strobe lights, and shots lined up at the bar. bigby’s nose takes a whiff of the smell inside, the sudden rush of sweat, booze, and hairspray making him grimace as he steps in. the sheriff navigates through the throng, his footsteps muffled by the thumping bass. exchanging stares with the bouncers stationed at the entrance to the vip section, a quick flash of his claws beneath his sleeve motivates one of them to step aside with ease. smart choice.

the dj’s announcements over the loudspeaker and the hooting, the booming music pounding through his veins. the bass loud enough to make the lyrics incomprehensible. god, he can not wait to get the hell out and have a pack already.

the rushed adaptation of fabletown to nyc meant the nightlife doubling, the fables using their glamour to their hearts’ extent to blend in. even the mundies had begun to visit the community much to the protests and prejudice — oblivious to the ones within.

and, blending meant the inner resentments the fables possessed to resurface. it meant extra shifts before anyone could be happy about some specks of peace, the ruination of the non-existent schedule bigby held as the sheriff. now, pushing his way through the jumping bodies with his fangs gritting hard enough to crack, is one of the times he almost regrets stepping up for the role at the beginning.

at least he could dress for the occasion.

the motion from the corner booth draws his attention just as he steps into the narrow halls, the abrupt grip on his arm halting his steps to a stop. he grunts as his brows knit into a line, trying to shake his arm free from the grip he's been pawning on.

"i've got a d*mn place to be, d'you mind?"