Part of my AU is that Lute fell 12 years ago. Seeking protection from the denizens of hell out for her blood, she made a deal with the only soul who was willing to protect her...
INT. GREED RING – MAMMON’S PRIVATE BOX ABOVE THE STAGE – NIGHT
The lights below are a blur of gold and smoke. Lute’s standing by the railing, wings half-spread and feathers dimmed with ash. She’s only been in Hell for two days. Her sword’s stained red. The crowd beneath screams for Mammon, who hasn’t come out yet.
Behind her, the door creaks.
MAMMON
(smooth, friendly drawl)
Didn’t think I’d see you down here, dolly. You glow like a halo in a closet.
Lute doesn’t turn around. Her voice is flat, sharp-edged from exhaustion.
LUTE
You’re the one they call the Greedy One, right? Fitting.
MAMMON
(chuckling)
Oh, that’s me. King of the Market. Lord of the Take. But tonight—eh, I’m just a guy extending a hand.
He strolls past her, dressed sharp—green jester costume with gold trim, hat tilted just enough to look casual. He’s smiling, but his eyes are predatory.
LUTE
You think I’m stupid enough to shake it?
MAMMON
No, sweetheart. I think you’re smart enough to know you’ve got two options: fight every miserable bastard down here until they tear those pretty feathers off… or let someone who knows the rules help you survive them.
She narrows her eyes. He keeps going, quiet, conversational.
MAMMON
You used to be one of Heaven’s top killers, right? An exorcist. That makes you a walking bounty. Every sinner who wants bragging rights is gonna take a swing. Hell—half of ‘em already are.
Lute glances at the streets outside—fires, chaos, sinners fighting. He’s not wrong.
LUTE
So what, you want to “protect” me? Why?
MAMMON
Because protection’s an investment. And you, dollface, are worth a fortune. I’m not talkin’ flesh—I’m talkin’ fame. You’re fresh stock. You got that tragic look—fallen but still holy. You’re the first angel in history to live in my city. Everyone’ll wanna see what you do next.
He steps closer, voice dropping.
MAMMON (CONT’D)
So let’s make a deal. You work for me. Perform. I give you a stage, a roof, and the kind of guards that make Wrath demons cry. No one touches you. Not a soul.
Lute studies him, distrust in her eyes, but there’s a flicker of something else—fear, pragmatism.
LUTE
What kind of performance?
MAMMON
(smiles)
Comedy. Tricks. You ever see a jester work a crowd? They laugh, they love you, they forget you ever had wings. Easy coin. Nothing indecent, not unless you choose.
MAMMON
Then you walk out that door, and within a day they’ll have your feathers pinned in a casino somewhere. I’ll probably end up buying them back at auction. Waste of potential, that.
He slides a paper across the table between them—a long, glittering contract written in shimmering gold ink.
MAMMON (CONT’D)
This says I provide you protection, lodging, and the resources you need. You perform exclusively under my banner. In return, I get full marketing rights to your name and likeness. Standard clause.
LUTE
(reading, skeptical)
“Perpetuity.” That’s a long time.
MAMMON
(grinning)
Yeah, but I’m not like those Wrath idiots who tear up paper once they get bored. I keep my promises. You’ll be safe, sweetheart. You’ll be somebody.
He leans closer, resting his elbows on the table, voice softening.
MAMMON (CONT’D)
Look, I get it. You fell. It hurts. The silence, the shame, all of it. But this? This is your restart button. Nobody up there wants you anymore, but I do.
She stares down at the parchment, her reflection shimmering in the gold ink.
LUTE
And you swear this is about safety? Not control?
MAMMON
(smiles warmly)
What’s the difference, baby? Everyone down here belongs to someone. I’m just honest about it.
That lands. He doesn’t press. He gives her space, lets the silence thicken. Finally, she picks up the pen.
LUTE
You try to pull anything, I’ll end you myself.
MAMMON
(chuckling)
Oh, I’m countin’ on it.
She signs. The paper glows gold, then burns away in her hands, leaving a faint mark around her wrist—shaped like a bracelet.
MAMMON (CONT’D)
Welcome to the family, doll.
He extends his hand again. This time, she takes it—hesitant, resigned.
MAMMON (quiet, almost sincere)
You made the right call. I’ll keep you safe.
He gives her hand one last squeeze, too long, too familiar.
MAMMON (smiling wider)
Now, let’s make you famous.
The lights below rise. The stage is ready. The crowd chants his name—then hers.
Lute looks out over the chaos and knows—somewhere deep down—she’s just traded one kind of servitude for another.
theartofmadeline
andulkaphoto
2087
jbbartram-illu
discoholicmusic
yousharknotpass
jacobvanloon
stormborns
turnnoffyourmind
