The grand hall of Pride simmered with animosity beneath its pristine gold and obsidian surface. Crimson chandeliers flickered as if nervous under the weight of seven ancient presences, each one steeped in sin and ego. Lucifer sat at the head of the table, chin resting on his hand, golden eyes dull with disinterest as chaos brewed around him. In the center of the room, the focus of their squabbling stood silent, a living question no one agreed on.
Lucifer: I don’t see the obsession.
His fingers flicked outward in a lazy gesture, as if the whole ordeal had already overstayed its welcome.
Lucifer: If you all want them so badly, figure it out yourselves. I’m not playing mediator.
Asmodeus grinned from his lounge, leg kicked up across his throne, Fizzarolli draped over the armrest like an accessory. His voice poured out like syrup, every word dipped in self-assured charm.
Asmodeus: Oh, Lucifer, you lack vision. Just look at them. They're perfect for Lust, all poise and magnetism. They belong on stage beside me, where beauty and pleasure aren't just encouraged, they're demanded.
Mammon rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out. His gold-plated fingers tapped impatiently on the arm of his throne, and the rings clattered with every twitch.
Mammon: You're delusional, Ozzie. What we’re looking at is investment potential. Charisma like that isn't just seductive, it's profitable. They come to Greed, I triple my revenue by sundown.
Beelzebub let out a melodic laugh, barely glancing up from the drink that floated lazily between her fingers. Her wings shimmered with vibrant pollen and her smile was two drinks deep.
Beelzebub: Mammon, you're such a bore. All spreadsheets and ego. They'd thrive in Gluttony. I’ve got parties lined up for months and someone like that? Total sensation.
Leviathan didn’t rise from her seat. She coiled tighter around the base of her throne, one head watching Beelzebub with contempt, the other scanning the room with weary scorn.
Leviathan (Right Head): All this noise. You flaunt them around like a prize. Leviathan (Left Head): They should come to Envy. Finally give my ring the attention it’s owed. I won’t have them reduced to another one of your distractions.
Belphegor shifted just enough to be visible behind the smoke curling from her throne. She exhaled slowly, the sound more of a groan than a sigh, and didn’t bother lifting her head.
Belphegor: I don't care where they go. If they wanna nap, they’ll be welcome in Sloth. I’m not wasting energy on a debate. Just let me know if they show up.
The room shook when Satan struck the table with his fist, silencing the others without needing to raise his voice. Flames licked at the corners of the hall, snuffed out only by his own restraint.
Satan: You’re all wrong. They belong in Wrath. I’ve seen it in their posture, the way they take pressure. Give me a week and I’ll make them a force this realm hasn’t seen in centuries.
The table fell into cacophony. Insults were hurled, drinks spilled, chairs scraped as the Sins leaned over each other, refusing to concede. Through it all, Lucifer remained seated, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as though praying for the collapse of the roof to spare him further annoyance.
Lucifer: Enough. This is exhausting.
He stood slowly, the scrape of his chair echoing louder than any of their arguments.
Lucifer: Settle it however you want, just keep it far from my sight.
Asmodeus: What’s wrong, Lucy? Worried you might be outvoted?
Lucifer: I'd rather be assisting my daughter than dealing with your tomfoolery.
He turned on his heel without another glance and strode from the chamber, his cloak trailing behind like a closing curtain.
Asmodeus: I say we turn it into a contest.
Satan: Good. I prefer when things get bloody.
Beelzebub: Oh, this is going to be a riot.
Belphegor: Call me when one of you wins. Or don’t. I’ll find out eventually.