It's all in the stars ~*Aixa*~

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Marisol yawned loudly as she stared at the clock on the wall. She'd been sitting there for nearly 45 minutes while her grandmother was talking to her therapist. She groaned and stretched as she sat in the uncomfortable little seat that was provided in the waiting room. 'If they're going to have people sitting here for hours on end, the least they could do was have comfortable chairs.'

With a wistful sigh, she took her cellphone from her pocked and started up a game. It was a very low tech unimpressive old Nokia phone. It wasn't like Marisol could afford to get some fancy high tech WiFi internet capable iPhone. And even if she could, she wouldnt have gotten one. They were a waste of money and she only needed the phone for basic calls. Even the added features on the little Nokia were a bit excessive, Marisol thought. But they were an excellent antidote for boredom. She was playing hangman.

Another dull ten minutes ticked by before she'd lost interest in the game and stuffed her phone back in her pocket. That was when the office door gently swung open. Out came her grandmother with her usual bright and cheerful smile, dark green eyes framed by thick round glasses, a crown of long dark but graying hair spun atop her head in a neat bun. She was a short stature and round woman nearing her early seventies.

Following her grandmother was her therapist, Dr. Ryce. He was a relatively pleasant man with a polite smile and kind eyes, Marisol smiled because she knew her grandmother was quite taken with the man. But that was part of her grandmothers senility. Her grandmother firmly believed she was still only thirty-five years old, stunning drop dead gorgeous model that she had been in her youth. Behind the two of them, was they lady who worked as a translator for her grandmother since she did not speak a word of English.

“Alright, Miss Marisol. I'm going to be increasing your grandmothers medicines to 200 Mgs in the evening to see if he can slow down her Alzheimer from progressing too rapidly.” Marisol took the new prescription paper and nodded gently, She didn’t like keeping her grandmother so heavily medicated, but it was the only way to keep with woman from over exciting herself and wandering out of the house and getting lost.

“Gracias, Dr. Ryce. Same time next month?” Marisol smiled tilting her head up at him as she gently placed a hand on her grandmother's shoulder. “As always. Your grandmother is lucky to have you.” Marisol flustered at the compliment and chuckled “I think we're lucky to have each other. Don't know where I’d be without my Abuelita.” Dr. Ryce made a gentle gesture, his eyes quite warm as he smiled at her. “I'm sure it hasn't been easy. You know, if you ever feel you need my services, my doors are always open, Miss Marisol.”

Marisol wasn't sure quite how to reply to that. Was he referring to the fact that her parents died when she was ten and had to be raised by an aged grandmother? Or the fact that the twenty-five year old was now taking care of her grandmother as she slowly went senile? Granted, yes, both were stressful but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. Marisol smiled with a shy shrug of her shoulders “I'll keep that in mind” and helped her grandmother into her coat. They began their trek home after Marisol politely waved to the therapist.

As they walked, her grandmother was rather talkative. It was mostly the same things she rambled on about. Her life as a model, the beautiful men she dated, the scandalous love affairs. Marisol blushed profusely as her grandmother went on, not sure if she was having one of her fantasies or if these were genuine memories, and she was too afraid to ask because she didn't think she wanted to know about her grandmother being a 'wild woman'.

As they rounded the corner to head down their street, Marisol's cellphone went off. She dug it out of her pocket and looked to see who was calling. It was the vet clinic. She smiled and answered. It turned out Dr. Reyes wanted to see if she was available to cover a shift tomorrow as once of the other girls had called in sick. Her cheeks turned pink hearing his voice and quickly agreed. She could always use the extra hours and loved working with the animals there. And while she'd never admit it, not out loud, at any rate, she enjoyed withing with the tall Spaniard. But before she had a chance to thank him, her grandmother snatched the phone.

“*Hola!! Is this the pretty Doctor man?*” Her aged voice gently cracked with a light and cheerful chirp. Marisol's face immediately went scarlet as she tried to get her phone back. But the old woman sternly swatted Marisol's hands away. “*When are you coming to visit again? I miss that pretty smile*” Marisol could have just died because she knew what she was going to ask next and her boss always teased her about in the next day. “*You should come over and have some of Marisol's cooking. She loves cooking for you!*”

At that, Marisol finally snatched the phone from her with a mortified squeak and hurriedly spoke into the phone “Thank you, Dr. Reyes! I'll see you tomorrow!” and hung up and just stared at her grandmother. Marisol was convinced that her grandmother enjoyed seeing her blush just as much if not more so than her boss. “*You should marry him, Mari.*” her grandmother chirped cheerfully. Marisol shot her a look that told her grandmother that this conversation is over.

Marisol continued on in awkward silence as her grandmother continued to rattle on about her glamorous life before settling down and having children. Her grandmother suddenly clutched her arm and exclaimed happily. “*Mari! You would make such a pretty mama!*” and Marisol froze, dropping her purse in horror. The contents spilled all over the sidewalk and Marisol stooped down to scoop them back into her purse, looking up at her grandmother, completely dumbfounded.

She hadn't realized that she'd scooped something else into her purse that hadn't originally been part of the contents. She frowned, quite humiliated and ushered her grandmother into the house. “Just... Turn on your shows.. I'm going to start dinner”

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Aixa was currently on the roof of what used to be his apartment building. He hadn’t moved back in after Pippa left him. As far as masters leaving him, it was the one with the least animosity. He had thought his (metaphorical) heart couldn’t handle the guilt of leaving Leo, but Pippa’s departure from his life had broken his (metaphorical) heart. It was for the best, wasn’t it? After the War, Pippa simply couldn’t handle the pressure anymore. Despite his efforts to save the fragile girl from her own mind, Pippa retreated from his grasp, handing his Lamp back with trembling hands.

And Aixa was still not sure why she’d been shaking – had she been upset to lose him? More than likely, she’d been afraid of what he would do. She had seen the devastating power the Jinn contained, and Aixa knew it had changed her perception of the docile if mischievous Djinn. And after he left her apartment – which had never been his home, but he had been so close to letting his guard down around her – he’d felt... not numb, but a rather odd and dissociating feeling. Everything reminded him of her fears and bizarre behaviors. He’d wanted to fix her, and he’d only made things worse by confirming that there were things to be terrified of.

He’d dropped his Lamp somewhere. It’d hardly mattered to him as he ambled on the sidewalk. He was vaguely certain it had taken the form of an old American penny (it was on tails, too, so nobody should pick it up). Someone would kick it into the road. Down a gutter. It didn’t matter to Aixa. If the mistresses and masters just kept leaving, there was really no point in hiding from them. He curled up on the roof, feeling another irritating wave of lethargy and apathy. He glared at bright sun, raising his fingers to play it from his view. The Nomad had taken him above the sun, to the stars that he’d dreamt about.

And Shezaan… he felt a hot coil in his stomach as he thought about his brother. They had been separated for many years – almost three thousand years was spent without his brother and imagining how life would be with him. And after all of that, they had still been separated. It wasn’t as permanent as it had been last time, but Aixa still felt the absence in his heart heavily. Still, it was for the best. His brother was the happiest with a master, and Aixa wasn’t about to mention feeling utterly abandoned. Because he wasn’t. Definitely not. He pouted.

Okay, so maybe he was feeling a little abandoned. He sighed and sat up on the roof, jumping on the edge of the building and spreading his arms out to walk on the building’s ledge. How long had it been since Pippa left him? A few months at the very least. He’d been spending all his time either up on the roof or at one of the parks trying to entertain himself. It never worked. His footing stumbled and he nearly toppled off the building. As bored as he was, he didn’t quite feel like breaking any bones… even if he could fix them with relative ease.

He turned into a bird, perching atop a tree branch idly. He had half the mind to go visit his brother and the Stupid Fluffy Human, but he didn’t want his brother to go through the pain of having Aixa leave again. He wasn’t far away from his brother at all… he could still feel the comfortable settling of matching energy as it curled around his chest. Still, he wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to leave his brother alone with the Fluffy Hair Demon Human. He patted his own hair somewhat self-consciously. What did that Stupid Fluffy Human have that he didn’t?

Well… besides Shezaan’s lamp.

Aixa was quite sure that he was going to be forever bored until the day his energy ran out at this pace. There was nothing to whittle away the hours doing besides the occasional beautiful creature crossing the park that he would follow for a while before remembering his loyalty to Shezaan. There was nothing to distract him from the tedium and mundane life that Pippa had unintentionally bestowed upon him. He’d never had a master give him up in quite such a manner. Normally he left of his own accord or he killed his master. It was not fair.

And then, as if an answering by some sadistic and mischievous deity (or the result of his Lamp being in a public place), he felt a stirring. It wasn’t a very strong one, but he felt himself picked up… without much attention on him. He pouted a little, thinking that the human could have at least spared him a passing glance. The bird form shifted and stretched in its perception, splitting apart into a dusting of light green energy. He trailed after the woman who had picked up his Lamp as she hurried along the road to her house. Well… she was definitely human.

He decided not to make his move immediately. It appeared that she was hanging around old lady for the moment, and he didn’t want to startle the old lady into a heart attack. He’d had that happen before, and believe him. It was messy and nobody wanted to deal with that mess. So, he followed them, thinking back to his time with Pippa. He had followed her home after her initial rejection of his advances because what was a Djinn if not a little stubborn? Nothing, that’s what. It was practically a rule that Jinn had to be sarcastic and stubborn.

Except for his brother because Shezaan was an innocent little angel flower.

The house looked fairly nice. A bit homely and not very stylish, but Aixa supposed he could fix that part of the problem. So, his mistress lived with the old woman. She was definitely too old to be her mother, and she most likely wasn’t an aunt. But they smelled alike so they were family. A grandmother, perhaps? He made his way into the kitchen, watching as the Hispanic woman prepared cooking. He sat cross-legged on the island in the kitchen, watching her with a devilish and slightly mischievous smirk.

“You know,” he said, tilting his head as he observed his new mistress. “I just love paella. Used to have this sort-of guy I was dating, you see. Culinary genius, that man,” he continued wistfully. “The trick is the type of oil.”

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Marisol was absolutely fuming, her cheeks a deep scarlet. She knew her grandmother meant well enough but it drove her insane when she tried to play matchmaker. Marisol was only twenty five. She wasn't ready to settle down with anyone. Least of all, her boss. 'Oh sure.' she thought to herself, rather flustered. 'I cant even bring myself to call him by his first name. I can imagine THAT relationship going down in flames.' as she began setting everything out on the counters. It was Tuesday. She always made Paella on Tuesday.

She smiled when she heard her grandmother settle down in the den to turn on the TV and watch her soap operas.. Annoying and melodramatic as those shows her, they kept her grandmother occupied. She began slicing the bell peppers into thin neat slivers before pouring the rice into the pan to begin frying it when she heard a voice she did not recognize suddenly chime in behind her.

She whipped around, the frying pan still in her hands, sending rice all over the kitchen. “Dios Mio!!!” she shrieked as she looked to see a young man sitting on the island where she had JUST been slicing the bell peppers. She held the pan out in front of her, half like a shield and half like a weapon. Wide light green eyes just staring at him. She had JUST been at that table cutting bell peppers not seconds ago. She knew he hadn't been there before. “Who? But how did....? When did you...?” Oh he had flustered her quite a bit, hadn't he?

“Look, um.. If you want money, I have some in my purse! Just take it!” she insisted as she slowly moved away from the stove and further away from the stranger in her kitchen. Her ears strained to hear her grandmother, to make sure that this intruder hadn't harmed her. But she could hear her, arguing with the television like she always did. There was no point in asking how he got in because they lived in a fairly nice and safe neighborhood. Marisol never felt the need to lock the door except at night. And, sadly, it wouldnt be the first time her grandmother had randomly let a stranger into the house telling them that she was cooking and to help themselves to the kitchen.

Her grandmother was so bad about that. And bless her heart, Marisol knew it wasn't the old woman's fault, but still. As she observed him, she noticed he didn’t look particularly menacing. He was just sitting there staring at her. She lowered the frying pan slightly, still leaving it near her chest protectively, but she was no longer holding it like she was about to bash it against his skull.

Marisol drew in a deep breath before holding it for a moment and letting out a slow exhale. “Look, I'm sorry.. I didn’t mean to flip out but... “ she drew in another breath.. Maybe he was like her grandmother. Not all there. Maybe he was just lost and confused. “You really shouldn’t just waltz into people's houses. What if some serial killer lived here?” She shifted uncomfortably into the other foot as she finally lowered the frying pan but still kept it firmly in her hands.. just in case. “Do... Do you want me to call someone?”

She'd meant that in the sense that if he was lost and confused, maybe he had a 'guardian' or someone who looked after him. She was about to offer even calling him a cab when her grandmother made her way into the kitchen, and without missing a beat, gently ruffled the boy's hair and chirped softly “Hola, Marcelo!” and continued down the hallway. Marisol's cheeks flustered as she looked at the man in her kitchen and she called after her grandmother. “*Abuelita.. That's not...*” that's not my father...... But she let it die on her lips as she lowered her head.

Well, this was certainly awkward.

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The first time he had introduced himself as a Djinn to Pippa, she had a very similar reaction. Instead of a frying pan, however, the scatterbrained young woman had nearly bashed his brain in with a baseball bat. But let it be noted that she had been cooking dinner at the time. A frying pan would not have been very outlandish if push had come to shove. But remaining calm and placid through the ordeal with Pippa had helped that skittish young girl. This skittish young girl was very Spanish, and very flustered. Aixa watched her wield the frying pan, an amused smirk on his lips.

“Who? But how did…? When did you…?”

“None of that really matters, does it? It all changes,” Aixa said solemnly, but decided that this wasn’t really the time to debate life’s greatest mysteries with his new mistress. “Aixa, but you can call me something else. Pedro, maybe. Enrique.” He gave her a toothy grin as he listed all the stereotypically Hispanic names that he could think of. “How did I do what? Appear in your kitchen? Easy. Magic,” he said, wriggling his fingers in jazz style. He smirked at her flustered expression, trying not to giggle. “When did I come here? That’s another easy one. Around… oh, a minute ago? Maybe a minute and a half.”

“Look, um… If you want money, I have some in my purse! Just take it!”

She moved away from the stove and farther away from him. Aixa remained still on the island, watching her with wide blue eyes. “What on Earth would someone like me use money for? I don’t need anything I can’t create,” he said, shrugging a shoulder idly. Silly humans – they always thought in terms of materialistic objects and possessions. She checked on the old woman and he rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to touch her. I like her. She’s got a lot of personality. It’s something that everyone’s lacking today. Boring!” Aixa said, drawing out the word ‘boring’. He looked pointedly at the pan.

The woman put the pan down slightly. “Ah, that’s much better. Isn’t it much easier to have a civilized conversation when you aren’t trying to bash my head in with a frying pan?” Aixa asked cheerfully. “Can you imagine if someone came up to you with a gun and demanded to know how you felt about the rain we’ve been having? That’s how that just felt,” he declared, crossing his arms. “Do you greet all your guests with a frying pan? If so, I’m afraid no amount of wishing can make you socially acceptable. Or perhaps humans are used to that nowadays?”

“Look, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to flip out but…” Aixa waited curiously for the second part of the sentence. She seemed to be warring over something in her head, and it wasn’t in Aixa’s nature to interrupt a personal monologue. Especially not with idle chatter about the etymology of the expression ‘flip out’. “You really shouldn’t just waltz into people’s houses. What if some serial killer lived here?” she asked.

Aixa scoffed. “I didn’t waltz in. I don’t even know how to waltz. We should learn together. You think your granny knows how to waltz?” he asked thoughtfully, and then a smirk tugged on his lips as she questioned him about serial killers. “Trust me. I’ve dealt with serial killers. They aren’t that unreasonable, contrary to popular belief. They often act as high-functioning members of society. The man your grandmother wants you to marry could be one. I could be a serial killer.” He smiled sweetly at her.

“Do… Do you want me to call someone?”

Aixa rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to comment drily that there was a special on pizza, when the old woman he liked so much came in and ruffled his hair. He purred and leaned into her touch.

“Hola, Marcelo!”

“Hola, bonita,” Aixa said smoothly. “No soy Marcelo.” But the woman had disappeared, so Aixa turned his attention back to the flustered woman. “So you’ll probably asking why such a devilishly guy like me is sitting in your kitchen. Interestingly enough, that’s the only question you didn’t ask. You ever heard of genies? Well… you found my Lamp. You could always discard it, but… I’ll make your life a living hell,” Aixa said cheerfully. “I’ve recently developed some abandonment issues, you see, and I’m likely to take it out on you. Anyway, I don’t know why you would. You probably think I’m crazy right now.”

He sighed and waved his hand. All the rice that she had spilled on the floor rose, converging into a tightly packed ball of rice. He twirled his fingers lazily, making the rice spread until it spelled out the word ‘Aixa.’ “I’m guessing you don’t want to use this rice?” he asked, chin in hand.

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 “Trust me. I’ve dealt with serial killers. They aren’t that unreasonable, contrary to popular belief. They often act as high-functioning members of society.” “Th.. That's not what I meant!” Marisol wasn't sure what she meant anymore at this point. This conversation was getting more and more bewildering as it went along. This guy couldn't be for real. Well, obviously he was real, he was sitting on the kitchen island, pretty as you please, staring at her like she was the one who wasn't all there. She opened her mouth to protest once more when the young man chimed in again.

“The man your grandmother wants you to marry could be one. I could be a serial killer.” Marisol's cheeks with bright red while the rest of her face when pale. How did he know about Javier? Was this man stalking her? But before she could voice anything to him, her grandmother casually walked through and almost lovingly trailed her fingers into the strange boy's hair, like she knew him. And what made her heart sink was when she addressed this boy by her father's name. Marisol bit her lip as the woman casually walked out of the kitchen and into her room.

As he went to explain who he was and how he got there and all then why-fores and whatnots, Marisol felt her stomach tighten. A Genie? This boy was out of his mind and possibly dangerous. She wasn't too worried about protecting herself because she could hold her own just fine. She had to get him away from her grandmother before this nutter snapped and went on a killing spree. But then, he began to casually twirl his fingers and the rice on the floor began to move. Oh god, she'd finally snapped. She was losing her mind.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to use this rice?” 

Marisol let the frying pan drop from her hand, and clattered loudly to the tile floor and Marisol's back pressed against the cabinet and she slid down until she was sitting on the floor staring up at him. “I.. I've finally lost if, haven't I?” and she buried her face to her knees and hugged her legs. This was more than she could handle right now. Her grandmother reentered the room and hopped up on the island to sit beside Aixa and chuckled, her softly aged voice was deep but still quite smooth. “You'll have to forgive my little Mari. She's a little sheltered” And resumed trailing her fingers through Aixa's hair affectionately, treating him like a beloved house cat.

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The frying pan dropped with a rather dramatic clatter he rolled his eyes. Well, she was certainly one for dramatics, wasn’t she? He’d hardly spoken for ten minutes and she was already acting like she was going to faint. Wasn’t it just his luck to get psycho after psycho? Or, rather, paranoid girl after paranoid girl. It was like his entire life was on repeat, just change the faces and the names. Aixa looked casually at his fingernails as she slid down to the floor.

“Are you having fun down there?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Honestly, what was so scary about a devilishly handsome man sitting on her kitchen island moving around rice? Aixa tutted and made a little ferris wheel out of the rice, entertaining himself as she continued to rock in the corner trying to convince herself she’d gone crazy. “If that’s easier to believe than me, go for it. But if you’re going to insist I’m not real,” he drawled, “will you at least please give me my Lamp back so I can be on my merry way?”

The old lady that he liked so much jumped on the island next to him, and he beamed widely at her as she ran her fingers through his hair. He quite liked this lady... couldn’t she have been the one who found the Lamp? He crossed his arms, already bored by his new mistress’s act. It was too reminiscent of Pippa, and he was guarding himself against that type of emotional damage. He was quite determined it wouldn’t happen again. Ever.

“You’ll have to forgive my little Mari.”

“Will I?” Aixa asked sardonically, cutting a glance to the old lady. His nose twitched. She smelled very distinctly not human, and very familiar. He narrowed his eyes, changing his mind rather irritably about liking her. He had good reason not to trust the rest of his kind, and he promptly scooted away from the old woman, smacking her hands away from him.

“She’s a little sheltered.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Aixa said. “Get off the floor.”

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Rosalita seemed to pout slightly as Aixa slapped her hand away and drily told Marisol to get off the floor. That seemed to snap Marisol out of her nervous break down. You just didn't smack her grandmother's hand. She climbed up from her spot and shot Aixa quite the look as she took her grandmother's hand and checked it over. “Okay, Abuela. Why don't you go back in the den and watch your shows. I'm going to have a little talk with Aixa”

The old woman looked softly at Aixa and offered a gentle smile before hopping off the counter and heading into the den. Marisol moved across the room to fetch a broom and dustpan and went to sweeping up the rice she had spilled. Her eyes were cast down for a moment as she swept, not quite looking at him. “Look.. I'll be the first to admit. I think you're nuts. There's no such thing and Genies and lamps and all that other nonsense. Now you seem like a sweet kid and I'm willing to overlook the fact you scared the daylights out of me. But..”

She stooped down to sweep the mess into the pan and dumped it into the bin. She then pointed the broom handle at his face. “Don't ever strike my grandmother again. Ask her to stop or just move away from her. But don't ever hit her again.” Her voice was stern but very soft and gentle. There was no malice in her tone at all. She was simply trying to state a point. She offered a slight sigh and lowered the broom and set it aside and offered her hand. “So.. Let's start over.. You're name's Aixa? I'm Marisol.”

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Aixa rolled his eyes as Marisol glared at him for slapping her grandmother’s hand and yawned as Marisol began talking. “Obviously I’m the one nuts when you saw the rice float. That totally makes sense. Do you think before you speak or does it just come out?” he asked bluntly, clearly unimpressed with her ‘logic’. “If you don’t want me, just give me my Lamp so that I can get out of this crazy house. I don’t like you as much as you don’t like me.”

He put his hand on the broom handle as she held it in his face and he pushed it back towards her pointedly, ice in his pale eyes. “Stop overreacting. I didn’t strike anyway. I smacked her, and if that’s such a problem, tell her to keep her damned hands to herself,” he shot back, annoyance evident fully in his tone. As she lowered the broom handle Aixa let go of it, crossing his arms as he glared at her with narrowed eyes as she tried to ‘start over’ with him. She really was thick, wasn’t she?

“Yes, my name’s Aixa. How many times do I have to say that? And I know your name is Marisol. Just saying ‘let’s start over’ doesn’t mean anything. Honestly,” he scowled. “And by the way, Marisol, I’m not a genie. I’m a Djinn. An amir if you want to be technical. Don’t call me a genie again,” he said. “You make wishes, I grant them. That doesn’t mean I have to be kind to you, got it? I happen to like the old woman a hell of a lot more than I like you, so spare me your little lectures.”