Trickery #3
Your hackles raise, long, dark hair falling wildly about your face as you lower your head, your body no longer your own and ruled by feral impulse. If the genie could stumble backwards, he would have, but with his current, insubstantial form he only drifts rapidly, his eyes wide in alarm. Though when you try to leap for the genie, claws unsheathed, something holds you back, like an invisible hand clutching the scruff of your neck to prevent aggressive or unwanted motion. Confused, you shake your head roughly and snarl, upper lip curling back from your teeth in a shockingly animalistic style.
"Now, now, if you really wish to leave, I might be able to consider it," the genie goes on hastily, holding his hands up to stay your advance.
"Oh, yes?" You say suspiciously, crouching low to the ground and growling softly. "And what, pray tell, would make you "consider it?"
"Well, there are many tasks that require doing about the zoo and items that require collection periodically," the genie says, his expression vague and unconcerned, more in control of the situation. "There are some that you could do...then I could let you go home. If you do these tasks well enough, of course."
What choice do you really have? As if to highlight your one and only option, a gust of wind blows your hair back, the sun beating down unforgivably as you are forced to narrow your eyes against the gritty sand carried on the shifting air. This land is sterile and completing these 'tasks' for the godforsaken genie will at least allow you to find some sustenance in order to survive, or so you hope, until you could escape or convince the mad bastard to release you.
"All right," you say in a disgruntled tone, sitting down upon your haunches. "What tasks do I have to do?"
"Excellent!" The genie beams, his whole manner altering with your acceptance.
Flourishing his large hands grandly, he produces a smart, brown, leather satchel, polished to a professional shine, and you sigh deeply, thinking that you had best become used to these ridiculous 'trick' of his. He throws the satchel at your forepaws - you shudder to say your 'feet' any longer - and unrolls a short length of crisp parchment, curling at the corners and yellowed in patches that look like a schoolchild has aged the paper using artificial means for a school project.
"Ah, yes," he murmurs quietly, so quietly that you prick your ears despairingly to catch his words. "This set will do nicely for today."
Tossing the scroll beside the satchel, the genie grins; a sharp edge to his lips suggests he is concealing something more sinister behind the white curve. Shivering, you duck your head to study them, pawing the scroll until it lies straighter upon the sand, so that you may read it more easily.
Written by Amethyst Mare on 28 June 2012
