"Looking good, looking good," Jeffrey said to his reflection. His summer workout extravaganza had him in primo form; his new checkered bodysuit accented everything.
By night's end, he'd be swimming in lovers. Three clicks of his fingers magically fluffed his hair, popped his collar, and spritzed Jovan Musk liberally over him. Yeah. He was Boss.
No one would say no to him tonight.
Moments later, his bright orange Porsche roared to a halt before Hip Hill House, a sprawling tower of glass and kitsch. He loved the house. It was so much better than his. Damn it.
His mood changed when everyone stopped to see who made such a show. "Groovy, it's Jeffrey Starr!" someone yelled. Others applauded.
Then the driveway and entry stairs were crammed full of people cheering for him. Yeah, he was a big star. They were lucky he even bothered to come.
Pretending modesty, Jeffrey bowed, and ran upstairs to greet the hosts - some old disco queens everyone clawed each other to be near - with a loud, "The party may now begin!"
Before they could say anything, he swept in, fans swarming behind him, already scanning for Miss Right-On, swinging his hips, jamming to Dazz by Brick - only his favorite song ever.
He didn't notice the expression on the men's faces.
Miss Right-On was in the buffet room. Tiny, skinny, very Italian, fab floral micro dress, bandanna, wild short curly hair, buzzing with energy.
She was laughing, warding off some dude trying to load a slice of spaghetti-o jell-o onto her already-full plate.
Every other woman faded to nothing.
Yeah, she was going to have to be his.
Click of fingers. Casual magic made dude fly into the punch fountain, wearing same jell-o abomination.
Everyone laughed at him, because the dude was a narcissist, a serious lech and all around jerk.
But most important - she liked.
She liked so much that she went to him, rubbed up against him and said, "Tonight's your night, big guy," and put her hand on his arm.
He loaded up three plates with everything hip - Waldorf salad, cocktail weenies, mini quiches, deviled eggs - led her to the center table, and sat down to feast.
His fans filled the tables around him, and that was when the party really started.
Disco music blared, far too loud, because Jeffrey wanted it that way. The old ballroom had been opened, and was packed with dancers who didn't care about the value of anything there.
The bedrooms reeked of musk, wine and drugs, of desperation and of the sickness from overindulgence. The library was ransacked, tomes left willy-nilly, spells burnt out of some from overuse.
A sacred statue had been cracked when it was used in a repulsive manner; another was befouled with food offerings. Laughter and ruination was everywhere.
Jeffrey had taken over a magi community social event, yet again, and made it all about him.
One looked to the other, saw his rage, and knew.
"Oh, yeah. Now."
"Good. Just Desserts, coming right up."
Everything was perfect. He was surrounded by fans, high to the gills, laughing, joking, the star of it all.
Pretty little Rini had stayed with him throughout, accepting when other women came by wanting attention. When he let a man or two have a taste, because he was generous after all, she applauded.
She enjoyed it all. Hell, even the hosts orbited around him, and someone had brought out cameras to make a movie of the night.
His lips were swollen from kissing, and he was almost raw from the...attention he'd received below the belt from his many worshipers.
He didn't notice anything off until someone snickered under her hand. His table was loaded with dirty plates, only one being Rini's. Somehow, he'd made a pig of himself, and hadn't even noticed.
"Have some more blow, cat. Primo," a pretty young race-car driver boy coaxed, and he found himself taking the straw, snorting from the mirrored plate offered him.
"Let it alllll hang out." A hand brushed over his face. "This is your night, Jeffrey. Everything for you."
"Anyone I want, when I want," was his automatic response.
Oh, really? He beckoned to a woman; she came over immediately, and knelt before him to provide the service he desired. Nice.
"I want this house."
So he wasn't dreaming big enough. "The yacht. The cars. The vacation homes."
Licking his lips, he said, "Every magical tome and artifact you, and everyone at this party, and everyone at this party's family, owns, or will own, or has owned."
What?! He hadn't dare ask for all of this before this party. How was it all his, already? His head was beginning to spin. He wanted to sit up, take a mind-cleanser, remember.
"Everything is already yours," Rini added, rubbing up against him, hand going back to his lap.
He leaned back, moaning in delight.
"We just need one thing from you," one of the hosts said, coming over with a piece of paper, an actual quill pen.
He didn't even hesitate; with a flourish, he poked his finger and signed in blood. Why not? He didn't believe in souls, let alone an afterlife. Once he was dead, it was all over.
Why not grab all you could, when you could?
The night ended at dawn, and only then because Jeffrey finally passed out. He was ceremonially bathed, taken to the ritual chamber, prepared and dressed. They did the ritual, binding him.
He slept through it all. He slept as the world changed. As magic vanished from the world, stayed away for a long, long time and woke in a terrible war.
As did he.
When he finally woke, nothing was the same. Looking out the window to a devastated city, he knew where all the good things were. He could take it all, bring it back to his new home.
Collect all the survivors who attracted him. Looking into a mirror to primp, he took in his huge green eyes, glossy fair skin and knew himself irresistible,
He also knew he was now Greed. One of the Seven Harbingers. He felt the call of the six others, and thought of looting turned to thoughts of union. Together, they would own the world.