There was a sudden and distinct stillness about Jeannie that had not been present moments before. The bounciness and bubbly nature seemed to freeze for a moment, then return in such a subtle fashion that it would be nearly unnoticeable. All of this was done in the blink of time it took Jeannie to dismiss the question; Betty was not being threatening, she was being curious.
She took a few more minutes to consider how to answer the query. Jeannie was not her true name. No djinn ever revealed their true name. A name was power, it was control, and it would be very stupid to let anyone know that. Honestly, Jeannie had been the owner of a number of names throughout the years, though her current was by far her favorite. The answer was that she did have a surname, of sorts, she supposed, though not in the same way that mortals did. But she wasn’t going to mention that. Not at all.
“I am only known as Jeannie,” she answered carefully. “Sometimes, I use my master’s last name. Mrs. Anthony Nelson sounds so nice, does it not? Though he is not my master any longer. I did like that name though.”
The genie leaned forward to get the piece of sticky paper back. She wanted to play with it a bit more. But as she pulled it free, some of the dried oil paint stuck to the adhesive. Jeannie had not intended to deface the painting, no matter how bad it was. “Oh dear.”
She gave a quick blink and a nod, expecting the paint to return to where it belonged on the canvas. Instead, the rest of the oil paint began to… well Jeannie decided the best word for it was migrate. It was not melting, or running, exactly. But it was distinctly sliding toward the bottom of the painting, and from there, it dropped to the floor. The colorful squiggles lay on the marble flooring for a second, as though catching their breath, then they began to move again. This time toward Jeannie and Betty.