Running your hand along your hair, you pace along the cobble path, cursing at the dull lamp in hand. With each pass, you skirt the tiger genie's imposing form, your eye-line barely passing the lowest point of his furry, muscular collar bone. Toothy grin gone, he stands at attention, silken-dressed legs splayed and bulky arms crossed across his bare chest.
"Genie, please-"
"Master, please; call me Namurr," the Genie bows his wrapped head in a gesture of humility.
"...Namurr. Ok? Please, you have to meet me half-way with this."
The Tiger Genie twitches its pink nose, yellow eyes following you with an odd blend of animal curiosity and genuine interest.
"Master, by my stripes, I can only grant you what is within my powers; but, if you fear some minor transformation to flee, why fear for your life? Surely the caretakers of this strange garden will allow you free exit?"
"Last thing I want to do is get arrested for trespassing. This zoo isn't exactly known for its kind punishments, what with all that weird animal stuff. I don't feel like staying around forever as part of an exhibit. So, please, pleeease," you clutch your hands against your chest, half-prepared to kneel, "get me out of here. Help me escape!"
Namurr tilts his head, black lips twinging downward. For a second, you swear you see a pity smile.
"If that is your wish, my Master," he dips at his waist.
You pause. Nothing happens.
You huff, your lungs tingling with a rush of frustration at your new-found "help". Turning heel, you march off to the towering metal gate, one of the numerous entrances to the zoo grounds.
You stop.
"What in the-" you mutter.
Peeking over your shoulder, Namurr, his human-like feet save for the black pads and sharp tiger claws, sneaks behind you with his palm outstretched; his quiet footing pales to the clank of jewelry strewn on his arms, legs, and tail. The Genie extends his clawed finger and points at you, a glint of orange energy shining sparking into a funnel of orange smoke. The fumes glide and caress your skin, your clothing billowing in the artificial breeze. He continues his display as you feel your stomach sink further before he returns his hand to his chest, eyeing his work.
"Do not be afraid, my Master," Namurr drops his hands and sets them along his muscular, silk-laden hips.
"Your freedom from this odd place is now all but assured."
Like wood, the smoke catches to your body like an invisible fire.
"W-w-what is happ-"
The smoke, placated by its target, tightens into a swirl, the wisps and churns of the tendrils wrapping around your body like encased in glass. Your senses warm with a rush of energy as your form looses features: your nose, ears, and chin etch away into a spherical ball of smoke; your hands collapse into cloud nubs; and the rest of you, obscured by clothing, tightens as well. Your shirt, your pants, your socks: all whip and lash like a coming storm. And, by the tiger's magic, you sicken as your amorphous body pulls inward. Your collar flops over a nearly undefined shoulder, your wrists frump with the retreat of your arms, and your dark, belted pants bend and twirl in impossible geometries before settling to the floor with the rest of your getup.
Your smokey form fizzles like oil in a pan, an impact trail of orange magic emanating out of your shirt neck. When everything settles, you cough.
"Caw, caw, caw!"
Wrenching upward, your body alights with new sensations. Your feathers scrap against the now abrasive cloth you, only moments ago, wore with comfort. Fumbling with your now sharpened toes, you pop your crow head out of the clothing pile as you continue to struggle with the socks snagging on your talons. Your wings, thankfully, slip free of the confines of the shoulders with ease. Beak agape, you marvel at the sudden skyscrapers of benches, lamp posts, and, most importantly, tiger genies. Keeping his pace no more than two feet from you, Namurr's muscularity passes from imposing to monstrous, even his stripes threatening to overcome your new form. Glaring down at you, you see his golden eyes glint only to be outdone by his pearly white smile.
"Ah, a boon for you, Master," he growls like an earthquake, flexing his two fingers at your cavern of clothing.
You caw in confusion, another orange glow emanating from your side. The brass lamp, once graspable, dwarfs your avian form like a car. However, as quickly as you cock your head to examine the genie's spell, it ends with the lamp dissolving into orange dust. You screech, your second cry freezing in your threat as the dust shimmers around your neck, forming a miniature lamp lassoed with a green rope not unlike the genie's own turban.
"Treat this as a sign of good faith, my Master," a squeak of a voice drills into your concealed ear.
You glance back to the titan of a tiger, the former giant Namurr now eyelevel with you on the cobble stone. Bowing, the genie rises to face you, tail swishing.
"Now fly, my Master; I will not fall behind as long as you carry my lamp."