Celebrabis hereditati tuae. Nolite timere differentiae.
Celebrate your heritage. Fear not your differences.
Djaime Q. Lampe
Son of the Genie I am Born; I am Alive:●Paimpont forest, France.
●September 12th, 1942.
●Seventy-One.
●Average.
A Web of Self:↔Nerd↔
■ Observant ■ ↔ ■ Pessimistic ■
■ Reliable ■ ↔ ■ Skeptical ■
■ Helpful ■ ↔ ■ Tentative ■
The Joyous and Loathsome:○ Flying ○ ↔ ○ Wishes ○
○ Honey ○ ↔ ○ Tight, closed-off spaces ○
Those Who Share My Blood:♠Elisa; Older sister ♠
Those Who Have My Heart:♀
♠I tried asking Sophia out once. She looked at me like I was something awful mucking up her new combats.
♠Minerva's a really sweet girl. I'm somewhat afraid of taking her to another dance though. The last one ended up with a broken leg and a nosebleed.
The Murmur of My Past:→I was born at the tail end of a war, when things were going bad in my country. My mother says that I often had nightmares as a baby. Most likely because of the wishes wisping through my head. Genies can hear them, you know. If they're powerful ones. And none are anywhere
near as powerful as those in war-time or other times of crisis.
→Father's disappointment in my abilities. I'm not as capable of controlling my magic and tricking my masters as well as he--he rarely gets caught doing the whole wishing thing anymore. I have very little potential, he says. He's probably right.
→The first time I hurt someone. We'd just moved, and one of the movers thought that the crack in my lamp was his fault and tried to clean it. His three wishes involved the usual wealth and power, but he was intelligent. He knew that I couldn't kill anyone, so instead he simply asked that the man who's girlfriend he wanted would have an unfortunate accident. That's not murder, so . . .
Something More:°I'm not granting you any wishes, so don't bother asking.
°All anyone ever wishes for are selfish, greedy things.
°And every master is an unbearable bastard.
