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There’s a buzz in the air of Greed. Mammon can feel the change in his fucking bones. A slight charge, the taste of greed tinged with ozone a little stronger than usual. It tugs at him like a string around his finger, trying to nudge him deeper into his domain.
Fucking finally. It’s taken fucking centuries, but finally one of these little sinners was right for him! Mammon wasn’t jealous—No! That was Leviathan’s whole schtick. Just because the only sin other than him that didn’t have a sinner representative was Satan, and that was well, Satan...
A sinner needed enough of the sin, a pure dilution of their sin to be sent to another ring, not a mixture, not a minor sin, but putting their whole fucking soul, a devotion so strong it drove all of their life. Anything less and they would end up in Pride. But Mammon can taste the tainted smell of unbridled avarice tickling his senses from the far corner of Greed. It tastes good!
Each sin only ever got one appointed sinner, even Lucifer. Sure, Lucifer could lord over Pride and all the sinners in it, but even he could only have one sinner that was truly his— a sinner that was a true embodiment of Pride. It was just another way God could stick his thumb in the sins eyes and rub it in that even cast down they couldn’t do as they wished. Not that Mammon had wanted a sinner at first… no they seemed annoying and he’d never got why Lucifer oogled all over Lilith— it wasn’t like she was made of gold. But as the rest of his siblings got their sinners one by one, well, what could Mammon say? He wanted one and now at last he finally had one.
Mammon rubbed his hands together. Now, to get a look at the greedy bastard after his own heart. Mammon follows the tingle in his soul to the edge of one of the oldest garbage dumps in Greed. Rag-covered imps pick at the edges of the trash, but quickly scurry off when they catch sight of him. Mammon throws his weight around. Empty It’s-not-beezlejuice cans crinkle as he crushes them underfoot.
The air sparks with electricity green and yellow from Mammon and then weak tiny blue sparks dance up from the grimy piles of trash. Laying half-buried under a pile of old rubbish is a little box of a sinner. Their face glows with two rods sticking straight out of the thing's head. Wide red eyes blink up at him. His little sinner’s form looks like nothing he’s ever seen in Hell.
Mammon grins, that means the sinner is proprietary, property of Mammon no one else will have one like this yet. “Bright shiny brand baby,” the sin of Greed whispers to himself as he stares down at the boxy face of the freshly fallen sinner before him.
Oh, he was perfect! Mammon could already imagine commodifying him. His image on everything. Weird boxy electronics like his face sold everywhere. He’d be a perfect mascot for Greed. Mammon can smell an opportunity, and with an opportunity there’s the inevitable task to gather more money.
Mammon claps his hands together delighted when the sinner sparks—blue not like Mammon’s neon yellow— but electricity all the same!
“Can you help me?” The little sinner asks as he tries to wriggle free of the fallen trash, his legs trapped under a heavy beam. It’s cute, a little bit of a rush that he has no fear of him. Is this how Lucifer feels trapezing around Pride? The angelic bastard really did make sure the rest of the sins got the short end of the shitstick with the way the hellborn snivel and whimper under them.
Mammon reached down and with one hand lifted the beam up and with his other scooping the tiny sinner up. He’s even cuter with the way he wriggles in his hand.
“So, boxhead what’s your name?”
The sinner’s mismatched eyes blink at him in confusion, but he stops squirming as his small voice warbles out, “Vincent.”
“That’s a terrible name. We’ll have to change that, it’s got no stage presence at all. No one’s going to want to buy a Vincent doll or ask Vincent to sign a platinum album.”
Vincent’s face flushes teal and then he’s biting Mammon’s hand. It takes everything in Mammon not to fling the little critter halfway across Greed. “Owe you, little shit! Stop that!”
“What would you know about what’s profitable, you stupid green tarantula?” The little sinner puffs out his chest. “I’ll have you know I was a god of entertainment. I racked in millions from my followers while I was topside!”
The slight irritation fades into anticipation, “Oh, we’re going to get along just fine then. You’ll have to tell me all about that after dinner,” Mammon’s nose wrinkles as he moves the little sinner to his shoulder. He smells like shit. “After you take a fucking shower though.”
Vincent lets out a hiss at that and blue sparks curl uselessly into Mammon’s hat. He can’t help the fond rush of possessiveness. Of course, his sinner gets electricity as one of his powers. He’s his.
“I can tell we’re really going to go places together, boxhead.”
“This will be the best fucking show in your shit lives.” Mammon yells into the microphone as he steps onto the stage. His guitar strapped across his chest. “Live from the Greed ring, that’s right all you poor fuckers in less awesome rings for one night and one night only can get a look at why Greed is the best! Introducing Greed’s very own sinner!”
Confetti flies through the air as Vox steps onto the stage in a carefully tailored suit in the Sin of Greed’s signature colors. Mammon had argued, pouted, and all but begged his sinner to put on a matching clown outfit for their first appearance to the whole ring but Vincent had refused and then threatened to go back to using Vincent instead of Vox as his stage name. Mammon had reluctantly and ungraciously taken the loss, but he’d made sure the imp’s in his costume department made the suit green and gold and put little bells on the top hat. Everything was better with bells!
And Mammon was proven right when the crowd screamed for both of them in a sold out stadium. This was the start to a very profitable venture!
It’s been two years and it still pisses Mammon off that Ozzie got his little lusty sinner first. The pink fluffy spider fuzzball that he plasters all over his sex toy line. Sure whatever technically Lucifer got the first sinner with Lilith ya-dee-do-dah but he hardly counted since he married his sinner. Besides Mammon never goes out of his way to visit Lucifer, Ozzie tries to insert himself into his love life, or lack of as Mammon constantly reminds the Sin of Lust.
“So,” Ozzie says, his voice a purr over the phone line. Mammon can perfectly picture his smug faces. “When are you going to marry your little sinner?”
“Ugghh barf,” Mammon gags into the phone speaker. The very concept makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “No way.”
“Sure, Mams,” Ozzie says condescendingly, “you willing to bet on that?”
Mammon would never do something like that. All that romance stuff, what an absolute waste of money! A crock of shite. So what if he took his little sinner to his bed every night and they had matching green and gold pajamas? That was just business! It was called branding! And if sometimes, after his little television sinner fell asleep, Mammon cuddled with him, that was totally normal. It wouldn’t do for something to happen to Vox while Mammon wasn’t looking. It was just practical to protect an investment and keep them close. And Vox was an investment worth keeping in six months; he'd quadrupled Mammon’s sales across all of Hell.
So what was a little bed sharing between partners? Business partners, just like Vox said and they were going to make a shitton of money together!
“Absolutely! If I marry Vox, I’ll give you the rights back to all the stupid fizzybots.” He laughs. “But it’s never gonna happen!”
Ozzie the bastard just hums into the receiver until Mammon hangs up. Stupid bastard! He couldn’t sit around wasting all his time gossiping like an old biddy when he and Vox had money to make!