-muscles. The way you walked in today, you shuffled like an old man."
"Huh." You turn your attention from the cashier and to Chris the bouncer, who's glaring at the lady through her window. "So," you say, "would you like help with that?"
"Sure," he snarls, as he gets up from his chair. He grimaces as he does so, you notice. "And I suppose you'll magic me up a pot of gold while you're at it." He steps forward and makes to grab your arm. "Now get-"
He stops because you reached a hand up under his untucked, black shirt, laid your hand on his taut, washboard abs and gotten sucked straight inside him. You feel him gasp in shock, then grunt in pain, and a few seconds later you've taken over his entire muscular-skeletal system. You feel the microscopic tears and all the yuck collected in his every muscle. You also see the inside of his black shirt, since you decided that the best place to have sight would be his nipples, and hear the laughter of the receptionist through his armpits.
"The look on your face!" The receptionist sounds like she's having a hard time breathing, she's laughing so hard.
"The fuck did he go?" You feel Chris rub his flat belly. "You saw that, right? No-one's slipped me anything?" He waits a few seconds, and then your view darkens as you feel him fold his arms. "Diane, shut the fuck up and answer!"
"Sorry, sorry," Diane manages to get her laughter under control, although every word threatens another giggle. "Sorry. It's just, you met the town Cryptid, and the look on your face was just-"
A fresh bout of laughter bubbles from Diane, completely distracting Chris from what you're doing. Every second that passes you gently squeeze more of the yuck from his muscles, and he doesn't seem to have noticed that he's feeling better than he did when you walked into the room.
"Diane! What the hell?"
"Don't... don't worry about it. How are you feeling?"
"What? I'm still-" You feel Chris move his arm up and out in a way that would have felt like red-hot rusty wire moving under his skin and across his back a few minutes ago, if you're any judge. He stops, then pops a bicep and gently rubs along his arm. He moves his legs further apart, squats and stretches from side to side with an ease he couldn't have managed a few minutes ago. He stands up again.
"...feeling great, actually," Chris manages, sheepishly. "So, this kid, cryptid, or whatever? What does he do?"
"He gets you a few paid days off if you tell the manager after you finish your shift, that's what he does. Don't worry about it."
You can hear the barely-suppressed laughter in her voice as Diane says this, and you know that Chris can too because you feel his facial muscles pull down into a frown.
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