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<span>Spoiler: <span class="bbCodeSpoiler-button-title">OOC Notes - Please read</span></span>
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<div class="bbCodeBlock-content">Hi, and thanks for your interest. Please read the following notes <i><b><u>before</u></b> </i>deciding you want to post to this thread.<br/>
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<b>Genre: </b>Low Fantasy, Humour.<br/>
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<b>Setting: </b>March 2003 onward, Undisclosed location in the UEA, USAF Forward Airbase. Then Nellis AFB, NV<br/>
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<b>Characters: </b><br/>
<ul>
<li data-xf-list-type="ul">My character is Captain Toni Nelson USAF, pilot of a <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FFairchild_Republic_A-10_Thunderbolt_II&amp;hash=57a77caff5c27439283f514635359db7" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fairchild_Republic_A-10_Thunderbolt_II" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Fairchild Republic A-10 Thunderbolt "Warthog"</a>, participating in "Operation Iraqi Freedom"</li>
<li data-xf-list-type="ul">Your Character is a genie, who has been imprisoned in a lamp for a thousand years or two.</li>
</ul><b>Notes:</b><br/>
<ol>
<li data-xf-list-type="ol">I only do FxF. I prefer female players but I'll accept a male player on condition that your avatar isn't too macho.</li>
<li data-xf-list-type="ol">Your character can be based as much as you like on the Genie from Aladdin, except that she is female, but if you have seen the TV show <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FI_Dream_of_Jeannie&amp;hash=d15ecfb44ee4e6b5ec3b010de2ecfb29" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Dream_of_Jeannie" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">I Dream Of Jeannie</a>, that is where I'm taking the inspiration from.</li>
<li data-xf-list-type="ol">The Genie can choose her own name, but I think most genies are just called Genie (or a phonetic variant of the same).</li>
<li data-xf-list-type="ol">There are a number of ways this could go:<ol>
<li data-xf-list-type="ol">Genie could be totally sub and do whatever her new mistress wants</li>
<li data-xf-list-type="ol">Genie could be devious and only pretend to be sub, deliberately back-firing Toni's wishes.</li>
<li data-xf-list-type="ol">Genie could be totally dominant, in an inversion of the trope, using her magic to impose her will on Toni.</li>
</ol></li>
</ol>Please let me know via PM how you would like to play this.</div>
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</div><br/>Flying out of an airbase in the United Arab Emirates, it was surreal to know that she was flying with a full load of live ordnance, and heading into a war zone, where people were actually killing each other. There were those who said they were doing the right thing for the wrong reasons, ten years too late, and Captain Toni Nelson was one of them. She hadn't been in the USAF in 1991 when the liberation of Kuwait began with operation Desert Shield, then went to Desert Storm and finally Desert Sword. She'd been 17 and still in high school, but with fifty hours flying under her belt already, she was well on her way to a pilot's licence and her intention to join the air force was unswerving.<br/><br/>And now here she was, flying - well okay so it wasn't exactly a fighter jet, which had been her dream since she was ten, but the Fairchild Republic A-10 Thunderbolt was a great aeroplane to fly, even if it was ugly and nicknamed the Warthog by one and all. It was stable, easy to fly, armed to the teeth (painted on the nose) and heavily armoured.<br/><br/>Her target was a column of Iraqi tanks reported by sat-int moving down the road towards Basra. Her wingman, Lt Liz McKenna, was off to the left in echelon behind her. The road from Baghdad to Basra was littered with burned-out vehicles, most from this go-round but some, she was sure, left over from the previous war in 1991, and quite possibly some of the hulks were even older and dated back to the Iran-Iraq war in the 1980s Her ground radar picked up a moving vehicle and the<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FAGM-65_Maverick&amp;hash=644ef17c2025d381b480a28efa93cd72" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/AGM-65_Maverick" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">AGM-65 Maverick</a>air to surface missile under her right displayed it's video feed to her HUD. She nudged the cross-hair onto the lead vehicle in the convoy and keyed the release. "Steady tone... Weapon is away...!" The aircraft lurched a little as the mass on that wing reduced. Toni compensated automatically and watched the missile streak away. She pulled back on her stick, slowed the 'Hog enough to let McKenna overtake.<br/><br/>The routine was well established: Flight leader took out the lead vehicle in the convoy, wingman took out the rearguard vehicle, thus blocking the road. They then circled around  to give the people in the vehicles time to get out. Casualties were thus kept to a minimum. Okay so two tank crews were dead, but that was better than the entire convoy.  She selected the<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2F30_mm_caliber&amp;hash=02d28b5d15e4877f08d4674c96542289" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/30_mm_caliber" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">30×173 mm</a><a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FGAU-8_Avenger&amp;hash=8a17ce93e96f23db57acbc13acedc8f2" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/GAU-8_Avenger" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">GAU-8/A Avenger</a>autocannon, lined up on the road, coming in "low and slow", and pressed the fire button. The cannon wound up to its maximum output and threw out a depleted uranium armour piercing slug seventy times a second, the aircraft's nose-down angle "walking" the line of shells up the column from rear to front. People were still diving out of the tanks as the shells smashed into the reactive armour on the T72-knock-offs, two or three hitting within millimetres of each other, blasting right through and spalling inside, igniting fuel, cooking off the tanks ammunition, but most of all destroying everything inside the vehicles, shredding the engines and the guns, turning them from machines of war into immobile lumps of metal.<br/><br/>McKenna followed her down the line, the shells from her autocannon wreaking even more havoc, setting fire to the tanks that so far were just immobilised. Toni keyed her radio. "Mission accomplished, RTB!"<br/><br/>"Roger, RTB!" the reply came back and the two aircraft turned to head home. A successful mission, and another battalion of Iraqi tanks that wouldn't be able to engage the Coalition troops fighting for control of Basra. Her threat detector was clear, so it came as a total shock when McKenna called, "SAM, Break break!" She reacted on instinct, jerked the stick to the right and back, pushed the throttles to the stops on both engines and flipped on the countermeasures pod. Flares and chaff popped out behind the aircraft, one designed to fool a heat-seaking missile, the other a radar-guided one. But neither worked against the optical guidance of the Roland Surface to Air Missile.<br/><br/>"Got him!" McKenna had circled and her cannon had made short work of the launch vehicle, but at that point Toni was too busy wrestling with an aircraft that was supposed to have two engines and two rudders and now only had one of each...<br/><br/>"Mayday mayday mayday! This is Tango November eight eight, I'm not going to make it." She waited for the acknowledgement from the Boeing E3-Sentry AWACS circling high over the gulf and Kuwait, gave her position, which was confirmed by McKenna, pulled her mascot from its place on the canopy, said a soft but heartfelt goodbye to the aircraft, and pulled the eject lever.<br/><br/>........<br/><br/>The heat of the desert was beginning to make her curse the damned Arabs for having a war in such a god-forsaken place. Her left ankle was on fire where she'd twisted it on a loose rock as she tried to find some shade. "Why couldn't they have done this somewhere cool?" She asked no-one for the hundredth time. Her canteen sloshed at her hip as she moved again, trying to keep the apparently ancient piece of stone between herself and the sun. Thirst tormented her, but she knew she had to ration the water. SAR was on the way, and McKenna had circled overhead until she was flying on fumes, but for the last hour she'd been on her own in this blistering heat.<br/><br/>Trying desperately to ignore the scorpions and lizards that were the property owners of this repulsive piece of real-estate.  Her boots were laced tight and her flight suit was pretty-much arachnid-proof, but she made sure to look before she put her hands down.<br/><br/>Something poked her in the back, and she cursed again and twisted, trying to get comfortable. The thing moved under her and she swore, sat up and looked for the offending rock. Except it wasn't a rock. A glint of metal caught her eye, poking out of the sand. Curious, she began scraping the grains away, and soon realised that she was looking at an old, battered bronze pot of some sort. It was covered in dust, but it looked like some sort of coffee pot, or tea pot, elliptical in shape with a lid on top and a spout on one short side opposite a handle on the other. She lifted the lid and noticed a soft perfume, like incense. The thing was full of sand. She tipped it out. Where had she seen something like this before? She grimaced at the layer of grime on the outside and scraped some of it off with a fingernail.<br/><br/>She was about to rub the metal surface on her sleeve, when she heard the unmistakeable<i>whup-whup-whup </i>of a UH-60 Blackhawk. She leapt to her feet, jamming the metal pot into her webbing, pulled a smoke flare from it's pouch on her leg and pulled the igniter, then ran towards the sound. Or tried to. Her ankle gave way with a shock of pain as the SAR helecopter crested the dune, throwing sand in all directions. It landed a hew yards away and the security team leapt out, sweeping the perimeter as the medivac team ran towards her.<br/><br/>They picked her up and carried her to the helo, which lifted again as soon as the gunners were back on board. One unlaced her left boot, and felt her ankle, asked if she could wiggle her toes. She tried and pain lanced up her leg. "Broken!" was the verdict. "That's your ticket home. What you got there, Ma'am?" He pointed at the bronze pot.<br/><br/>"Souvenir?" She laughed. "It was just there, buried. I doubt it's worth anything."<br/><br/>.....<br/><br/>The Antiquities people agreed with her, declaring the item to be an oil lamp of the sort commonly still in use and available to purchase from bazaars all over Baghdad, the legendary home of Aladdin. It was, in fact, a common way of lighting one's home in regions where there was no electricity. The ruins she had found were most likely an old farm abandoned in recent years and the lamp simply forgotten, something old and battered that could easily be replaced.<br/><br/>Toni grinned. "New lamps for old?" She quoted from the Aladdin story.<br/><br/>"Something like that, I suppose", the antiquities officer told her. "Anyway, the lamp is probably worth about ten bucks new. In that condition? I'd throw it out and but yourself a decent one!"<br/><br/>Toni shrugged. "Meh, I'll keep it. It's got a certain sentimental value, because of where I found it, y'know?"<br/><br/>She took the lamp back to her quarters, limping on a crutch, and with her leg in a splint boot. Sitting on her bunk with the air conditioning blasting at max, she stripped down to her undies and decided to have a go at cleaning up the lamp. "So," she told herself, jokingly, "if I rub it, and it has a genie in it, I get three wishes? No, Aladdin got more than three, didn't he? Meh. Like that's ever gonna happen!"<br/><br/>She wetted a cloth at the room's wash basin and began to carefully rub away the grime...