Author's notes: Oh look Lowri has started another multi-chapter. I don't know, I felt the need to write something funny and adorable, so when a friend of mine (goes by Ellethwen Celtica over here - read her awesome fanfic) shared an image on Facebook containing a load of weird but funny AU prompts, one of them grabbed me and wouldn't let go. So, I decided to write a silly fanfic about it.

I'm not sure how long this story is going to be, because I tend more towards one-shots than longer fics, and I don't have much experience with writing AUs (barring my Sherlock/Hunger Games crossover which I REALLY need to update soon - sorry, if you're following that one, I am a bad person with the attention-span of a butterfly), so I'd guess that this one might end up around 20,000 words in the end? I don't know. Let's see. :D

This fanfic will contain references to that filler episode, but it's set in a completely different universe.

Also, it's probably worth mentioning that because this is me we're talking about, this fanfic is likely to get very shippy eventually.

It had been a very long time since her brother had last taken her to the market when it set up shop in Karakura's largest recreational area.

Orihime danced through the bustling crowd as gracefully as any dancer, careful not to step on some stranger's toes, and turned, smiling, to check that her friend was following. "Are you still there, Tatsuki?"

The dark-haired, blue-eyed girl behind her responded with an eye-roll as she reached out her hand and seized the back of Orihime's baby blue jumper, so as to prevent the friends from becoming separated in the crush. "Slow down, girl," she chided, gently tugging until the excitable Orihime had adopted a speed she could comfortably keep up with, without running the risk of elbowing somebody's kid in the face. "Where do you think you're going? We're already here, don't you want to take a look around at the stuff?"

Orihime stopped in her tracks, apparently shocked that Tatsuki had forgotten her purpose. "Oh, you know that I don't want to spend too long here," she said, laughing quietly. "Sora never liked being crowded so much. I'm really just here to pick up something pretty for his shrine, as I do every year. You can find all sorts of cool stuff if you know where to look!"

"Shouldn't have asked," Tatsuki muttered, as Orihime drifted off into the throng again. "Wait up, Orihime!"

Once again, her friend stopped running, but just as Tatsuki was about to question her more, her attention was grabbed by something to the side of the pathway, and she immediately rushed over. "Ooh, Tatsuki, come and look at these things!"

Tatsuki reluctantly followed her easily-distracted friend to an old wooden table laden with an assortment of various knick-knacks. Giving a cursory nod and a smile to the wizened old woman sitting behind the table, Tatsuki watched as Orihime picked up and examined an heavy-looking silvery locket on a thin chain, its face encrusted with multi-coloured pieces of glass which were obviously supposed to resemble semi-precious gems arranged in the shape of a flower.

"Ah," said the woman, her weakened, elderly voice barely carrying above the noise of the crowd. "That there used to belong to my daughter. Pretty girl, just like you." She smiled, and Orihime beamed back. "It's only cheap, a child's plaything, but she used to love pretending she was a princess."

Tatsuki frowned. "That's a sweet story. Why are you selling it?"

The woman gave a small chuckle. "Mikoto is grown up now, and she has sons of her own. She has no use for it anymore."

"I guess that makes sense," said Orihime. She set the locket back down on the table, and instead picked up a set of silverware.

"That's marginally more valuable," the woman said, nodding to the box in Orihime's hands. "My husband and I used to entertain. Since he passed away, my daughter has taken over those duties, and she has far nicer tablewear. I have no need for so many eating implements; a pair of chopsticks does me fine."

Orihime opened the box and picked up a single shiny fork, running a slim finger along its tapered handle and feeling the tiny grooves of the bumps set into the metal. She smiled, before returning the fork to its box and setting that, too, back down among the jumble. After a few seconds of examining the contents of the table, her eyes fell on an old, white teapot with a blue pattern on the enamel, its handle chipped and the glaze cracked all over, giving it the impression of having been spun like a spider's web.

Tatsuki wasn't impressed; the teapot looked so ancient it might crumble into fragments the moment Orihime so much as brushed it with a fingertip, but it remained remarkably intact and un-shattered as she raised it to the afternoon sunlight, the better to admire the way the light played off the fractured, reflective surface. Orihime took the lid off and peered inside, and Tatsuki could see that the white enamel inside had been stained over time with the characteristic brown residue of many servings of tea. This teapot must have seen a lot of use.

"That one doesn't really have a story," the old woman shrugged.

Orihime's eyebrows drew themselves into the middle of her forehead in a puzzled expression. "Oh, I'm sure that's not the case! Something this old and beautiful must have seen a lot of life."

"Possibly," the woman conceded. "It's difficult to say. Mikoto found it at the back of my cupboard after my husband passed away, I couldn't even say how long I've had it for. I've certainly never used it."

This didn't sound right to Tatsuki, after having seen the state of the inside, but she said nothing.

"All I can tell you," the woman continued, "is that it's worthless. Mikoto insisted on a valuation, but it turned out to just be a cheap thing."

"Oh, but it's so pretty!" Orihime exclaimed, raking her eyes over the intricate swirls of the cobalt-blue patterned enamel.

The woman leaned forwards, smiling gently. "It's yours for two-hundred yen, my dear."

Orihime's face lit up even more quickly than it usually did after their class had been dismissed for lunch, and Tatsuki nearly laughed as Orihime thrust the fragile-looking teapot into her hands and began rummaging for her purse. She took out two 100-yen coins and enthusiastically handed them to the old lady, who accepted them and dropped them into a small bag she had tied by her waist.

"Thank you," the woman said. "Would you like me to wrap it up for you?"

"Oh, no, I'll be fine with it like this," Orihime said, grinning, and she bowed politely. "Thank you very much. I'll take good care of it."

"It was my pleasure, dears," said the woman. "You have a good evening."

"And the same to you," Tatsuki said, as Orihime waved goodbye and they made their way back into the crowd, searching for the way out now that Orihime's mission was complete.

After having said goodbye to Tatsuki, Orihime had returned to her flat and taken the chipped teapot out of her bag, rotating it in her hands as she took in the design. The blue swirls reminded her of clouds, she thought; an overcast day of white clouds, with the occasional patch of cerulean sky breaking through. What could be more appropriate as a gift for a man who was named after the sky? True, the ancient teapot had seen better days, but Sora had always appreciated thoughtful gifts.

Orihime set the teapot down on her brother's shrine, a small shelf supporting a photograph of his smiling face and an assortment of trinkets she had gifted to him over the years, lightly brushing a finger over a swirl of particularly dark blue. She was concentrating so hard on tracing the pattern, she failed to notice that the empty teapot seemed to be heating up of its own accord until a small voice spoke up.

"You called?"

Orihime leapt to attention and stared around the room. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my flat?"

A pause.

"Down here," the voice stipulated, and Orihime looked back at the teapot to find that the lid was off, lying on the shelf beside it, and there was an undersized boy who looked to be around her own age sitting cross-legged inside it.

A boy. In her teapot. Orihime blinked.

"Oh, you're so cute! Are you a leprechaun?" she enquired, curiosity getting the better of her.

Now it was the boy's turn to blink as he stared up at Orihime, apparently taken aback, as there were two tiny spots of pink high up on his cheeks, although they were partially concealed by a curtain of black hair. "Typical. They spend years at school teaching us how to deal with every possible reaction to our appearance. I'm trained for disbelief, panic, even violence, but you have somehow managed to find the only human reaction we're not prepped for. Congratulations," he grumbled.

"Um, thank you?" Orihime replied.

The tiny boy shook his head, before standing up inside the teapot and staring up at her with eyes the colour of the deep blue pattern on the teapot, although she could barely see them behind his miniature pair of glasses. "If you could help me get out of here, it would be much appreciated."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" exclaimed Orihime, slowly reaching her hand inside the teapot, waiting for the boy to climb into her palm, and then gently lowering him onto the shelf, where he stood in front of his teapot.

"Thank you," he said, his tone betraying a touch of apprehension.

It was as though he was born of the teapot itself, Orihime thought; his coat was an immaculate, pristine white with blue trim which echoed the teapot's chipped enamel, and his dark hair and creamy-white complexion reminded her of the tea and milk one would serve in such a teapot.

"To answer your question," he continued, staring at the shelf by his feet, "no, I'm not a leprechaun. My name is Uryu, and I'm a genie. And now you've rubbed my teapot, you're my master."

Orihime felt her eyes widening as her mouth fell open. "Oh, that's so cool!" she cried, clapping her hands together in excitement. "So, what, do I get three wishes now or something?"

Uryu the genie quirked a tiny eyebrow. "Again, not the reaction I was expecting," he muttered, before lifting his head and directly looking at Orihime. "No, I have to grant you as many wishes as you want, for the rest of your life."

"Wow, that's a good deal," she murmured. "What about you, though? What if you don't want to follow me around forever?"

"I have no choice," Uryu responded matter-of-factly, as he pushed his minuscule glasses up his nose with a finger. "It doesn't matter; a genie's life-span is so long that the amount of time spent serving each human barely registers in comparison. There is one way you can banish me, but I'm not allowed to tell you what that is, and it's not going to be an issue, so it makes no difference either way. I'm sorry to have to be the bearer of bad news, but you're stuck with me."

Orihime smiled. "Oh, I don't mind. You seem nice."

Uryu raised his eyebrow again. "Do I?"

"Yes," she affirmed. "Let's be friends!"

"Has anybody ever told you that you're a bit unusual?" he asked, reaching out his small hand to shake the finger Orihime was holding out towards him. "In the kindest way possible, of course."

She grinned. "Oh, all the time!"

Uryu reluctantly smiled. "Yes, I'd like to be your friend, er..?"

"Orihime," she said.

"Orihime," the diminutive genie repeated.

Orihime beamed. "Well, if you're my genie, may I make a wish to see if it works?"

"Be my guest," Uryu shrugged, sitting down so his short, spindly legs hung over the edge of the shelf. "Tell me what it is that you want, and I'll do my best to grant it."

She thought for a minute, unable to decide whether to ask for a new pair of socks or the components to build a robot, when her stomach rumbled.

"Hungry?" asked Uryu.

"Mmm," she acknowledged, self-consciously. "I wish... I wish I had cake."

He nodded, understanding. "Certainly, Orihime," he said.

Uryu snapped his fingers, and an object appeared in Orihime's hand. It was round, felt smooth to the touch, and - she sniffed - smelled flowery.

"Um... it's, er, a cake," Uryu stammered. "Of, erm, soap?"

Orihime frowned. "Are you saying I smell?" she asked, sadly.

He looked stricken. "N... no," he insisted. "Erm, not at all. You... you smell lovely." He cringed visibly. "Urk, that came out wrong. I'm sorry, Orihime, I'm new to this, and I haven't quite got the hang of my magic, yet. You're going to have to bear with me."

"I'm your first master, right?" she asked.

Uryu nodded, again staring at his feet. "My parents have only just decided that I'm ready to serve a human," he admitted, quietly. "I don't want to prove them wrong."

This surprised Orihime. "You have parents?"

"Sure, be surprised about that," Uryu murmured. "Don't be surprised by the fact that the tiny man in your teapot claims to be a genie, be surprised that the tiny man in your teapot has parents. Yes, I have parents."

Orihime looked expectantly at the genie, but he said no more on the subject.

"Okay," she said. "May I make another wish?"

Uryu pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sure, but for your own sake, please make it something simple."

Orihime sighed wistfully. "I wish Ichigo Kurosaki loved me."

She watched in alarm as Uryu nearly toppled from his perch on the shelf, grabbing the edge at the last moment. She held her hands underneath the ledge just in case, as he jumped to his feet and stepped backwards a couple of inches.

"Even if you wanted to risk my screwing that one up, I'm afraid I wouldn't be allowed," he said, glumly. "No love magic. That's a rule. I wouldn't have the foggiest idea how to cause a person to fall in love in the first place."

"That's okay," said Orihime, smiling at the genie and playing with the fabric of her sleeve. "I knew it was a big ask. I didn't really expect you to grant it. Wouldn't it be easier if you just told me all of the rules now?"

Uryu sighed. "That's another rule. I'm not allowed to tell you until you're just about to break them. Something about letting humans learn from their mistakes without actually having to worry about the consequences; I don't know, it's most illogical, but those are the rules. There's one exception, that I'm not allowed to tell you about at all, but there are actually good reasons for that one and, again, it won't be an issue, so let's not worry about it."

Orihime nodded. "I understand," she said.

"Well," said Uryu, folding his arms and tapping his foot. "Would you like your cake, now? I may have failed to conjure it, but there's always the good old manual way of granting wishes."

She responded to this by shaking her head emphatically. "Oh, no, no, I couldn't ask you to actually bake me a cake!"

This seemed to amuse Uryu, for the corner of his mouth tilted up into the hint of a smile. "It is literally my job to serve you, Orihime. Please, let me make you a cake. It'll stop me from feeling guilty about not being able to grant you your other wish."

Orihime felt her cheeks growing warm, and she nodded in agreement. "Will you be okay with everything? You're just so small..."

"Not a problem," Uryu assured her, as she held out her hand to carry him to the kitchen. "Levitation magic is the simplest of the lot; I mastered it a good fifty years ago."

"Fifty years?" she asked in disbelief as they passed through the door. "Just how old are you?"

Uryu seemed to shrink into himself in her palm as though he were a tortoise retreating inside its shell. "I think it's best if I don't tell you that," he said, nervously. "It's not a rule so much as a guideline, but I think it's best to play it safe. I mean, you could wish to know, and I'd have to tell you, but I'd really rather you didn't."

Orihime beamed down at him. She didn't really need to know, anyway. "Okay," she said. She held her hand just above the worktop and he jumped off, landing gracefully (was he an athlete?) on the clean surface.

The genie pointed fingers around her kitchen, opening her cupboards and summoning ingredients with no effort at all, gathering a collection of the necessary utensils by the microwave by making a convoluted series of gestures with his hands. "Do you want to go and sit down?" he asked, and she ducked as a bag of flour zoomed past her head. "Whoops, sorry about that. If you want to go and do something else, I can call you when the cake's ready."

"Are... are you sure?" asked Orihime.

"Positive," stated Uryu.

She smiled. "Thank you. I'm- I'm grateful."

The bag of flour Uryu was lifting into the air with his magic ground to an halt, hovering in mid-air as the tiny boy looked at her in surprise, his cobalt eyes wide behind his glasses.

"You're welcome," he intoned, as though dazed, and the bag of flour tilted in the air and dumped its contents over his head.

More author's notes: I don't even know.