"Whoa." Stan exhales in a shaky breath, similar to when he'd read about wings in the book back in hell. Although this isn't a book. He isn't a book, he's real. A real angel.
"Get the hell away from me, demon!" The angel stumbles backwards, a grimace...
[Disclaimer: I have no knowledge on wings and feathers, I only write what I feel could be true. If there is something factually incorrect, do not hesitate to let me know!]
Chains clink together as they're dragged across the ground.
Stan flips a page in his book, sniffling once and blinking rapidly to chase the tears away.
Fire crackles and heats up the place. He's used to it. It's hell after all.
A tear drops down on the paper he's clutching a little too hard in his hand. He tries to wipe it away but only makes it worse. He's been lost in his own mind, not really paying attention to the book until now. He frowns, tilting his head at the drawing.
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"Huh." Stan exhales in a shaky breath, moving his finger up to touch the sketched feathers, as if it were the real thing.
He has never seen an angel before. Despite hearing about them, he had no idea they looked so.. pretty.
He's only heard awful things about powerful wings and murderous eyes.
Averting his gaze away from the drawing- although admittedly leaving his hand on it- Stan starts reading from the beginning of the page.
Angel Care, he reads. A frown pulls on his lips as he scrunches his face in confusion. Care? Why would anyone want to care for an angel?
He flinches as there's a loud bang from somewhere outside of his cave. He doesn't pay it much attention; it's always something that doesn't include him.
Returning his attention back to the book, he continues reading.
Preening is more important to an angel than eating and sleeping is to you. The feathers can get dishevelled and start to ache without proper care.
Stan doesn't read everything word for word, his eyes only register what is necessary to understand the context. There's only a matter of time before his father comes home and tells him to go to sleep.
To preen, the angel must have a partner; another angel to help them straighten the feathers and smooth the soft material. Wings are very sensitive to them, therefore-
"Stan! Come here." A gruff voice interrupts his reading. He quickly closes the book and stuffs it away under another one. "Coming!" He calls, wiping away the almost dried out tears staining his face and scrambling out of the cave to meet his father.
Stan keeps his eyes on the red-tinted ground as he steps out, waiting for Randy to give him an order. It's usually cleaning up and getting rid of the blood stained chains. He grimaces at the thought; never really taking a liking to all the torturing of humans.
"Stanley, look at me." Randy says with a grunt, and when Stan does as told, his eyes widen.
"Whoa, Dad is that a hellhound?" He exclaims, stepping forward almost immediately, and putting a hand to its head. It looks like a hound, but at the same time it doesn't. Hellhounds are supposed to be pitch black with red eyes, this one is a lighter shade of brown with pale blue eyes.
Randy shrugs, despite the heavy weight in his arms, "Barely." He huffs.
"Barely?" Stan repeats, looking up at his father with curious eyes. "Why does it look like that?" He adds, when the older demon doesn't seem to elaborate.
"I don't know, and I don't care." Randy rolls his eyes and slightly shifts the creature in his arms towards Stan. "Just take it. None of the other children want it."
"Really?" Stan grins, his red tail flicking curiously behind him, "I thought you said I didn't deserve a hound." He adds with a frown.
"I did." Randy hums, holding out the creature once again, with a slight upturn to his lips, as if disgusted. "This isn't a gift, son. It's a burden that no one else wants to care for."
"Why?" Stan reaches his arms out to grab the dog-like creature as it seems his father doesn't want to keep holding it.
"It's an outcast like you." Randy lets his arms fall to his side as the creature is moved to Stan's hold instead.
Stan just nods, black hair bouncing against his head. He knows better than to complain about being called an outcast. It is true. All the other demon children are out there learning to fight and kill, while he just stays at home reading books.
"Feed it, or whatever," Randy gestures loosely to the hellhound, "Just make sure it isn't in the way."
"Yessir." Stan grins, turning back around towards the cave. He brushes away the red vines by the entrance with his shoulders, watching the brown bundle in his arms. It's still unconscious; whether it's sleeping or not is unclear to him, but it is breathing.
After settling it down in his bed, Stan stares at it for a moment. He doesn't like referring to it as, well.. it.
Stan decides to walk further into the cave into his mother's room. "Mooom," He calls, pushing the red vines away, "How do I tell a female hellhound apart from a male?"
"Oh, hey Stanley." She greets with a soft smile, turning away from her work, "Why do you ask?"
"Dad gave me one." Stan explains simply, like it isn't a big deal.
"Oh. Well, the hound's gender is identifiable by its eyes, usually." Sharon says, eyebrows raised slightly at the knowledge of having a new member live in their cave. "The pupil." She adds.
"Pupil?" Stan leans against the cave entrance, "What's the difference?"
"A female has sharper pupils, kind of like a cat. You know cats, right? The earth creature-"
"Yes, mom, I know what a cat is, I read the books."
"Good, okay, females have cat-like pupils, sharper lines, the males have softer, rounded pupils." Sharon smiles.
"Okay, thank you, mom!" Stan is already gone before she can reply.
