The puff of smoke dissipated and Vegeta rolled his neck to stretch it out for the first time in decades.
“Holy shit,” a woman’s voice exclaimed. “The old man was telling the truth.”
He narrowed his eyes against the last tendrils of smoke and saw through to a young woman standing over his lamp. She was one of the prettiest people to have ever released him, with a stylish teal bob-cut and matching blue eyes, and skin fairer than he was used to seeing. He might have been charmed were it not for a deep-seated distrust of his masters, especially after that last one.
His fingers tightened over crossed arms, squeezing back those memories.
“I am Vegeta, genie of the lamp—” he began.
“No way!” the woman gushed, leaning over the table between them, her eyes bursting with excitement.
He tripped at her interruption. No one interrupted him. They were usually too slack-jawed or polite to do so. He scowled and plowed on. “Rejoice and be humbled, for I have the power to grant you three wishes.” His tone belied his words, more irritated than wondrous.
He blinked. It was only one word, one simple word, but it took several seconds for his mind to process it — or attempt to. What did she mean, why? Perhaps he misunderstood. He hazarded a guess. “Why only three?” It wasn’t an uncommon complaint.
“No,” she corrected. “Why do you grant wishes? What’s in it for you?”
He blinked again and wondered if he hadn’t been in the lamp longer than he realized. She wasn’t responding the way she was supposed to. It felt like he was missing chunks of conversations. Perhaps he was sick. Could genies get sick? He hadn’t thought so, but this scenario was putting up a pretty good case for it. “What does it matter?” he snapped. “I don’t think you understand the magnitude of what I’m offering. Near-limitless potential for anything your little human mind could fathom.”
“A-ha! So there is a limit!” She punctuated her point with an index finger to her palm. “I knew it. Shenron has limits too.”
“A wish-granting dragon.”
Vegeta felt the beginnings of a migraine. “A what?”
The woman grinned. It was gorgeous and a little disconcerting. “I think you heard me. You’re not my first wish-granting…uh…being.”
That was greatly unexpected. He wasn’t aware such a creature even existed. He shifted his weight to his other foot, feeling his grasp on the situation slip away like sand tilted in a box, sifting from his end to hers. He raised his chin and puffed up his chest to bolster himself. “I think you’ll find me far superior to any dragon.”
She leaned back with a knowing smile and twinkle in her eyes, shrugging one shoulder. “I dunno, pal. Shenron’s been pretty good to me and there’s none of that iffy monkey-paw be-careful-what-you-wish-for nonsense with his wishes. Can you promise me the same?”
He leaned forward with a dark smirk and a darker fire in his eyes. “Try me.”
She regarded him, weighing the risk. Her eyes didn’t flinch from his. Unashamedly they trailed down to take him in, gliding over his bare chest, gold shoulder plates, and gold bands around his left bicep and both wrists. Finally she looked down at his lamp. “Nah. On second thought, I think I’m good.”
He blinked, and blinked again, his smile faltering. “…What?” Had…had she just turned him down?
“I said I don’t need anything. I’m good. What about you?”
His arms fell to his side. “What?” he repeated, this time with the hint of panic in his voice.
She gave him a sympathetic smile. “C’mon, follow me. Kitchen’s upstairs.”
AN: Based on a short story by Neil Gaiman, “October Tale”.
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