There was no ring for self loathing, as horrid and despondent as it made you, even a high hat like Stolas could end up like any rag-a-muffin and the plethora of dives bars in the lust ring. The only other ring that had them beat would have been slot. When people dove too far into lust and they lost everything, they had no motivation to leave this place, The place where even hammered, broke, and disorientated– with no house, no family, no nothing you can at least count on carnal desire and mindless pleasure to distract from your miserable existence in the after life. And so that how the most luxurious ring in hell seven circles ended up seeing saps with the front of of indulgence drunken stus in droves.
And now this once exalted prince was one of them, sad, sad and just trying to make it through his every day without people questioning his front, or looking at him with those disgusted or pitiful eyes. A man ontop of the world, and he gave it up for what? It came out far more nasty then he meant it but Asmodeus was making a point, he was telling Stolas to think about what he was doing. If he was unhappy with his old hag break it off with her, if his family was to precious to him, then ditch the imp. Not…
There was only so much that the Lord of Lust could do. “Well now now, thank you my lord. Cats like us don’t need to jive with the riff raff down here. Especially riff raff with cameras and loose lips.” Not that lips or being loose were uncommon around here. No ill will, no gross skin crawling tension. Just another noble looking at another. And with mild concern. When their social circles have been rubbing elbows since the beginning of time in hell, even if you were never particularly close, you ended up caring at least some miniscule amount about eachother.
Royals had to look out for eachothers necks.
“Yeah yeah, trail behind, ya dig it fox? Just right this way.” The guards stepped aside letting the two lords through. Security. Not simple bouncers. He could rest assured knowing that they could speak freely here, and that there would be no one to cast disapproving looks on him.
“Now you look like a dew dropper, or like a someone took away the pianist keys. You feel me? And not that I don’t like having a few more feathers in my nest, but why come back here? Unfinished business? Need some bees for yo’ knees and to get your rocks off? Need a new imp since yours does not seem to be around? This part of town just ain’t for you cat. You feel me?”
Maybe it was for the best that Stolas hardly ever cared for harder vices. Drink, narcotics... what manner of impression would that make? Certainly not the best. Much less for the proud father of a little owlet. Those solutions are temporary... but the heartache of a broken family lasts forever. And he had just effectively reminded himself of that. That aspect of the blazing shitshow that had become his life. Deep inside, his metaphysical self clawed desperately at the walls of his psyche, looking for an escape, a relief from this conundrum.
Imagine realizing you are truly loveless. Overnight.
Even his morals, his purity, felt like one big lie. In some ways, Stella is right. He’s a goddamn embarrassment, throwing away an already volatile family in exchange for something elusive and temporary, rather than nipping it all in the bud and offering a more permanent solution. To do good on his bittersweet vows, at the very least. Damned if you do. Damned if you don’t.
The concern coming from the royal of Lust wasn’t lost on Stolas. Well beyond that sleazy, carefree club owner persona, the owl saw an empathy that he hardly felt coming from others. Outside, it was all expectations. To smile at all times, keep his chin high, to do good on his work and keep the intricate clockwork behind every circle running. Here? Merely an offer for a shoulder to lay on, and an ear to listen to his emotional discharge.
It felt... odd. Nonetheless, the prince welcomed it. It was the best he had.
A Goetia kicking back in the circle of Lust? Unheard of, business matters notwithstanding. Ozzy was right in questioning his choice of hangout. Stolas did so himself. He questioned just why he had come out this far. Maybe, deep inside, he knew he needed help. And that cooping it all up within himself wouldn’t cut it.
Patiently, he had waited until they were well out of eye- and ear- shot from the common folk. People who know no discretion, and only judge based on what they see or hear. At least here, he knew he would be safe from scrutiny.
“Ah, well... it’s... a difficult set of circumstances, that led to an equally questionable set of choices. Maybe... just maybe... I thought I could settle my inner demons by returning here. Making a better experience out of what was anything but.”
The more he thought about it, the better he realized the sheer concussion this ordeal gave him. He was dazed, confused.
“Mmh, in truth, I am unsure of what I personally want. My heart craves the remission of all that has occurred, to wake up from this living nightmare, to absolve and overcome as one would in a fairytale...
...every other part of me wishes for immediate gratification. More of what ails me. But I cannot bring myself to indulge in such things; this guilt I feel, it is debilitating.”
“...forgive me, Asmodeus. I am certain that you have far more important matters to return to. I wish not to take up more of your time.”