Let's just call it a running draw for who the pervert is right now.

"You're his what now?"

"I'm his Pimp!" Jaasi proclaims proudly to the two bewildered village folk in front of her.

The first is a buxom woman of middling years dressed in muted tavern wench garb with still vibrant chocolate brown hair pulled back into a thick braid hanging down past her shoulders and large matronly pair of melons rounding out her plunging, over-taxed neckline

She had introduced herself as Lynn; the villages Ale Wife; a role which seems to fall somewhere between tavern keeper and mayor of this Podunk hamlet.

The other is a short, balding, portly man with a shock of a grey beard named Josiah and he runs the general store and doubled as the local lawman by virtue of a ill fitting, rough leather jerkin with the crowns seal branded crudely on the right breast. A simple cudgel dangling forgotten off of his belt.

Both simple folk stare mouths agape at the two of you and you cannot blame them.

"I found this sad, forsaken soul dying of exposure in far off eastern lands and in return for my saving his life he bound himself to me indenture!"

Sad? Forsaken? Was this a 'Jaasi' thing or a 'Genie' Thing? ...or is she still paying you back for the 'purple' comment from earlier?

Either way Jaasi is getting into the act, strutting back and forth in front of the gaping bumpkins gesticulating like a circus ringmaster.

Her 'disguise' is very... extra. Where she has kept her voluminous, midnight black hair and sweet svelt acrobats figure, her skin is now a dusty, exotic caramel and her eyes twin sparkling amethysts.

Her clothes though, dear lord her clothes! She wore cherry picker pink pantaloons so tight they were painted onto her spectacular thighs and ass, tucked in black knee high, calf hugging riding boots . A ruffled white silk blouse snuggles tight to her torso, billowing out over her heavenly handfuls unbuttoned enough to show the upper swell of her sun-kissed cleavage in mouth watering fashion.

Over all of it she wears an open royal purple frock coat that falls to her knees covered with enough shiny brass buttons and gold frogging to accommodate a small fleets worth of uniformed naval captains. Like the cherry on the worlds fanciest sunday she sports a hat. Not just any old hat, oh no! Jaasi wears a bright, glaring white tricorn hat with not one, not two but three plum peacock feathers in it, flouncing away merrily as she does.

All in all she looks like the worlds most flamboyant pirate who had been let loose in a military outfitters and she had disguised herself with a simple wave of her hand.

It had involved a quick shimmer of magic that resembled the heat haze off hot tarmac and had left you blinking in disbelief. It's one thing to know she is magical but another thing to witness it firsthand after all. The truth of it had really sunk home after that, you have a magical genie and she wants to act like your pimp.

Lucky you.

"So 'ow do we know 'es really a prince then?" Josiah asks with narrowed eyes while tugging nervously on his beard.

"He certainly looks like a Prince, don't you Luvee?" Lynn the Ale Wife replies running an appreciative eye up and down you strapping form, nibbling on her plump bottom lip the entire time.

That was another thing; just as Jaasi had magiced herself up her ridiculous outfit she had also cleaned up your own. Your blue and white noble finery is pristine and showing no travel stains or wear. This is what she called her little 'extras'...

"By way of his Noble Writ of course! Pass it here Handsome." Jaasi snaps the fingers of an outstretched hand at you in command. Oh yeah, she is enjoying this far too much.

Pulling the aforementioned document from your hip satchel and passing it to her you mull over the problem of Jaasi and her helpful 'extras'.

Yes, Jaasi was a powerful magical creature that capable of granting mortals wishes and yes, since she had already granted your full quota of wishes - a point of hot contention for you but clearly not for her - she cannot grant you any more but she can help out in other ways.

Jaadi has her sleeves rolled up and is now unfurling the rolled up document while sucking in a deep breath...

This is where her little 'extras' come in; a touch of magic here, a little mystic mojo there but nothing too direct and certainly nothing directly requested by you that might be construed as a wish. She had been impossible to nail down on anything to do with the conditions or restrictions of her 'extras', simply telling you that you had wished for her help and that was what she was going to do. Just in her own way...

"May I introduce to you his royal highness Lord Dandybuff of Poundtown!"

Oh fuck no, seriously?!

You stare at Jaasi in wide-eyed horror which she returns with a big conspiratorial wink and two eager thumbs up. Pouring over the elaborate scroll Lynn and Josiah are nothing but impressed.

"Yup, that's what it says right there in that fancy gold lettering."

"'Oly smokes but it must be real, just 'ave a look at that seal!"

This couldn't be happening, could it? You have to get out of here.

"So yeah, I'm... uuumm-"

"Prince Dandybuff of Poundtown." Jaadi supplies helpfully.

"Yeah... that... so if you could just point me and my..."

"Pimp!" Jaasi declares with a gleeful spin, all flaring purple coat-tails and flashing legs.

"...towards the nearest royal residence, we'll be on our way."

Lynn and Josiah share a brief but meaningful look with each other before turning back at two of you with big, toothy smiles that are bordering on the manic.

"Oh no mi'lord, you can't leave now! Please, you 'ave to sample our 'ospitality..."

"That's right Luvee, it's too late in the day to travel the road anyhows. You won't want to be out travelling come nightfall..."

You frown in suspicion but Jaasi just bathes in their fawning attention as they beg you to stay the night and continue your journey in the morning.

"So what are we drinking?" You ask sniffing at the battered pewter tankard set before you. It smells... sour.

"Fermented ewes milk Luv- mi'lord," Lynn says with a smile of pride "It's our local speciality."

There's no way you're going to drink that.

Even as you have the thought Jaasi is draining her tankard in long hard gulps, her head tipped back until she is loudly slurping down the last dregs. Setting down the tankard with a satisfied sigh she beams up at you happily.

She has a milk moustache.

"Good?" You ask out of morbid fascination.

"Awful, but it will get the job done." She says with a giggle. "I haven't gotten buzzed in centuries."

"Well keep a handle on it," you warn her, not wishing to find out what kind of 'help' a crunk genie might decide to offer, "Something feels off about all this..."

It's true, all afternoon the tap room of the coach-house-slash-saloon had been slowly filling up with sun-baked locals in simple, dull woolen garb that looked worn but well cared for. An unsteady stack of shepherds crooks crowded one corner affirming your earlier presumption on the villages main trade as well as the smell of cooking mutton wafting in from the kitchen tucked around the back of the bar.

The odd part was how quiet they all were, everyone stealing glances at Jaasi and yourself before turning back to stare into their mugs or out the dusty window panes. There had to be twenty men in the place now, what you would guess to be the entire hamlets population, sitting silently at rounded saloon tables and filling the room with the smell of goat shit and lanolin. Who was watching the flocks and where were the women folk?

"Gah! Itsh no- not sho bad once yo... hic! ...ou drinkth enough o' it..."

Excuse you? With a feeling of dread you turn your scanning eyes back to your genie to find her swaying on her barstool, her rakish hat askew and three empty tankards rolling on the bar in front of her as she sets down a fourth.

What did you just finish telling her?!

Leaning heavily against you and nearly slipping out of her seat she gives you what she probably thinks is a flirty look but just ends up washing your face with hot breath that reeks of week old curdled milk.

"Howsth about we fi-find that..." pause for an almighty, wet belch that rattles the glassware on the shelving "...that bed and shee if we ca-can't break it in two."

With that her expression goes slack followed by the rest of her body as you catch her before she can hit the floor. Your immediate alarm is somewhat abated when you confirm that she is breathing and, furthermore, snoring as well. With a sigh you scoop her up into a princess carry and turn to search the tap room for Lynn the Ale Wife. You can sort this mess out in the privacy of your own room...

They are all standing and staring at you.

That is to say; every wiry, sun-soaked, scruffy shepherd and goat herder in the room had silently stood and turned to face you with unreadable gazes as you clutch the drowsing genie in your arms.

It is creepy as shit so you are only partially surprised when the sack stinking of dirt and potatoes is yanked down over your head from behind.

"Careful with 'is royal noggin now, don't 'it 'im too 'ard."

Oh sh-

THUNK!