Hiya! This is my very first fan-fic, and any tips or words of advice are welcome! No flames, please. Feel free to post them, but that doesn't mean I'll listen – er, read.
Disclaimer: I do not (obviously) own the 4077 M*A*S*H, nor do I own any of the characters that I have not created. However, I do own Jan, Katie, the Djinn, and any other character of my own making. So don't steal them!! They are mine! All mine!! Mwah hah hah hah! Ahem. Okay, got that out of my system.
And now, ladies, gentlemen, and readers of uncertain gender, the story! Drumroll please . . .
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A small, run-down trailer-home was parked in the Park (no pun intended) near the corner of Central and Maple streets. The walls were now a lovely shade of muck, the windows all had several cracks, holes, or both, and at least one of the tires was flat. Not that it mattered whether or not the tires were flat; the trailer's inhabitants weren't going anywhere anytime soon. At least, Katie wasn't. As for her stepfather, he was most likely off at some bar or another, and probably so drunk that he wouldn't even be able to stagger home tonight. No great loss there.
Katie looked around the inside of the trailer from her seat on a beat up recliner in what passed as the TV room and dining room, as well as the place in which her stepfather entertained most of his "visitors." Unfortunately, the inside looked just as bad as the outside. Katie turned her attention back to the television, intent upon tonight's episode of M*A*S*H. It was one of the few escapes she had from the real world. Why don't I just run away, the thirteen year old asked silently, running a hand exhaustedly through her short, straight black hair and blinking her hazel eyes several times to stifle the watering in her eyes caused by a recent yawn. Anything would be an improvement over this. But where would I go? What would I do? I've got no food, no money, no—
A loud bang interrupted her thoughts, causing her to jump about an inch. Ah, that would be her stepfather. Pity, he made it home after all. Katie hurriedly reached for the remote control and pressed the Power button, turning off the TV just as her stepfather entered the "room." Jan, as he was called (although he insisted that Katie call him "Sir") had dark brown hair, matching eyes, and a gigantic nose that would have made and Eagle proud. And, unfortunately for Katie, he was also six feet tall, extremely muscular, and quite adept at meting out punishment.
"K-kas-katie," he slurred, stumbling into the opposite wall of the trailer before making his way over to the beat up old couch adjacent to the recliner. "Wha' ya doin' in mah re-reclan-recliner, girl?"
"N-nothing," Katie stammered, hurriedly relinquishing her seat and heading off to the small closet that served as her bedroom. If she was lucky Jan was drunk enough to pass out in a moment, and she could safely retire for the night.
"An' jus' where d'ya think you're goin', Katie?"
She stopped cold. No such luck.
Jan adopted an idiotic grin and patted the seat beside him. "C'mere, girl, say 'ello t'your stepdaddy, now. Can'tcha tell tha' Ah'm happy t' see ya?"
Katie shook her head. "I'd really rather not. It's kind of late, and I have school tomorrow—"
"Ah ah ah, ya fergot the magic word, Kasie."
"That's Katie."
"Kasie what?"
"Katie, sir."
Her stepfather shook his head, grabbing an empty bottle of beer from its convenient location on the small table next to his position on the couch. "Fin'lly learnin' some respect. Young'uns these days . . . Ah think ya need t'be learned a lesson, Kasie. C'mere."
"I think I'll pass on that—"
"Now, Katie!"
Katie felt a shiver run down her spine as she made her way slowly over to the couch and took the seat offered. She knew what was coming. Her stepfather hadn't brought home one of his "visitors," so Katie would have to make do. Either he would beat her, or worse—
Katie woke up screaming, then hurriedly cut out the noise. As nightmarish as last night had been, she did not want to wake Jan. He was like a pit bull in the mornings, and that was without a hangover. She opened the door to her closet and peered out. Sure enough, there he was, out cold on the couch by the TV. She gave an involuntary shudder before changing into warmer clothes and making her way outside. She had lied last night; she didn't have school today: it was a Saturday. Still, Jan didn't need to know that, and he probably wouldn't find out anyway. Or if he did, he'd be too drunk to care. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her light sweat-shirt and jogged along one of the trails through the park. I don't know how much longer I can take this – bad enough that Mom died, but what did she see in this jerk, and why'd she have to leave me with him? If only she knew the answers.
Katie tripped suddenly, falling flat on her face. She slowly picked herself up, brushing off leaves and twigs from her sweatpants and sweat-shirt. Her face was scratched in a few places, but they were nothing compared to the scars left by some sessions with Jan. Angrily she looked down, determined to find out what she had tripped on, and at least curse it a few times. When she saw what it was she was a bit startled. It was a small brass pot, no more than five inches in diameter and about five inches tall. The lid was hinged and closed with a funny little clasp, which explained why it hadn't come off when Katie tripped over it. But nothing explained why she had tripped in the first place; she was positive that it hadn't been there earlier. She shook her head slowly and pocketed it to examine later in her little closet, then continued on with her run.
It was close to ten o'clock at night, and Jan still hadn't returned. If Jan wasn't home by now, he probably wouldn't be home for at least another hour or so: probably found some slut at the local bar or something. Not that Katie minded; quite the contrary, in fact. This was the desired opportunity to take a closer look at the small brass pot without fear of interruption. Katie pulled it out of her sweat-shirt's pocket and exited her closet/room to the more open expanse of the TV room.
She sat down on the recliner, the only seat in the room that didn't smell like beer, drugs, or other things she'd rather not name, and leaned forward. As she held the small pot up to the dim light from the cracked bulb screwed sloppily into the socket on the ceiling, she could make out faint markings around the top. She squinted for a moment or two, but she still couldn't read them. Katie gave up and turned her attention to the task of opening the small vessel. Not that the inside would be much different from the outside, but this was the first interesting thing that had happened in a week (aside from a rather interesting book she'd managed to 'borrow' from the library), and she planned to make the most of it.
After a few moments of fumbling with the funny little clasp, the lid finally came loose. Katie lifted it—letting out a large stream of purple smoke. No, it was turquoise now . . . no, a vivid orange . . . Katie couldn't understand why she wasn't screaming. With all the things I've seen in my short lifetime, I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that I'm not scared of a measly little smoke-bomb. But the smoke wasn't dissipating at all like it should. It wasn't even spreading out a bit. In fact, it was forming a definite shape.
"Kyler Swampmeter, Wish Givers Incorporated. How may I be of service?"
Katie did scream this time. The smoke had formed into the shape of a small – elf, was the only word she could think of. It would be two feet tall if it wasn't sitting down on a pillow of purple smoke. Its hair was covered by a small, brilliantly colored turban, its eyes were a shade of purple to match the smoke-pillow, and its skin was slowly changing colors from a soft mauve to a lovely shade of maroon.
"Oh, come now, that's no way to greet a wish-giver! Oh, alright, the colors are a bit much—" the elf's skin stopped changing colors at an incredibly pale lavender "—But otherwise, I really do think that I'm quite presentable."
Katie couldn't do anything but stare, her eyes so round that had they gotten any rounder they might have popped out of her head. The elf was talking . . . she couldn't believe that this was happening . . .
"Yes, I do in fact talk," the elf snapped. "What do you think my mouth is for? We Djinni don't eat, you know. We don't need to. And, as I've just mentioned, I'm not an elf. I'm a Djinn. What you might call a 'Genie,' although I'd prefer it if you'd use the proper title. Now, as I've also just mentioned, I am a wish-giver, and you have released me from that G-d-forsaken-little . . . thing. How may I be of service?"
Katie merely continued to stare, trying desperately to come up with some rational explanation, but she could find none.
The elf – no, Djinn – sighed and propped its head up on one of its hands. "I know that little pot isn't much compared to some of the fancy oriental jugs and golden lamps that you've most likely heard about, and it's common knowledge that I'm not one of the best Djinni around, but couldn't you at least try to make a wish? Anything you want, it's yours. And without any of the stupid little tricks that a lot of those other Djinni throw in; I'll make it risk free."
Katie finally managed to get her brain working again. Maybe this is all a dream; maybe I'm just dreaming this. But then – I hope not. "I don't suppose you could get me out of here, could you?"
The Djinn sat up eagerly and rubbed his little hands together. "Ah hah! Now we're getting somewhere! Where would you like to go, and when would you like to return?"
"Return?"
"You'll have to come back to 'reality', or whatever it is you'd like to call it, soon. Like I said, I'm only a minor Djinni; I can't send you someplace forever. Well, unless wherever you want to go only requires a one-way plane ticket and some luggage."
Katie nodded. "I guess that makes sense." As much as anything can make sense right now . . .
Suddenly she heard a loud thud, and then hard knocking on the door to the trailer. "O-open up, K-kas-kassie!" It was Jan.
Katie shrieked, leaping to her feet and hurriedly checking the second-rate watch on her left wrist. It was 11:00 already!
The Djinn shook his head sadly. "Real sorry about your life, kiddo. But I can give you a vacation, honest. Just say the word, and you're there."
Jan had apparently managed to break the hinges on the door. He burst into the the trailer, grinning like the lunatic Katie knew he was. "Aaww, li'l Kasie's not happy t' see 'er ol' stepdaddy?" Apparently he couldn't see the small Djinn shooting him disapproving glances from across the room.
"Just say the word, kiddo—"
Katie bit her lip and backed away from her stepfather. Then she nodded. "M*A*S*H 4077! I can't give you the details, but you should be able to find it—"
The Djinn nodded and grinned. "Piece o' cake, kiddo; I know the place and time you're talking about. I can give you about a month there if I use most of my energy. That's no problem; I'm not planning on making too many more house calls for a while. Remember, though, if you die over there you'll be instantly transported right back here. Now, let me throw in a few perks as you take your leave of this . . . no, the language is too strong to use in front of a thirteen year old." As the world around her dimmed, Katie could hear her stepfather's drunken yells and screams. She could barely make out the Djinn aiming a finger at his rear-end, which promptly burst into flames. "Sorry, kiddo; we Djinni can't kill anybody. But we can make life a living—" She never heard the rest; at that moment everything went black.