POV: Asterion Minotaur
The Fairy Godmother's touch was light, but the surge of magic as she began my glamour training was anything but. She brought me to a small, secluded room on the 13th floor, bustling with strange aromas of simmering herbs and faint, rhythmic chanting. The witches, shrouded in shadows, moved with an unsettling grace, their eyes flickering with ancient knowledge. They paid me little mind, seemingly unfazed by a newly humanized Minotaur in their midst.
"Glamours are an extension of your will, Asterion," The Fairy Godmother explained, her voice a calm counterpoint to the subtle thrum of magic in the air. "They manipulate perception, not reality. You don't make something disappear; you make the mind believe it has disappeared. You don't turn paper into money; you make the beholder see money."
We started small. I practiced making a quill vanish from her hand, then reappear. It was frustrating at first, my mind still grappling with the nuance of intent versus brute force. My newfound control helped, guiding my will with a precision I never thought possible. By the third day, I could make a silver coin appear golden in her palm, or convince her a stack of papers was a simple wooden block, though the illusion would flicker if she focused too hard.
The witches, observing from their cauldrons, offered cryptic advice. "The strongest glamours are spun from conviction," one rasped, stirring a steaming pot. Another, her face hidden by a veil, muttered, "Confusion is the keenest blade." I absorbed their words, more by osmosis than direct instruction, piecing together fragments of their wisdom. I learned their silent language, the way a certain flick of a wrist meant "focus," or a raised eyebrow indicated approval. They seemed to possess a collective mind, sharing thoughts without speaking. I even picked up a few of their secrets – a peculiar hand gesture that could temporarily dull a Fable's enhanced senses, or a specific incantation to ward off mundane attention, though I barely grasped the full implications.
But a mere half-week into my training, barely a master of these subtle deceptions, the perfect opportunity presented itself.
Bigby Wolf's gruff voice cut through the hum of magic on the comms device The Fairy Godmother had given him. "Fairy Godmother, Asterion. You're needed back at the Business Office. We've got a lead."
When I arrived, Bigby was pacing, a cigarette hanging from his lips, while Snow White sat at a desk, papers spread out before her. "The Pudding & Pie is hiring a bouncer," Bigby announced, gesturing with his cigarette towards a flyer Snow held up. "It's Georgie Porgie's strip club, a known haunt of the Crooked Man's operations. Prime territory for an inside man."
Snow looked at me, a thoughtful expression on her face. "It's the perfect cover, Asterion. But we need to craft a background story, something convincing enough for Georgie."
We stayed up late, the three of us, hunched over maps and notes. We brainstormed aliases, fake pasts, reasons for a burly man to seek such work. Then, Bigby suddenly slammed his hand on the desk, startling Bufkin, who was dozing atop a pile of books.
"Wait a damn minute," Bigby muttered, a slow grin spreading across his face. "We're overthinking this. He already has the perfect cover."
Snow tilted her head. "What do you mean, Sheriff?"
"The Minotaur," Bigby declared. "Even Fables are aware of his story. The monster of the Labyrinth. The brutal, uncontrollable beast. The criminals don't need to know he has control now. They'll want him based on his sheer physical might alone. Who's gonna mess with a bouncer that's rumored to have eaten fourteen men?"
A wave of unease washed over me. The monster of the Labyrinth. That's who they wanted me to pretend to be. The part of me I'd just learned to control. But the cold logic of it was undeniable. It was a role I didn't even need a glamour for, not truly.
The next morning, Snow led me to the Pudding & Pie. The place reeked of cheap perfume, stale smoke, and desperation. Inside, a man with a slicked-back ponytail and a too-wide grin, presumably Georgie Porgie, sat at a small table. He eyed me with an appraising, almost predatory look.
"So, you're here about the bouncer job?" Georgie drawled, flicking ash from a cigarette. "Big guy like you, I need to know you can handle yourself. What makes you think you're cut out for keeping my girls safe and my patrons in line?"
I stood before him, consciously allowing my shoulders to hunch, letting my jaw set just so. I kept my answers short, my voice a low rumble, feigning a touch of the social awkwardness that was, frankly, not entirely fake even now. My human form felt... confining.
"I ensure order," I rumbled, "and protect what is mine."
Georgie scoffed, "Everyone says that. What makes you different, big fella? You got a temper? A reputation?"
This was it. The moment to play the part. I let the glamour flicker, allowing a sliver of my true power to manifest. My skin rippled, my muscles swelled, tearing slightly at my borrowed clothes. My back bowed as horns, thick and sharp, burst from my forehead, scraping against the low ceiling. My eyes glowed with a feral yellow light, and the air around me seemed to thicken, heavy with primal force. I stood at my full ten-foot height, a hulking, imposing beast once more.
The smell of fear, faint but unmistakable, wafted from Georgie. His cigarette dropped from his lips. He didn't scream. He just stared, eyes wide, a flicker of genuine terror mixed with something else... awe.
I reverted to my human form as swiftly as I'd changed, the horns receding, my height shrinking back to six feet, though the air still crackled around me. The illusion of normalcy settled back over me, but the memory of what he'd seen lingered.
Georgie cleared his throat, pushing a hand through his slick hair. A nervous chuckle escaped him, then it grew into a full-bellied laugh. "Alright, alright! I get it! No one... no one's gonna mess with my club with you on the door! You're hired, big man. Start tonight. No one's gonna look at you and think of anything but trouble."
He was impressed, yes. But beneath the bluster, I felt the keen edge of his observation. Georgie Porgie might play the fool, but I knew, even then, that he was smarter than he let on. The stage was perfectly set. Deep cover. And I, the Minotaur, was walking right into the heart of the darkness
.The Bouncer's New Life
POV: Asterion Minotaur
The first few weeks after landing the bouncer job at the Pudding & Pie were a study in contrasts. For centuries, my world had been stone walls, silence, and the gnawing hunger. Now, I woke in a small apartment above a bustling street, the city's hum a constant, low thrum. I had my own space, a bed that wasn't a slab of rock, and the dizzying concept of two paychecks every week. It wasn't much, but it was mine, and it quickly accumulated. I didn't need elaborate things, so most of it went into a small, locked box beneath the loose floorboard in the corner.
My morning ritual became a simple pleasure. I'd walk to the Fable-run diner down the street, its windows fogged with warmth, and order a strong coffee. The bitterness on my tongue, the warmth spreading through me—these were sensations I'd never known, yet they settled into a comforting routine. It was a taste of normalcy, a quiet moment before the chaos of the night.
At the Pudding & Pie, my presence alone was often enough. My human form, while not monstrous, was still built like a block of granite, imposing and unyielding. The rumor of the Minotaur preceded me, a silent guardian that kept most of the rougher elements in check. Fables and mundys alike were wary, their eyes tracking me as I patrolled the floor, a constant reminder of the beast they knew from legend. I could feel their fear, a faint, familiar scent on the air, but now it was a tool, not a burden.
One evening, the usual din of music and chatter was abruptly shattered by a sharp crack and a muffled cry. Near the back, tucked away from the main stage, a fight had erupted. It was the Tweedles, Dee and Dum, their faces contorted into sneering masks of aggression, raining blows down on a smaller, cowering figure – Woody the Woodsman. Woody was already bleeding, curled on the floor, trying to shield his head. The Tweedles, notorious bullies, were kicking him, fueled by cheap booze and a mean streak.
"That's enough!" I rumbled, my voice cutting through the noise. Patrons scattered, clearing a wide berth. The Tweedles paused, turning their sneers towards me, their eyes bloodshot and defiant.
"Stay out of this, bouncer!" Dee slurred, trying to sound tough, but his bravado was paper-thin. "This ain't your business!"
It was my business. It was always my business, now. This was my chance to set a tone, to etch my reputation into their minds. I let the glamour fall, a deliberate, controlled release of my true form. The sounds in the club seemed to deepen as my bones cracked and stretched, my muscles swelled, tearing my shirt at the seams. Horns burst from my forehead, scraping against the low ceiling, and my height expanded, looming over them. The air grew heavy, thick with the primal force I now commanded.
I roared. The sound ripped through the club, echoing off the mirrored walls, rattling bottles behind the bar. It was the roar of the monster they knew, a terrifying symphony of power and barely restrained rage. The Tweedles froze, their faces draining of color, their defiance replaced by pure, unadulterated terror. I reached down, my massive hands easily scooping them both up by their collars, one in each fist, lifting them clear off the ground. They dangled, pathetic and whimpering, their kicks now useless flails.
I brought my face close to theirs, my glowing yellow eyes burning into their souls. "Leave," I commanded, my voice a deep, vibrating growl that shook their very teeth. "And never return."
They could only nod frantically, their eyes wide with fear. I dropped them, not gently, but not so hard as to break them, sending them sprawling. They scrambled away, scrambling out the door and into the night.
The sudden silence in the club was deafening, broken only by Woody's gasps and the distant thrum of the music from the main floor. I stood there, towering, my chest heaving with a calculated effort. Then, with a theatrical groan, I began to shrink, the horns receding, my muscles deflating, my clothes settling back into place. I stumbled slightly, clutching my head as if the change was taking its toll.
"Urgh," I groaned, making sure Georgie, who was watching from the bar with wide eyes, saw my "struggle." I staggered over to the bar. "Need… strong… drink."
The bartender, pale-faced, quickly poured me three shots of tequila. I downed them in quick succession, wincing dramatically, letting the burn cascade down my throat. "And a… triple-stacked cheeseburger," I added, my voice still a little rough, feigning exhaustion.
Georgie watched me, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. He believed it. He saw the uncontrollable beast, the one who struggled with his power, the brute who needed simple comforts to recover. He saw a weapon. And I, the Minotaur, had just confirmed his every assumption. My cover was set. The year had begun.