comfy greentext of d. anon and octavia spendings time together

from /hhg/ Helluva Hotel general #782
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>comfy greentext of d. anon and octavia spendings time together
>no royal bs
>no charlie breathing down their necks
>nothing but them
-
>Since you returned from Purgatory and got a good, hard look at the horror show your sister has made of Hell, you've slowly built up a list of things that can offer you some genuine comfort
>Only in your mind, since you've realized that having a paper trail tying you to anything that might raise Charlie's hackles is as good as strapping a bomb to yourself
>The gardens around Via's estate have recently risen to near the top of the list
>Besides trees and shrubs you remember as freshly planted saplings or cuttings having grown tall and lush in your absence, the acres of greenery are unchanged
>Unlike the gardens of Pandemonium
>The sprawl of fountains and hillocks and winding paths and little orchards that used to surround the palace would have provided too much cover to an advancing ground force, so Charlie had them flattened and replaced with, what else, sterile grey stone dotted with just enough low-growing plant life to technically meet the definition of a garden
>Just like everywhere else in her realm, there was nowhere to hide if she could help it
>The Goetian gardens on the other hand, offered plenty of shelter
>Though it's an insensibly chilly day, the daylight manages to be harsh and glaring rather than warming, so the shade of the mix of plants Stolas collected from both Hell and The Living World before the regime change is most welcome
-
>You unlink arms with Octavia as you approach a mosaic-tiled bench that half-encircles the trunk of a venerable old blackwood tree
>It's the end of the blooming season, and the flowers are about halfway through wilting and withering, their spicy perfume now muted
>Better than nothing
>Better than the unpleasant cloy of the smoke that pours off of the factories in the industrial sectors anyway
>Octavia sits first
>She positions herself so that her "good" side, the side not marred by scar tissue, faces you
>She always does that, even though you've tried to make it clear she doesn't have to
-
>Although you're glad to be here, you're short of things to say
>As time has gone on, you've realized that your role in The Crown's interactions with the rest of Hell is something like offering a handshake while wearing brass knuckles
>Charlie lost her taste for socializing sometime after your parents died, and from what you gather, the courts of the lesser nobility had fallen into a comfortable pattern of offering up invitations to all the traditional gatherings out of respect, having them promptly ignored, and doddering on as if all was unchanged whilst Charlie rolled up everything that wasn't protected by an ancient title or sacred deal into her miserable self-perpetuating political machine
>Then you came back, and suddenly she had a proxy to throw at every obligation and occasion that she was too busy for
>Not to be polite toward the other noble houses, but make a firm reminder of her presence
>Your showing up with great fanfare, with the uniform, the bodyguard, this, that, and the other, it was all a very formal and indirect way of saying "I'm still holding the reigns, I'm still watching you, even if it seems like all my energy is directed elsewhere."
>"Watch"
>"Your"
>"Step"
>"Or don't, if you want to end up like all the other would-be rebels"
>You asked if you could pay a visit because you genuinely wanted to see Octavia
>Because you enjoy her company
>Because you find her estate comforting
>And you'd been granted the audience
>But there's a part of you that keeps whispering in your ear that the only reason anyone ever grants you anything now is out of fear
-
>"Hmmmm..."
>Octavia was always soft spoken, but when she opened her beak it was always with purpose
>Sometimes to say something of the utmost importance, sometimes to cut someone asunder with a joke that would leave many a professional entertainer green with envy
>Therefore, you pay close attention as she speaks

>"Strange..."

>The owl demon leans forward in her seat, reaching toward the ground

>"I can't remember the last time these bloomed"
>"It's been years if I'm not mistaken"

>Looking where she's looking, you see faint patchwork of color surrounding the base of the tree your sitting beneath