The music was pounding, shaking the floor with its heavy bass, and threatening to deafen the men who flocked to the club, trading casual Friday polo shirts for body glitter and gym sneakers for lifts. Light beer from the can for grape vodka shots out of a stranger's navel. This was Gaston's scene and these were his people. He caught a glimpse of himself-black hair slicked back and spray tan impeccable-in the security mirror above the door as he entered, adjusting the low v of his red satin shirt as he scanned the room. A thick gold chain hung around his densely muscled neck, the dog tags swinging off of it and nestled in his luxurious chest hair were stamped with his own name.

"Now," he rubbed his hands together. "Let's get to work. Lefou!" Gaston spoke to his wingman without taking his eyes off the crowd. "Find me the hottest piece of ass in this establishment. It's the start of the weekend crowd so I should be able to land at least a 9 if not a 10. Nothing below a 6-this isn't Tuesday in..." Gaston finally glanced down at his side where Lefou should be standing, only to realize that he was flying solo. He heard a commotion at the door, barely audible over the music even though it was only a few feet behind him, and turned around to see Lefou detained by the burly bouncer and trying to snatch something out of his hand. Heaving a great melodramatic sigh, Gaston stomped over. Every time there was a new worker at the door they had to go through the same song and dance of convincing him Lefou wasn't trying to pass off a fake ID. He had thought about taking someone else with him to the clubs but it seemed that everyone he tried had some sort of problem that was even more troublesome to deal with. Flynn had already been banned from all the good clubs, Kocoum was still refusing to talk to him after Gaston had tried to explain why he should be sad that the French didn't get to Manhattan first, and Mowgi was right out.

"What was the matter this time?" Gaston asked as he marched Lefou past the bouncer. "No, don't tell me. You'll only bore me and I need to look fresh." He crouched down and slung an arm around Lefou's sloping shoulders. "Look around," he commanded, making a broad sweep of the room with his free hand, drawing Lefou's gaze to the gyrating and sweating bodies. "This is the peak of perfection! This is living!" He stood up so abruptly that he knocked Lefou to the floor and drew his clenched hands down over his face to his breast, breathing in deeply through flexed nostrils the scent of his own Drakkar Noir and then exhaling vigorously. "Lefou!"

"Yes, Gaston!" Lefou scrambled up from the ground.

"We've wasted enough time fooling around. Find me my conquest for the night."

"Sure thing, Gaston!" Lefou ran a hand through his hair to slick it back like the other man's, then rubbed off the excess hair gel on his fake leather pants. "Let's see... Oh, how about him, Gaston?" He pointed to a fair-skinned young man with dark hair and a bold coat of lipstick. "He seems nice. I like his blue hat."

Gaston scoffed. "Look at him. He's too cutesy. Doll-like. His name is probably something stupid like 'Florian.' I want a real man, someone worthy of the splendor that is me." He pounded his chest for emphasis.

"Gosh, Gaston, that might be difficult tonight." Lefou took another look around the club. From the bar across the dance floor to the restrooms it looked like the entire population was, upon closer inspection, not made up of the kind of men Gaston was interested in pursuing.

Gaston snorted in displeasure. "What's wrong with this place tonight? It's full of lady-men!" He turned on the heel of his boot to storm out and shoved the stranger nearest to him. To his dismay he found a thin cold hand wrap around his wrist and pull him back.

"Temper, temper," an equally chill voice whispered, somehow cutting through the still-deafening bass. It was almost as if the man spoke on another wavelength so far removed from the ordinary that he had no need at all to raise his voice to be heard. He was dressed his Gaston in red, although his shirt was open down to the navel and sporting luxurious parrot feather epaulettes. "I'm afraid you need to watch your words, Mr... Gaston, was it?" The man's grip tightened and Gaston felt an unfamiliar pang of fear in his chest as he tried to yank his arm away. "My name is Jafar and I've been listening to you. Sadly, you're not nearly as interesting as you seem to think you are."

"Then why were you listening?" Lefou piped up.

Both Gaston and Jafar shot him a dirty look and Lefou fell silent.

"Let go of me," Gaston demanded, scrabbling with his free hand at Jafar's long boney fingers. He was unable somehow to get a grip on any of them and felt a chill run down his back as the man leaned in to within an inch of his face and touched him lightly under the chin with another arachnid finger. His long twisted goatee tickled Gaston's Adam's apple.

"Shh. It's far too late for all that. But what say we make a bargain? I'm afraid I want to see you put your money where your mouth is and you, well, you want something you can hunt."

"That's right," Gaston began and stopped in confusion as the Jafar reached into his front pants pocket and produced as if by magic a small laminated card with his own name at the top and then after two skipped lines a list of names.

"Here you are." Jafar presented it to him, releasing his wrist so that Gaston could pat himself down, confused as to how it could have been on his person all along. "These men, I believe, will suffice."

"But why should I-"

"Why should you seek them out? For the thrill of the chase! And," his lips curled up in a thin smile, "because I'm putting a curse on your Cave of Wonders and I won't lift it until I see you dance."

Gaston gasped and recoiled in horror. A cloud of smoke billowed up, surrounding Jafar as he laughed maniacally and when it dissipated he was nowhere to be seen. In terror Gaston fled from the club, bowling over the assistant DJ as he tried to adjust the smoke machine and leaving Lefou behind in the chaos.

Outside Gaston flung himself panting against a street lamp, pulling a hand across his face. He had no idea what form the curse would take, but he didn't like any of the ideas his imagination came up with. Willing himself onward, he looked down at the plastic card in his hand. "Why should I be afraid of some dried up old spell-caster?" He asked himself, standing up away from the pole. "Besides, this must be some kind of joke! Punish me by making me seduce these weenies? Hah!" He spat on the ground in derision. "Child's play!"

Lefou came huffing up to Gaston and he waved him over.

"Good timing, Lefou. Here." He thrust the card into Lefou's pudgy hand. "Keep track of this. I am going to complete that loon's challenge or my nickname isn't le grand saucisson." Gaston folded his arms across his lush chest hair. "Now, Lefou," he demanded, "What is the first name on that list?"

Lefou scanned the card and gulped audibly. "Hercules."