Chapter Text
First Wish
This sucks.
It just sucks.
It sucks that he’s in this musty basement by himself with all these boxes trying to find old insurance documents. It sucks that Langa’s plane was delayed so he missed his grandfather’s funeral. It sucks that his mom is the one taking care of his grandmother when everyone knows it should be his aunt; her actual daughter. It sucks that his dad isn’t here because his dad died before his grandfather. It sucks.
It just really fucking sucks.
With a heavy sigh, he puts his dust mask back on and lifts another dirty box from the large storage shelf in his grandparent’s basement. The couple were borderline hoarders with a massive collection of items (junk) ranging from newspapers with one article circled to trunks full of souvenirs from their many world travels.
Removing the stack of papers from the top of an old U-Haul box, Langa wiped at the label with his spare rag.
ISTANBUL 1972
It's definitely not what he’s looking for, but it was probably the last big trip they took before his father was born. It must’ve been really cool. Langa’s curiosity gets the better of him and he kneels on the cold cement floor to open it. Inside are two large Kodak envelopes of pictures; his young grandparents posing in front of Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque, colorful bazaars, delicious looking food, friendly people, and a few crooked ones of his grandfather trying to get a selfie while kissing his wife on the cheek. It all makes his heart warm in that bittersweet way when something happy ends, but the memory is still good.
He sets the pictures aside with the plan to show his grandma when she gets home to maybe brighten her day.
Next, he pulls out some miscellaneous maps and ticket stubs, most in Turkish with faded, hard-to-read ink. There are a few blue evil eye charms, an empty box of tea, small bags of spices that still smell good, and a thick fabric case (maybe a pillow cover?) with intricate patterning. There’s also a small collection of what look like perfume bottles, amazing hand blown glass jars with colored spirals. It's all beautiful and makes Langa want to visit someday.
One of the glass jars in particular catches his eye. It’s red with gold detailing, and specks of iridescent blue shimmer in the light. He holds it to the light and can almost make out what the label says but it's covered in a layer of unknown grime. He rubs his rag over it to no avail. Definitely not thinking it through, Langa pulls down his mask to wet his thumb in his mouth. He tries again to wipe the jar.
Once.
Twice.
On the third pass of his thumb, the lid of the jar bursts open with a loud POP and red smoke fills the room. Langa falls back on his butt, eyes wide as he watches the smoke cloud congeal into a massive humanoid form that crouches in the confines of the basement, knocking over a few stacks of papers. The being starts to move and shift, mumbling something in another language, its elbow knocking Langa over further onto his back.
It speaks again, seemingly in apology. Its large head swings around to reveal glowing amber eyes and wild red hair. Another puff of smoke and the being has shrunk to normal human size. He stands dusting off his gold gaucho pants, his metal bangles clinking softly, muttering still to himself. Langa watches as he reaches up to try to organize his hair, pushing some of it under a bejeweled blue headband.
He speaks again, but in a language Langa recognizes as Arabic. Maybe Farsi? (He doesn’t know the difference) Langa shakes his head, a growing lump of tension in his chest. Is this a genie? He must’ve hit his head and this is all a hallucination.
The being cycles through multiple languages. Mandarin, Italian, German, Russian, and a couple Langa doesn’t recognize. He stays standing where he materialized, shifting his weight from one slippered foot to the other, focusing mainly on Langa with piercing amber eyes.
“How about this one?” Eventually he lands on English.
Langa nods yes.
“Ah, an Englishman! Pray tell, where are we? A prison?”
“Uh, this is my grandma’s basement.” Langa, as a Canadian-Japanese man, is a little taken aback by being called an ‘Englishman.’
The genie nods, scratching a bit at his head and looking curiously around the dusty boxes. “And uh- what year is it?” He asks, cocking his head to one side.
Langa takes a breath, “It’s 2023.”
The genie nods with a bit of a wince. “Are the Ottomans still in power?”
Langa shakes his head. “No.”
“Oh, thank the gods!” The genie throws his arms up, bangles clacking in celebration, his smile obscenely wide. “I hated those guys.”
Langa knows nothing about the Ottomans. “Oookay?”
“Alright! Well,” The being rubs his hands together and makes a small leap up to float in the air. In an instant, the red glittering genie is right in front of Langa. “I’m here to make all your wishes come true!” His amber eyes lighting up gold he adds, “At least three of them.”
Langa hopes he'll wake up from this dream soon. Yeah, he’ll wake up with a nasty bump on his head and his mom and grandma will tease him for being so clumsy. And yet… this was starting to feel way too real.
The genie slings an arm around his shoulder. “What’s your name, Master?” His skin is warm, Langa can feel heat radiating from his bare chest.
“Uh,” he is very distracted by the formality and implication of the term ‘master.’ “Langa.”
“Langa!” The genie floats in a quick circle around him. “A wonderful name! I am Reki!” Smoke-like apparitions of stars and fireworks appear behind his head, “The Extraordinary Red Star Genie of the Lamp!” Reki holds a hand up with one finger pointed up, more glittery smoke and his arm splits into three at the elbow. “Here to grant you threeeee wishes!” Another poof of smoke and his arms are in a ‘X’ over his chest. “And absolutely no wishing for more wishes! No redos, refunds, or exchanges!”
Langa nods along, his mind still stuck on ‘master’.
“So what will it be? Gold?” He raises a hand and a pile of gold appears, covering the boxes he had unstacked on the floor. “Knowledge?” He raises his other hand and a massive stack of books and old scientific instruments materialize. “I can grant you land and power!” He expands his form to triple the size and visions of a fertile river valley float around the room. “I’m not really sure what’s valuable nowadays.” All the apparitions vanish and he strides back over to him. “I’ve been locked in that lamp for uhhh about five-hundred years, but.” He points to the stairs. “I’m an all powerful, cosmic being! I can learn everything once we get out of this prison.”
“It’s a basement. No one is trapping me down here.”
Reki looks confused. “Then why didn’t you say so!” Reki snaps his fingers and they are teleported into the kitchen. Langa coughs with a stumble as he had the wind knocked out of him. Reki seems unfazed; he floats cross legged, his face in the open refrigerator. “Food storage has improved. What’s this?” He turns just his torso around to present a chocolate pudding cup.
“It's uh,” Langa glanced at the time, taking a seat at the table to steady himself. He should still have an hour before his mom gets back. “It's a chocolate dessert.”
Reki makes a humming sound as he opens the plastic lid. A golden spoon materializes in his hand and he takes a bite. “Iss soo gwood!” He quickly gobbles the rest and takes his first look outside. Forested mountains and a snow-covered backyard peak his interest. “Where are we?”
“This is my grandma’s house. In Canada.”
The genie flashes a coy smile and his form splits in half, then in half again; one new copy floating close to the window and the others inspecting various areas of the kitchen. Langa frantically turns around in his chair to try to keep track of all of them, his hand reaching out to stop a Reki copy from pulling all the paper towels from the roll.
“Humans settled the ‘new world’ then, huh?” Reki Prime has made his way to the laptop on the desk in the corner. His hand hovers close to the screen, a small plume of iridescent smoke floats between the computer and his palm. His amber eyes are on Langa but they are a little glazed over, pupils darting this way and that as he explores the internet. “Oh wow, and made it to the moon. Damn, you Humans have been busy!”
Langa is completely overwhelmed at this point. He nods trying to keep track of the five other genies making a mess in the kitchen, their gold gilded pointed toe sandals padding all around. Wait. There were six. Where is the sixth one?
“You don’t say much, do ya, Master?” Reki Prime cocks his head with concern and flexes his fingers to control the flow of information from the computer.
“I’m just, ah,” Langa takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. “It's just a lot to process.”
Reki hums, closing his eyes. “Genies are seen as mythical nowadays. I see.” He opens his eyes and sighs. “Alright guys, let's not freak out Langa. Back to me.” The copies give a collective disappointed groan and evaporate.
“Um, thank you.” Langa mumbles not really knowing what else to say. It's been a hard week. Losing his grandpa who really stepped into the father figure role after his dad passed away a little over six years ago, a winter storm delaying his flight home and then unavoidable family drama, he wasn’t in a good place. He only really had his mother, and she was dealing with enough right now. He didn’t know how to deal with this.
Screaming interrupted his train of thought. The sixth copy is outside. The last genie copy is being chased by two crows, his muted shrieks filter in through the cracked window and Langa stands up from the table. The Reki copy sees them inside and runs quickly into the glass door with a crack. The copy stumbles backward and onto the snow and disappears, puffs of red smoke drift up into the cold winter air.
Reki didn’t notice. He is quiet, his focus still on the stream of information coming from the laptop.
“How are you doing that?” Langa asks.
Reki smiles, “I’m an all powerful cosmic being! I need to stay up to date so I can best serve you.” He lifts his hand to display the many search windows he’s processing through. One is displaying news feeds from all over the world, another is showing drone footage of the clear cut in Brazil, there’s one with a show from HBO (Game of Thrones? Maybe The Last of Us), and one that is a feed from the X-games. Skateboarders zoom up and down a halfpipe.
“This is particularly interesting to me,” he shifts his hand and the skating is full-screen. “These skating boards are like little foot powered magic carpets!”
“Magic carpets?” Langa repeats, looking more confused. This really can’t be real.
“So! What will it be, Master?” Reki looked eagerly. “A new car? A plane? A political office? Or money. I can still grant you lots of money. OH! There are some rules. Besides the limit of three, I can’t kill anybody,” He mimes a slit throat and his head falls into his arms. “I can’t bring anybody back from the dead,” His form turns a little green as he places his head back on and spins it around twice. “And I can’t make anybody fall in love with anybody else.” He clutches his hands together and swoons to one side, raising his voice to a higher, more feminine octave. The performance is rather comical, and Langa manages to smile a little, which seems to please Reki. “Now, I’m sure you have a list a mile long but we can narrow it down.”
But the thing is, Langa really didn’t want anything. His family isn’t in rough financial shape, his mom is healthy and happy (for the most part). Langa is pretty content with his job back in Toronto where he also just bought a new car. He couldn’t wish for his dad or grandpa back. There wasn’t much else he wanted.
“I don’t want anything really.”
Reki’s expression should be in dictionaries under ‘Shocked’. “Nothing?? REALLY??”
Langa shrugged. “Can I have a cheeseburger?”
Reki’s face drops, his eyes narrowing. He snaps his fingers and a picture perfect cheeseburger appears on a plate in front of him. “That absolutely does not count. I am AN ALL POWERFUL COSMIC BEING!” His size expands as a mystery wind blows through the kitchen and somewhere thunder cracks. “You gotta do better than that. I created the Hanging Gardens of Babylon and you fancy me a line cook!” The wind settles and Reki deflates and sinks into the chair next to Langa.
Langa is occupied with the burger, taking a big bite. He hums and shrugs again. Reki sighs and shakes his head. “500 years and humans have lost their creativity. You seriously don't want anything?”
Langa swallows his bite, “I want to find the insurance document I was supposed to find in the basement.”
Reki smacks his hand to his forehead. He mutters to himself, “Ridiculous, trapped by the Turks then stuck in the lamp, and this is my Master when I return.” He snaps his fingers again and a manila folder appears on the table. “Also doesn’t count. I’m honestly a little insulted. I helped the Sultan defeat the Bulgarians and the Serbians. You humans always want something!”
Langa shrugged again, “I’m not very greedy. It would be nice to have my dad back, but he’s dead and that's against the rule.”
“Oh.” Reki regards him carefully. “That must’ve been hard.”
Langa nods, “He was my best friend.” He opens the manila folder. His eyes squint to read the small text. “I think this is the wrong one.”
Reki rolls his eyes and snaps again. The paper changes in his hand to the correct form, a dusting of glittery smoke falling off of it. “My bad. They didn’t have life insurance when I was last out. Back to business! What will you wish for?”
Langa closes the folder and wipes his hand on his jeans, half from food crumbs and half cuz they’re kinda sweaty. “I don’t know! What would you wish for?”
Reki seems taken aback. “No one has ever-” he stops to take a breath and run a hand through his hair, messing up his headband. His hair isn’t solid, it moves and shifts like a living flame. “No one has ever asked me that.”
“That’s a little fucked up.” Langa says bluntly and Reki smiles.
“Ya, a genie’s life is one bound to serve others.” He rubs under his nose. “I guess I would wish for someone I could trust.” Reki tugs a little at his bangles, “or to be free.”
Langa hums in acknowledgment. Someone to trust? Langa could use that too. He really only had his mom. He was friendly with people at his job but he didn't have anyone he would really call his friend. A friend. That’s a nice thing to wish for. A friend was someone you could trust. Maybe Reki would be his friend.
“Okay!” Langa announces. “I have my wish!”
“Great!” Reki’s eyes lit up, he gestures with his hand and the red and gold lamp appears. He passes it to Langa, “Rub this and start with ‘I wish’!”
Langa takes the lamp, it feels heavier than it did earlier. The geometric gold detailing is almost glowing. It really is beautiful. He idly hopes that he’ll be a good friend to Reki as he gently rubs the glass lamp.
“I wish that you’ll be my friend.”
Reki appears taken aback, his eyebrows furrow and mouth open in a small gasp, but then his expression softens. His eyes glow gold and he snaps his fingers. “So it shall be.”