Black Pearls - Ochia

As the approaching coastline grew from speck on the horizon to a line to a wholly real place, wooden masts and stretches of sailcloth seemed to grow out of it like trees. It would have looked like a jumble of wooden masts, decks and sides, but as it got closer and closer, more and more ships became distinct in the forest of rigging and wood. The closest ones were right-side up, their boards in pristine condition and windows free of grime. Behind them, however, ships had been disassembled, torn apart, and nailed back together, forming buildings, taverns and more, all floating on the water. Behind those, where the masts tipped over and collapsed against the shore, wooden boards knotted together yet more buildings, built onto the dirt of the island. Half-built structures continued to sprawl into the island until tropical trees grew up to replace them.

The ship that creaked up to the ramshackle port did not have nearly the same amount of care put into it as its docked compatriots. Ill-fitted boards stuck out, and the sails were torn and sewn back together in places. The brilliantly-colored glass of the cabin windows was mismatched and discolored. The anchor was a hunk of rusted metal. At any moment, the ship's sides could give way, letting water pour in from the ocean. Painted on the side in peeling silver letter was the name "Sea Lilith". Sea-weary sailors should have been bustling about on the deck, preparing the ship to dock. Instead, Shella, one of only two people of the Sea Lilith, was at the railing, gazing out towards the island.

Her large bare feet tapped against the floor with anticipation. She was almost there! Booze and company at last! For the last hundred years of her life, she had been without either, only getting a trickle of passengers that she ferried around the colossal unmapped ocean in a strange world. A world without death, illness, hunger, thirst, pregnancy, or any other trapping of a mortal life. It was a hollow world, but Shella was sailing up upon one of the few occupied places.

Shella was bronze-skinned, tall for a woman, and almost lithe in stature. Seaweed-like locks of hair were pushed back from her face by a faded red bandanna, her fish-fin-like ears sticking out beyond that. Her fair face was lit up by lantern-like green eyes, and her graceful neck was lined with gills on the side. Her bountiful dark bosom was kept in check by a torn buttoned-down shirt that only had one button left; it was more like a bra than proper clothing. A thin waist swelled into curved hips with ample buttocks, kept in check with a tight pair of pants torn off at the knee. On the side of her chest, under her arms, more gills were sealed shut, and her feet were large and flipper-like. Around her waist was tied a torn pirate flag, twisted to cover one leg partially.

The ship nudged closer to an unused pier at the far right end of the row of ships, formed from mangled wood and logs and projected far over the ocean. The wooden pylons descended downwards for perhaps more than a hundred feet at the end of the docks. As it got closer, coiled ropes loitering about on the ship tied themselves into lassos and were thrown by invisible forces to land on outcroppings, then grew taut as the Sea Lilith was pulled in close to the dock. With a tortuous groan, a dead grey gangplank slid partly off the deck and slapped against the wooden pier.

The floorboards next to Shella rippled, and another woman hoisted herself out of the wooden surface. Shorter and not quite as curved as Shella, the woman wore a simple, if torn, dress that stuck and clung to her as if it was soaked through. Her skin and stringy, clinging hair were deathly pale, her lips tinged purple, and her eyes clouded over. She wore boots that went up to her knees that were silent as they were dragged out of the water-like surface and stepped onto the ship's surface.

Shella turned around, unfazed by the waterlogged appearance and unnatural entrance of the woman. "Dunno how long I'll be gone. Could be a few hours, could be days. I'll make sure to come back here when I can," Shella said to the woman, words rushing out of her mouth.

The woman gave a meaningful glance to Shella and another towards the clustered port-town.

"Don' worry, Lily. I bet I can find ye someone. I'll direct them here," Shella said, patting her on the shoulder before turning and padding off across the deck and the gangplank.

It was weird walking on the relatively solid floor. If she tried, Shella bet she could put a foot through the floor, but the surface wasn't even rocking gently. Walking up the pier, then taking a left, then further just a bit more brought her out into a massive square formed by the discarded deck of some gigantic warship. Strapping young sailors loitered around the area, some with pretty young women in their arms and guiding them out of the square. It didn't take her long to find what she was looking for.

At the back of the square, a fence made of ship railing closed off a portion of the square, and beyond it, a set of open double-doors with lanterns hanging besides them gave entrance into a massive building. Above the door, a sign was painted with a stout mug.

Shella waltzed through the square and slipped through the gate of the fence. She could hear low rumbles of talk everywhere, including the building, but most of it ignored her. She ventured inside the building and smiled. The cavernous room, complete with several chandeliers that clashed against each other in terms of numbers of candles and levels, was filled with people seated at tables. Men and women of all sizes, ages, and even species loitered at tables, or under them with some of the mug-clogged ones. Shella could see women with fins for ears and sea-shell brassiers flirt with unbearded youths, tall muscular men with foot-long pointy ears trying to impress bored-looking ladies, and even more beyond that. Beautiful young women carrying mugs with them glided from table to table, many managing to evade the playful pinches of the inebriated patrons. Towards the back, a long counter separated several drinkers from colossal barrels, tipped on their sides, so massive and weighty that they made the floor under them buckle. Women were filling up mugs from the taps hammered into the colossal containers, and a lone bearded man was doing likewise. Where the wenches went from table to table, however, the man remained behind the counter.

Shella wandered over to the bar, avoiding the drink-addled patrons, and took a seat, one with three wooden legs and a checkerboard-pattern seat cushion. None of the seats at the counter were the same, but Shella hadn't seen enough of the table seats to say the same about them.

"Just yerself?" asked the man at the counter as he slid over a mug. He was large and rather hairy, with a thick beard. He wore a purple shirt with cream-colored trousers.

"Yeah, new here. What's the deal with the place?" Shella asked.

"It'd be mine. M'name's Briant, so most folks call it Briant's," the bearded man answered, beaming with pride at his establishment.

A mug of brownish alcohol slide in front of Shella. She picked it up and drank it down. A lead hammer swung into her mouth, numbing her jaw. Shella almost slammed the mug down and clutched at her jaw, trying to keep it in place.

"Hey Briant, do I owe ya anythin'?" Shella asked as she gazed at the half-empty mug. It had a hell of a kick to it! She was pressing her tongue against her teeth, just to make sure they were all there.

"Nah, this is all a public service. Them barrels never run out, so there ain't no reason to not let the booze flow free," the hairy man answered.

Shella shrugged and finished off the rest of the mug, slapping it down against the table. Behind her, heavy footsteps made the floorboards creak. There was the sound of a hand slapping flesh, and the footsteps hurried up, followed by raucous laughter.

Curious, Shella twisted around. A bunch of grizzled men were chortling with each other, and scurrying away from them was a beautiful woman in dangerously skimpy clothes carrying an empty metal platter. The heavy, tromping footsteps were coming from the woman, who was barefoot.

"Huh," Shella murmured to herself before turning back. Briant had graciously refilled her tankard from the colossal floor-warping barrel.

"Yeah, she gets regulars. Poor girl's been here as long as I have, and she don't lack for attention. Been here longer than most o' the girls, and still has to stay close to the counter," Briant commented.

"What's her name?" Shella asked before taking a drink from her tankard.

"Hawwa. She actually wrote it down. She doesn't talk much," Briant replied.

"Hawwa, eh?" Shella eyed Hawwa. She was of average height, but she was so perfect and flawless she had to have been carved. Her smooth skin was a light earth-tone, and her perfectly curly hair was dark brown. Her hips and buttocks swelled out from her waist, and combined with her heavy, generous breasts, she looked like some kind of primitive goddess.

Hawwa's bust was kept in check by a translucent silk bikini bound tightly to her, and her nipples would've been visible if it wasn't for the gold coins worked into the silk covering them. Her dress was somehow less effective. On both the front and the back, a long bolt of opaque silk was connected to a golden panel smaller than the bolt's width, turning the sections triangular. Chain of golden coins served to attach both plaques and keep them on her waist, for however much good it did, and more golden chains of coins connected the spare corners of the bolts of cloth, lying loosely over her legs. She looked like a belly dancer, albeit an unwilling one.

Hawwa turned to glance back at the leering drinkers. Under her belly button, mysterious scrawling words were tattooed on her skin. Shella's eyes raking upwards, past the glorious swell of her breasts, she saw Hawwa's clay-red lips and her eyes. They were outlined by her dark eyelashes, and did not have irises or pupils. Instead, her entire eye was faintly burned a light orange-yellow.

"What is she?" Shella asked Briant, curious but not repulsed.

''Dunno. But I think she was made, not born. She weighs like she was made outta solid rock!"

"D'ya know why she wears that when she don't like the attention?"

"I think it's cause it's the last stuff she's got from wherever she was previously?" Briant hesitantly answered. "One o' the mermaids 'round here got her to talk in private. The fish looked spooked half to death after she was done, but I didn't hear a scrap of it."

"Huh. Hope she does better," Shella said, turning back to her drink.

The tankard disappeared quickly, and was soon refilled. That one disappeared quickly, too. Funny how an infinite supply of booze could dry up so quickly.

Waiting for her drink to be refilled, Shella looked over. Hawwa was putting several drinks on the platter. Her eyes were downcast, her lips pressed tightly together. Could be fun, but if Hawwa really was made out of rock and earth, then who knows what Shella would be digging out of herself! Besides, she could be crushed!

The safer bet was to send her to Lily, Shella decided. Her thoughts were getting a little bit muddy from the grog. As Hawwa past her, Shella's hand caught her bare thigh. Nice, warm, and soft, like a real woman's. Hawwa's eyes flashed in surprise, and she nearly spilled her drinks.

Shella leaned in close and whispered, "If you wanna get away from this rabble, go to my ship, the Sea Lilith. There's a woman there I think you'd enjoy." She broke her touch, letting Hawwa get away. As Hawwa walked away, her footsteps sounded like rocks rolling across wood, Shella's mind turned to Lily. Lily would probably appreciate the company. The last time Lily was with someone, it was somebody just as artificial as Hawwa probably was. That may be her thing.

The alcohol Shella had vanished past her lips. The tankard was filled, emptied, and refilled more. Shella lost count of the number of times she emptied it. Her head was beginning to spin. She couldn't remember the last time she got drunk. Was it always like this? The room wobbled. Faces looked funny. Shella didn't want to try standing up.

A woman slid into the seat next to Shella. Shella tried to focus on her. Her skin was coral-red, and she looked to be wearing a set of sea shells to cover her tits. A tied-off section of torn cloth formed a rough dress for the woman. Shella's vision was too off for Shella to make out much more.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. The woman spoke occasionally, almost singing and grabbing her attention and stroking it up and down. There were fuzzier patches here and there, but nothing Shella wouldn't mind. Hell, she didn't mind this mystery woman! Shella said something, something that made the woman smile and let Shella put her arm around her. Something hypnotizing was whispered into her ear, and she and the woman were off, teetering towards the docks. The last thing of any clarity was Shella's face hitting the water.

* * *

Shella groaned. Her head was pounding! It felt like the contents of her skull decided to have artillery practice. When she opened her eyes, it felt like it was far too dark. No, she was just inside a cave. A fairly spacious one at that, with a high rocky ceiling. Her breathing was funny, though. Trying to breathe through her nose sent out bubbles, but she could feel the openings on her sides and neck pulse open and close. Had to be underwater.

There was a warm body next to her. Turning, she came face to face with the serene sleeping face of the red-skinned woman she vaguely recalled from her binge drinking yesterday. What was that about? Looking down, Shella saw her shirt opened, breasts bared, and she wasn't wearing her pants. In fact, they were a little ways off, resting against the sandy floor. Flexing her hand, she felt a smooth, round object roll between her fingers. Snatching it and holding it up, she saw that it was a minty green pearl, darker green and white jets of color swirling around into it.

Groaning, Shella let her hand fall down. Guess it wasn't that hard to get her to have sex. Looking over at the woman, Shella saw that she had lost her dress, but now sported a long sinuous fishtail, with lobed fish fins instead of legs. Her small breasts were bared, with crimson nipples, and her sex was free for viewing where human and fish met.

The woman mumbled and stirred, the noise echoing in the water shocked Shella's head. How much had she had to drink? Shella grabbed her pants and pulled them on, the water making her movements sluggish. She stood up the best she could, more floating that standing, clutching her head. She could hear waves, steady cannonfire ringing out between her ears. Groaning in pain, Shella put her head in her hands and slid down against a rocky wall.

Vibrations trembled through the water as the mermaid stretched and hummed to herself before opening her eyes. "Oh! So you're still here," she sung. The sound of her words seared Shella's ears.

Shella meant to whisper something about volume, but all she said was jumbled noises as bubbles escaped her lips. It was harder speaking underwater. Her words had to be more measured.

"Are you all right?" the mermaid asked, drifting closer. Her voice was melodic, light, singing through the ocean like fine music. And every note hurt Shella's head. The mermaid was too loud, her sweet singing voice stabbing into Shella's ears.

Groaning, Shella concentrated on her words. "Yeah. Hung over," she managed to speak. Contrasting the other woman, Shella's words were distorted by the water.

The mermaid's lips formed a tight 'o' in sympathy. "Never been there, but you have my sympathies."

Her head just would not stop pounding! "How much did I have ta drink?" Shella wondered aloud.

"Dunno, but you were pretty easy," the mermaid giggled. Shella realized she couldn't recall the mermaid's name.

"Look, I really should get goin', miss..." Shella left the word hanging as she stood up, wincing all the way.

"Frillia," the mermaid answered. "And if you want that hangover gone in a flash, I know a witch that can help you."

The words hammered into Shella's skull despite the gentleness that they were said with. She'd never technically met a witch. They seemed to avoid bodies of water like the plague. She'd heard stories, though, over a hundred years ago, about how they snatched up body parts if you were a wicked little girl. Given this world, she was as innocent as everyone else, so she should be safe. "Yeah, sure, where's this witch o' yours?"

Frillia flashed a playful smile. "Follow me."

* * *

Frillia had taken Shella away from the cave they had slept together in and took her to another cave far away and much deeper. The light faded with the depth, the water more pressing, hindering, and colder. Shella guessed that they had gone perhaps halfway around the island, and every single fin-twitch of the way there had Frillia darting ahead and then waiting for the much slower Shella. Shella doubled over several times from changes in depth or her vision twisting in weird ways during the journey.

The sea witch's cave was like a toothy maw. Sharp stones and jagged boards from a sunken ship covered the entrance, as if trying to swallow anybody that dared journey nearby. The sunken ship had been torn apart, decorating the entrance of the cave like a sailor's morbid garden. Boxes lay ripped open and empty, rusted junk lined darkened sand like flowers, and the ribs of the ship had been separated and planted upright to form a spiny fence.

"She's in there. She's the greatest person I've ever meet, helped me out when I first arrived and was badly hurt," Frillia said, pointing into the maw.

"Could she have gone for a less bitey home?" Shella asked. The hangover was still making her head miserable, and the change of pressure made her head feel like it had been shot.

"Relax. She doesn't bite!" Frillia said before yelling into the cavern, "Ochia? Miss Ochia! I've brought someone to see you!" A phantom cannonball bounced between Shella's ears as Frillia called out.

It was a while before an inky black boneless limb slid out between two stony teeth, followed by another one grasping a rock. "Mmm. What is it? You've woken me up, I do hope you realize that," a tired feminine voice called out from the cave's mouth.

Frillia swam closer to the spiked entrance, ignorant of any danger. "I've brought a woman with me. Her name is Shella. She's got a bad hangover," she explained.

More inky tentacles slithered out of the maw, and a pale-skinned woman arose from the depths of the cavern and settled her arms indolently on the rubbery black limbs groping the cave teeth. "Hmm, so you have. A nice catch, if I do say so myself. Wish I could have your luck that often," Ochia said.

"You just need to get out more," Frillia commented. She motioned with her hand for Shella to follow.

Shella hesitated before swimming in further, taking a better look at Ochia. Her skin was very light, but tinted lavender, and her long, lazy, drifting hair was the same inky black as the tentacles. She was rather curvaceous, the gracious swell of her breasts bound by an incredibly long strip of dark green seaweed wrapped around her chest many, many times. Her stomach was not quite flat, but it was still pleasing. More impressively, she seemed long, like a serpent lying about on a rock.

As Shella got closer, Ochia hoisted herself up, revealing a wide set of hips covered by a skirt made of fishing net and seaweed. From under the hem, eight inky black tentacles projected, the same ones wrapping around the teeth of the cavern maw "Hello there, madam. I see you let yourself be caught while drunk. Nothing I can't fix up. Mmm, I hope you'll stick around," Ochia said, a teasing edge in her voice.