quiz her on their names and the stories and he'll hug her when she does well. When she doesn't do well, she still gets the hug.
The time ticks forward to lunch all too quickly. Octavia sighs.
“What has gotten you down, Starfire? I thought you liked this topic?” He asks.
“I do, it's just… Mum wants me to practice harp after lunch,” she grumbles.
Her dad's finger pauses over the chart. “I thought you might like harp? You so love to play guitar with me.”
“That's different,” she says, “harps are boring! And Mum picks really boring songs for me to learn.”
“Well, if you do not enjoy it, you should dedicate your time to another activity.”
Octavia makes a face at him. “Mum wouldn't like that.”
He places his hand on her shoulder and smiles. “I will talk to her, if I just -”
“No,” she rushes the word out. At her dad's fallen expression, her next words stumble. “It's, um, I don't mind. Really. I would rather just play the harp and make Mum happy.”
He rubs over her feathers and then drops his hand down. Octavia's tense body relaxes. He does not say another word on it for the rest of their lesson and everything seems as it should.
They're having garlic salmon for lunch. It's one of her mum's favourites and Octavia has recently realised her dad doesn't like it at all. She asked him why he didn't just tell the servants to make him something else and he'd said it would be ‘unseemly’ to diverge from their choice when they're eating together as a family.
So now he picks awkwardly at his potatoes and her mum glares at him across the table. Octavia wishes he would move on from seeming ‘proper’ and stop annoying her mum with his poor manners.
Her mum lights up when she turns to Octavia. “Are you looking forward to your harp lesson?”
She nods stiffly. “Yes, Mum.”
“I hear you are getting rather good at it now - of course, I just knew you would have a talent for it.”
Her dad makes a displeased little sound that her mum miraculously does not hear.
She continues, “Perhaps it is finally time for you to be rid of that silly guitar you're always wasting your time with.”
Octavia's heart clenches. “I don't… I mean, I'm sure I can play both harp and guitar.”
“Now, now, playing guitar is not very ladylike. Your time is better spent -”
“She likes guitar,” her dad interrupts. Octavia freezes in place.
Her mum scowls at him. “You are not involved in this.”
“It is Octavia's choice,” he maintains, both fists clenched. “She can play guitar if she likes and -” he pauses, stealing himself, “- she does not have to play harp if she doesn't want to.
Her mum rounds on Octavia, expression puckered with rage. “You want to quit harp?!”
“I never said -”
“Don't yell at her!” Her dad snaps.
“Don't yell at me, you impotent fucking wretch!”
She grabs his plate off the table and throws it. It sails over her dad's shoulder and smashes into the wall behind him, almost hitting the butler stationed there. She grabs his glass next and holds it up, arm tensing to toss this too. When her dad cowers, she smiles and drops the limb, letting the glass slam to the table and spilling half its contents.
Octavia stares down at her own cold food and trembles. She doesn't know if she's waiting for her dad to throw something back, or for him to watch when her mum throws something at her next.
“I see no one in this family cares about what I want,” she says.
“I'm sorry,” Octavia whimpers, head still down.
Her mum scoffs. “Don't try that now, I know whose side you're on. You'll practice harp and you won't complain about it. Got that?”
“Yes, Mum.”
Behind her dad, the butler cleans up the shattered plate and the scattered food that fell from it. He's quick and efficient and a little shaky too. Her dad sits silently with nothing on the table to pick at, just waiting for her mum to dismiss him.
But she leaves first. She frowns at Octavia as she gets up, holding up her skirts so as to not trip. Octavia’s bottom lip trembles.
“I'm very disappointed in you,” her mum says.
Once she's out of the room, her dad’s posture loosens. He fixes Octavia with a sad look and she feels anger stir in her gut.
“I told you not to do that,” she hisses, wiping furiously at her eyes. “You didn't listen.”
His pupils appear and disappear in a moment. He wraps his arms around himself, dithering for something to say. His beak clicks anxiously in the silence of the once loud room.
“I am truly sorry,” he ends up saying, struggling to meet her gaze. “I just thought -”
“You know better!” She snaps. “And now Mum is angry with me, too. And I didn't even do anything.”
He nods. “I'm sorry,” he repeats.
It's so easy to be annoyed with him. Why can't he keep his mouth shut? It's not that hard to pick between eggshells and keep her mum happy, so why does her dad so often stomp straight over them and ruin her good moods?
And if he must talk back… he did all that, and Octavia still has to play the stupid harp. There was no point.
Eleven years old.
It's a really bad day.
Octavia is used to silence by now. Her parents don't share a room anymore and only her mother speaks at dinner. It always feels tense, but at least it's calm.
Her dad buys her some earphones. Not for her birthday, just as a random present. She can play any music she likes without anyone judging it, and she can play it loud enough to drown out the almost constant quiet. Her mum doesn't mind as long as she nods along when she speaks. Her dad got her the gift but he's the one disappointed that he doesn't know what music she's listening to anymore.
She's wearing the earphones now, hanging out with her dad in his greenhouse. He's pruning at an especially vicious looking purple… thing, smiling when it nips at his fingers. Octavia curls up on a lounger and does her best not to stick any of her limbs into biting range.
With her music so loud, Octavia can't hear this one time the suffocating silence is broken. She sees all of the plants perk up at once as her dad shrinks into himself. Looking to the greenhouse door, she sees her mother's figure swallow up the only escape back into the castle.
She never comes out here.
Octavia leaves her music playing as her mum practically skips over. She's fluffed up and beaming and Octavia wants to scream at her dad to not ruin this. From the expression on his face, she thinks he understands.
Her mum comes to a stop, looming over him. With one hand on her hip, she raises the other to shake something small and pink. Her dad’s four eyes all widen, reaching to take it from her. She snatches it back with her beak open, laughing.
Octavia pauses her music to hear their conversation.
“- and to know that you're actually fucking demented, I mean, talk about being -”
“Stella, don't you dare! Not in front of Octavia,” her dad growls.
He pushes himself up and swipes for whatever she's holding again. This time, she lets him take it. It's mostly hidden by her dad’s hand but Octavia can tell it's some kind of bottle.
Her mum giggles to herself, close to warbling. “Don't want your little princess knowing how fucked up you are?”
“Even for you, this is cruel,” he returns.
“She can't hear us anyway. She never can these days - is that why you need them?” She cackles now. “Can't even love your daughter properly without -”
“Stella.”
Purple mist swirls around her dad's clenched fists before dissipating just as fast. He looks down like he's surprised to see it. Octavia watches his hands too, ready for them to… she doesn't know. But she's scared.
Her mum crows, “Still not man enough, then. I can't say I'm surprised!’
His shoulders sag. “Just don't tell Octavia about…”
“Oh, I won't,” Stella promises, “if anyone were to find out, I'm sure there would be some, ha, questions around whether she's safe in this home.”
Her dad’s whole face crumples. “You cannot be implying that you'd -”
“Let's just keep it to ourselves, shall we?”
Later that day, her dad tucks Octavia into bed. She doesn't need him to do it anymore - she's old enough to get to sleep on her own. Some nights he still insists, saying it helps him fall asleep quicker too. He tucks Ester in beside her and gives them both a kiss on the forehead.
As he's pulling away, Octavia calls out to him, “Dad?”
He comes straight back to her side, smoothing over her duvet. “Yes, my Starfire?”
“What's in that bottle you and Mum were, um, talking about today?” She asks.
He freezes. “I - what do you mean? What bottle?”
“The pink one.”
“That's… it's nothing.” He rubs nervously at the side of his head. “Just a little misunderstanding between your mother and I.”
Octavia huffs. “It must be something. What's in it?”
He looks over to her bedroom door, gulps, then returns his gaze to her. He's messed up his crest feathers by fiddling with them and now they're all askew. If her mother saw him like this, she'd threaten to pluck them out.
“It was a tube of your mother’s lotion,” he lies eventually, “she wasn't too happy it had ended up in my bathroom. That's all.”
He leans back down to kiss her again but Octavia turns her head. She knows it wasn't just lotion. She doesn't know why she refuses to tell him.
“Night, Dad,” she says, still facing the wall.
He hesitates and then gives in, leaving her be. “Goodnight, Starfire.”
Twelve years old
It's a really, really bad day.
Octavia buries most of her things at the bottom of her wardrobe. That's where her old craft things are, her old toys, her old storybooks, her old pictures. All you can see when you enter her bedroom is her starry bedspread, a telescope in the corner, and her latest hobby.
She knows taxidermy is a little creepy. Her mum would call it ‘unladylike’ but she never comes into her room anyway. Octavia places a stuffed squirrel on her windowsill and admires it. Way cooler than any of her plushies ever were.
Most of her time is spent in her room. She can do a lot of her studies on her own now, though sometimes it's nice to go through it with her dad. She does still need him for her magical practice - Octavia can just barely light the end of her finger on fire and do exactly nothing else. Meanwhile, her dad petrified a tarantula for her to keep in their first lesson together. That's in her wardrobe too.
For hours, Octavia watches videos on her phone. There's a new show she likes where demons buy regular jeans, rip them, then resell them to humans. The fifteenth episode of the season is interrupted as she hears someone stomping down the hall.
The door slams open before she can move. Her mum strolls in with a big smile plastered over her beak. Octavia sits up as quickly as she can, muting the phone.
“Oh, sweetie!” Her mum sings, “I have a surprise for you!”
Octavia gulps. “For me?”
“Yes, yes, I just know you will love it.”
She thinks back to the last surprise her mum gave her. On her twelfth birthday, she received a new tiara. It's lovely. The jewels are huge. It's so heavy it gives her a headache every time she wears it. She's worn it once.
Her mum looks around the room as she waits impatiently for Octavia to pick herself off the bed. Her eyes narrow as they fall to the windowsill.
“What's that?” She asks, pointing to her squirrel.
“It’s just a decoration,” Octavia replies quickly.
Her mum hums. “Did your father get it for you? It's terribly ugly, like him.”
Octavia ordered it herself. She saw an ad for some store in Sin City and found out they had an online shop too.
Her mum grabs the squirrel, her fist tight around it. Its little, beady eyes pop out as she squeezes it. Octavia reaches out to take it back but finds her arm is trembling too much to stretch fully over. She lets it fall back to her side.
“It’s not - I don't think it's ugly,” she says, biting at her bottom lip.
“Excuse me?”
Octavia steals herself. “I like it.”
“Well, I hate it,” her mum snaps, tossing the squirrel to the bed. “It embarrasses me to see my own daughter engaging with this kind of tacky bullshit!”
She flinches, bowing her head. Her mum begins to pace her bedroom, ranting about how stupid and gross taxidermy is. She acts like Octavia has intentionally upset her, and maybe she has. She knew her mum wouldn't like it and she ordered it anyway. She didn't even try to hide it in her wardrobe with everything else.
“I am your mother,” she reminds, “and you've done this to me. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Octavia clenches her hands in front of her. “I'm sorry, Mother.”
Her mother's mood flips on a switch. “Ah, sweetie, I'm sure it's not your fault. Your father shouldn't have bought you such an eyesore.”
“He -” Octavia sniffles, “- he said it was okay.”
“I knew it!” She claps. “Well, let's see if he stands by that now, hm?”
“We don't need to -”
“Oh, I insist.” Her mother grabs her shoulders and guides her forward. “After all, fairness is important. If your father says you can keep dirty animal corpses in your bedroom then I will respect that.”
Octavia has no option but to go with her. Maybe she shouldn't have lied, but maybe it will be okay? Her dad will probably go with it and then…
Then what? Her mother always gets what she wants. She said she'd listen to her dad but Octavia has never seen that happen before.
They reach her dad's bedroom. At the very least, Octavia hopes he'll be on her side. She doesn't want to get rid of her squirrel. If he can argue for himself, he should argue for her too. For once, it might be better if he stands up to her mother.
When they enter, Octavia realises she's seen this scene before. Her dad's on the bed, laying on his side above the covers. He's wearing his favourite robe, tied properly for once. On the nightstand, there's a lot of empty bottles. There's a few more tipped over on the floor. It smells bad - like the adult parties at her uncle's house.
“Dad?” She calls out, sounding small even to herself.
Her mother marches further in. She grabs her dad’s limp arm and drags him to his other side, so Octavia can see his face. It's slack, all four eyes closed. The lower left one is bruised around the rim.
Not gently, her mother drops his wrist. “See, sweetie, I don't think he's in the mood for talking.”
Octavia edges forward. “Dad?” She tries again.
He lets out a little groan but otherwise doesn't react. Octavia shakes him, pinches him, even digs her talons into his arm. Nothing drags him from unconsciousness.
Her mother tuts. “He's piss drunk, I'm afraid. You should have seen him earlier - stumbling around, walking into walls! Not behaviour befitting a so-called prince of Hell.”
Octavia takes a step back. Her throat is too tight to speak.
“I suppose we can see if he sobers up and ask him then? Her mother suggests.
“It's fine,” she croaks out, “I'll just get rid of the stupid squirrel.”
In the end, Octavia shoves the taxidermy to the bottom of her wardrobe. A couple of days later, her dad teaches a magic lesson as though nothing is different.
Thirteen years old
It's a fucking awful day.
Octavia has found the explicit section of Mammazon Music. Every other song is about sixty percent cursing and she finds it suits her very well. She plays her current favourite band - ‘Bitch × Bastard’ - at max volume all day, everyday. Through the speakers in her room or through her earphones when she's literally anywhere else.
Tonight, it's her uncle's birthday. Her mother is throwing a huge party for him and Octavia is expected to attend. She hates parties and she really fucking hates the dresses her mother tells her to wear for them. Though, the options she gave to Octavia for tonight aren't all horrific. Knowing her typical taste, that borders on a miracle.
Octavia picks the purple option with the fewest frills. On the back, a star has been embroidered at the neckline. That's… sort of sweet, actually. Still not her style at all.
She stomps down to the reception, prepared to find the most secluded corner and occupy it for the whole night. With her earphones in, she hopes all the guests will get the idea that she'd rather die than talk to any of them. No one's here yet so there's still some time to practice her glower.
Her relative peace is interrupted as her parents burst in. Her dad comes through the door first, her mother stalking behind him. Octavia can't hear them over her music, but her dad's beak is closed and her mother is obviously yelling, so no surprises there. With any luck, they'll both tire themselves out before anyone arrives.
They don't seem to have noticed her sequestered in the corner so Octavia watches as her mother continues to hound her dad. He tries to get away from her at first but - like always - he eventually gives up and lets her scream at him. It's so loud Octavia can almost make it out over the bass of the chorus.
Then something odd happens. So unusual, that Octavia pulls her earphones out to listen properly.
Her dad talks back.
“I'm picking my own clothes for tonight,” he says, firm, arms crossed over his chest.
Her mother fumes. “So you want to see this family embarrassed? Our daughter ashamed?!”
“It's an outfit, Stella.”
“Exactly! It's everything.”
It's pointless and stupid. This is what he's decided to grow a spine about? After everything? Maybe he really wants to fuck up her uncle's birthday.
“You do not get to control everything about my life,” her dad says, “not anymore. I should get one thing.”
Her mother screeches, throwing her hands out to gesture at the lavish reception hall. “One thing? Really, Stolas? You have so many things and not one of them makes you fucking happy!”
“Maybe they would if -”
“Oh, shut up, you miserable sod. You're one bottle of pills away from killing yourself.” She grins.
Her dad freezes in place. Octavia tenses too, wishing the chaise would just swallow her up. She wants to put her earphones back in and not listen to another word. When she tries, her hands tremble too much to grip them.
“That's not…” her dad tries. He hugs his arms around himself.
“So,” her mother gives him one final chance, “you will march yourself back upstairs and wear the clothes I picked out for you. And when all my guests think you look almost halfway decent - because I'm not a miracle worker - you will tell them how thankful you are to have a wife like me.”
And Octavia can finally relax. Her mother has moods, but you just have to do as she says. Her dad can surely put up with wearing one ugly outfit and complimenting his wife a couple of times. Octavia managed to compromise with her mother, after all. It's not that bad.
“I -” her dad won't meet her eyes, “- refuse.”
Octavia flinches for him, squeezing her eyes shut as a sharp crack rings throughout the large hall. When she blinks them back open, her dad's face is turned towards her, whipped to one side. Her mother's hand remains raised.
He stares at Octavia, beak unable to close. He must finally see her.
She takes a deep breath, looking between her two parents. Her mother is still grinning at her dad, looking ready to hit him again. On the other hand, her dad is… If Octavia really squinted, she might say it looks like he's pleading with her. Wanting her to speak up or to be sad.
Octavia releases the breath. She grabs her earphones from her lap and puts them back in, turning the volume up to max. The song starts playing midway through but she's heard this one before. When the chorus kicks in, she expects it.
Her dad must have known this would happen. He can't think… Octavia won't even try to guess. It was such a stupid thing to try and argue about in the first place. If he'd just listened, maybe they could have had a nice night.
Her mother gave them both a choice. It's just that only Octavia made the right one.