Stress Relief
Foreword; This story was originally intended to be a single entry only. But as the story has taken so long to complete (months upon months so far) I'm uploading it as a two-chapter affair.
Stress Relief
John was a Jackal, nearly six feet tall, with sandy brown fur, mixed with black and grey on his back, and a black bottom half of his tail; He was a canine of sorts, and they were none too rare. He was nothing special.
He worked at a desk, pushing pencils for an overbearing boss, doing accounting for a firm whose revenues included sheet paper, both A4 and A5 sizes, cardboard boxes of various sizes, shapes, and material; and paper clips. It was his job to track the entire expenditure for the firm's branch in Washington, and it was dreary work. Life was dreary for him; just eking out a living until his next pay check when he could drown his sorrows by talking it out with Jack Daniels from the bottom of his cup.
He needed a holiday. Well, that's what his psychologist said; so he was bundled onto a cruise ship, dredging up the three years worth of holidays his boss hadn't given him, digging into the savings he'd been distractedly planning on using to build an elaborate torture device for his boss, and setting off for Hawaii.
The majority of the cruise trip to Hawaii was spent in his cabin, or on deck, at the on-board bar. He raided the mini-bar in his room and drank himself into a pleased haze, and then sprawled on his bed to watch the Animal Planet channel and try not to get seasick.
Woken up at ten the next morning by the cleaners, he was forced to get his gear, and abandon ship, before it departed back to the mainland for another round. And then, he was in Hawaii.
It was like a scene from a movie.
Waves crashed on the white-washed shore, with sand so white that the reflection onto his eyes was blinding, piercing his skull and igniting the pain started by a mid hangover. Palm tree's swayed in a warm breeze, while the faint call of seagulls wafted to him on the winds; the ocean itself blue and clear. He could see the ocean floor, coral, and fish. In the distance, wind-surfers chased their next wave, and a pair of yachts circled lazily around the chain of islands.
Before him was the hotel; which looked basic. A rude collection of huts, with reed roofs, wooden walls, cracks in the slats, surrounded by palm trees sweeping lazy tendrils of green across their sides and tops, wooden floors above sand and grass comprised of uneven slats with gaps in the middle like they were assembled by a cock-eyed carpenter from driftwood who happened to be drunk at the time.
In essence, it was the tropics; quaint and simple. He didn't even expect there to be power in the huts. There were torches every few metres along the board walks, blackened and charred from use, obviously having burned the previous night. This place was not the hub of civilization, and save for the sleek, pretty yachts and jet ski's, it might have well been a technological dead zone.
John paused a moment, with his suitcase in hand, staring back and forth, taking in the islands around him and the ambiance of the place, completely lost.
Natives of the area wandered about the place, busying themselves with chores, such as replacing the torches, ready for the night's exploits; tidying up the walkways to make sure no one tripped and hurt themselves on a loose board; which to John was a bit like ripping out a single shark's tooth so it wouldn't eat people; setting up the rooms for the night, and leading people back and forth on tours of the island.
They were otters; or at least, that's what he assumed they were. They weren't exactly the same as most otters he knew. He had seen a few, here and there, back home, when he went to the swimming pool in his younger days. They were tall, slim peoples, powerful in the water, with soft brown fur and lithe muscles; but these otters were different.
He got a good look at one, a male, from what he could tell (at least, it seemed like he had the right bits to be male), he couldn't have stood more than five feet high, four a half feet at best guess, with a long body and short arms and legs, that thick tail dragging along the ground behind him. They seemed to be both quadruped and biped, switching from either stance to the other at will depending on the situation, with friendly faces and cute twitching whiskers.
It wasn't long before approached him, wearing naught but a loincloth, offering him greetings. "Hello there! A late arrival?" the otter asked.
John paused a moment, peering down at him...or her. It was so hard to tell, they were almost androgynous; and he wasn't drunk enough yet to outright ask if it was male or female. "Uh...yeah." he said with a helpless nod.
"This way!" the otter sing-songed, turning with a twitch of its thick tail and heading towards one of the large shacks, the insides of it hidden in darkness, due to the high contrast between brightly lit outside, and unlit insides.
The Jackal followed after helplessly, stepping inside and looking around for the otter, who appeared a few moments later, head popping up over a counter as it climbed onto a stool or the like to achieve the needed height. "Name?" the otter asked simply.
"John Swevie." the Jackal replied, placing his suitcase down.
"Your reservation is for seven days?" came the query.
"That's right." John replied with a nod.
"Good, you're in hut Twenty-Seven." the otter said with a smile, motioning with its nose towards a map on the wall with the relative positions of the huts on it; which looked like it was drawn by the same person who built the floors. He scanned the map, and waited for the otter to produce a set of keys for him, trying to find the right hut, looking at the circles around the main facilities first.
"Uhm...Excuse me, but where it hut Twenty-Seven?" John asked, and there was a pause as the Otter scurried around to peek at the map as well, pointing way towards the top.
"Sorry John, but you're going to have to cross the island bridge to get to your hut. All of the huts here were meant for Otters, and we don't require as much space as you large folks." the otter said with a happy smile and nod.
"I see." He replied, frowning at the map, and then looking down at the otter for a long moment. "Do I get a key?" he asked, helplessly.
"A key...?" the otter asked, brows raising at him slowly. "Whatever would you need a key for?" came the question.
John opened his mouth to ask, and then blinked once, looking left, and then right, at the doors...or, more accurately, the doorways. There were no doors at all.
"Oh, I see." he said with a nod, smiling helplessly and hefting his suitcase. "Well thank you."
"If you need anything, just holla!" the otter said cheerily, before dropping to all fours and happily waddling out through one of the doorways.
John watched the otter leave, and then leaned slightly to the side, to follow the motions of its body, peeking under its lifted tail a moment. Huh. Male. Shrugging to himself, he turned towards what he assumed was the direction of his hut, and left the building.
Stepping back out into the light, he took a proper look around, his eyes widening a little bit as he spied a small island off to one side, with a trio of huts on it, reached by a long, rough, but sturdy-looking bridge built across the water. It was at least a mile to the island, skipping from one spit of land to the next, passing under some palm tree's, and a few otters happily fishing or frolicking in the water.
Walking across the bridge, he felt rather at ease, stepping carefully around the otters doing their various day-to-day activities, frolicking, playing, or catching their dinners, listening to the seagulls and feeling the sun beat down on his face. He couldn't wait to get back to sleep, to get over this hangover, and start on a new one all over again.
John was near to the end of the bridge when he saw her. An otter. She was crawling up out of the water with difficulty, holding a large, bright red ball in one paw as she tried to haul herself from the water. She was small, and lithe, as all of the otters were, with soft brown fur, wearing a tight white swimming bottom rather than a loincloth, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. She was all female, and oddly alluring, with adorable, perfect features. She didn't have breasts, but the faint line at the junction of her hindlegs was more than enough to denote her femininity, as was her facial structure, and body type. Definitely not androgynous there.
He had to pause, as she slipped into the water, and then dropped to one knee, offering her his hand, which she happily took, using the extra leverage of the large male to help her clamber up onto the boardwalk proper, the wicking effect of her fur meaning that most of the water just slid right off her, leaving her silky-smooth brown fur smooth and alluringly shiny.
"Thank you!" she gushed, placing the ball between her legs as she sat on her butt and peered up, up, up at him, tilting her head to one side. "I'm Ali'aluwah." she said without prompting; "But my friends call me Ali."
"Well, Ali...lelu...wuh..." he stumbled, butchering the pronunciation; "I'm John, and it's nice to meet you."
The otter giggled softly, placing a paw over her mouth. "Silly canine. Just call me Ali." she said with a short nod.
John peered down into those blue eyes and could only nod dumbly. "W-well, it was nice meeting you Ali...but I have to go check out my room." he explained.
The otter waved a paw at him, picking up the ball and beginning to head back towards the main buildings. "I'll see you around then, Big John!" she called over her shoulder.
Blinking just once, the Jackal climbed back to his feet, picked up his suitcase and headed to his hut. Well; he had found the islands resident eye candy, in a rather strange shape, definitely, but undoubtedly attractive.
Shaking his head free of those thoughts, he stepped into his hut, the left-most of the three on the island. It was a rather crude thing, with the same wooden construction, spacious sleeping area, with reed-mat beds, a basin of water for washing your face, what seemed to be a superbly polished sea shell for a mirror, and what he was quite certain was dried kelp curtains for privacy. This was definitely not civilisation, but, somehow, he liked it. He set his suitcase down, opened it up, and rummaged inside, pulling out a full bottle of scotch he had bought for just such an occasion, and set about pouring himself the first of several drinks he would have to help ease the tension in his shoulders and allow him to sleep peacefully.
Rays of morning light crept through the cracks in the construction of the crude roof, sending lancing beams of light trailing slowly across the prone form of the Jackal. John had fallen asleep sometime after the sun had gone down, vaguely recalling watching one of the little otters doing the rounds of the bridges and walkways, lighting torches as they went.
He was sprawled out on his back, having drunk himself into what he assumed was a mild, temporary coma, and was now lying awake on what he thought was his bed, or could have just been a rug for all he knew. He tried to hide from the sunlight, a single arm thrown over his face to shield his eyes. His left hand clenched slightly, so he could feel the reassuring weight of the bottle of the scotch he had brought with him, but finding only empty air.
His head turned, and a single eye peeked out from under his arm, squinting at the harsh ray of light lancing down in front of him, casting a quick gaze about to confirm that his bottle of scotch was indeed gone. Someone had taken it when he was out. Ugh. He sighed and shook his head just slightly, rolling over onto his stomach with a harrumph before going back to sleep.
Midday found him feeling more alive, and he could no longer ignore the shafts of light permeating his room, the whitewashed sand of the beaches throwing up so much glare that it was like having little indirect lights fitted all around the hut. Rubbing his eyes, he pressed himself to his feet, and cast another glance around his room, seeking his bottle of liquor, again not finding it, not that he had been expecting any kind of different result from his search. More wistful thinking than anything.
John decided that it was time to get something to eat and made his way out of the hut to set off across the bridge, his eyes slowly adjusting to the glare and allowing him to see what was happening further afield. Otters were setting up boats; some kind of guided towards of the little chain of islands. The boats themselves were typical construction, a canoe-like shape with a single pontoon on the side, a sail made of some kind of cloth, and fishing rods strung along the sides; old-style fishing rods, rather than the new-fangled types with reels, metal spools, and whatnot. They were a simple rod of wood, with a piece of driftwood neatly tied with fishing line as a bobber, and various baits found among the islands proper.
The place was amazing. It was so quaint and backwards. It was like living with Amish, without the beards, ugly women, and religion. Backwards, but in a totally good way. There was no denying that it had a certain charm about it.
"You're going to join the fishing party?" asked a voice, and John blinked, jolted out of his thoughts, looking around and down at the otter whom had spoken, as gave a nervous sound. "I...well, I've never really fished in a boat before." he admitted.
"Well, there is a time to learn everything!" the otter squeaked in that adorable way they had of talking and beckoned him towards a boat. John followed, albeit slightly reluctantly, eyeing the seacraft warily. It didn't look very sturdy.
"This is...safe, isn't it?" he asked, perking his ears upwards at the otter before one of them splayed in consternation.
"Quite safe!" the otter replied, grinning and nodding. "We've not lost a single guest yet!" the otter squeaked, climbing into the boat and motioning for him to follow.
The faintest of whines left the canine, and he reluctantly stepped out into the boat, gripping the edges rather tightly and plonking himself down on one of the beams that served as seats for the boats, keeping as far away from the edges as possible. "And we're off!" Squeaked the otter, as he gripped an oar and began to paddle them away from the crude docks, towards the open ocean to the north of the islands where coral reefs hid schools of fish ripe for the picking.
John was quite uneasy in the centre of the boat, gripping tightly to keep from being tossed around too much, his ears splayed backwards fully, suddenly very aware that he was wearing office shoes, in a boat, on the open seas are Hawaii. This was insane.
The boat he was in was crewed by otters, and already they were casting off nets and lines into the water to try and tempt fish towards the tasty bait and glimmering lures. He peeked over the edge of the boat carefully, and was momentarily enraptured by the glimmer of the lure spinning and whirling besides the boat in intricate patterns, his head slowly tilting to the side as he watched.
A shadow darted up from underneath the boat and John recoiled in shock as large jaws closed on the lure. As quick as it happened the fish was gone, dragging its prize downwards into the water, right up until it reached the end of the line, literally, halted by the fishing line strung from its maw.
One of the otters picked up the fishing line and began to do battle with the fish, tugging and heaving at the line again and again, working it back and forth, forcing the fish to swim left, and then right, dragging it up to the surface and then letting it take out more line until it was back at the same point it was when it first took the line.
John watched, perplexed, not understanding. Was the otter playing with the fish?
"He's tiring the fish out, see?" one of the otters asked, leaning past him to point with a fingertip at where the line disappeared into the water.
"Why doesn't he just reel it up and pull it out?" the Jackal asked, ears splaying in confusion.
"Because, if you pull on the line hard enough to pull the fish upwards, and the fish is swimming downwards, then you will snap the line, and have no more fish!" the otter explained, before turning his attention back to his own line, and the fish that had taken his bait.
John watched intently for a few more moments before a fishing rod was suddenly thrust into his paws. Reflexively, he took it and then, firstly, almost lost his fishing rod to the immense tug the fish on the line gave it, and secondly almost lost his footing and ended up overboard when he tightened his grip to keep from losing the fish.
The Jackal looked around helplessly at the other otters, seeking assistance, guidance, or help, but they were all busy with other things. He gave a faint whine, staring down into the water to where the line dove, moving back and forth as the fish vainly tried to swim to deeper water. This was nothing like the fishing he was used to; mainly with nets and line strong enough to constantly reel the fish in.
Taking note of what the otters were doing, he curled the rod back and forth, forcing the fish to swim from side-to-side, increasing the tension of the line as he did so, frowning slightly at the sheer amount of resistance the fish was putting up. It was like he was trying to lift a heavy metal weight out of the water with a wooden crane while malicious mermaids tugged it back down any time it got near the surface.
In under a minute his arms began to burn and his movements slowed, beginning to pant with his chest heaving from the exertion. Looking left and right, the otters were barely straining at all! They were smaller than him by such a large amount, and yet, were more physically resistant.
This new realisation made him growl faintly under his breath and heave on the fishing line, dragging it upwards as hard as he could, again and again, trying to force the fish to the surface. He gave a hard wrench of the rod as the fish turned, trying to catch it off guard; there was no real sound to indicate it had happened, but when the line broke, his arms shot upwards from the new lack of resistance, losing his footing as the boat rocked and sent him crashing down onto the opposite side, smashing the small of his back down against the edge of the boat and tipping backwards over the edge, fishing rod leaving his flailing paw.
He came down on something resistant and heavy in the water, and turning with wide eyes, found himself tangled in the fishing net the craft was trailing behind it, trapping his arms and legs as he tried futilely to kick free. He growled faintly to himself, tugging at the tangled web of fabric that was holding him down, immobilizing his arms and legs, beginning to panic.
The world was starting to darken around the edges, his vision narrowing as his oxygen supply quickly dwindled and tapered off to nothing.
His lungs were burning, straining, aching for air that he couldn't get to.
John knew enough about how the body worked to know that the moment he went unconscious, he would begin breathing normally again, and that was bad, very bad. He shook his head helplessly, trying to clear it of the oxygen-starved fog clouding it, to no avail.
He felt consciousness slipping from him-
And then, there was something against his lips, and there was air!
It wasn't a whole lot, but it was being forced into his lungs, and opening his eyes, he found an otters muzzle pressed up against his lips, breathing air into his mouth for him, which he gratefully accepted.
After a few seconds the otter left, ascending to the surface, presumably for another breath of air, and he caught sight of the white bikini bottom the otter was wearing. Was that Ali?
His eyes were wide when she came back down and pressed her muzzle to his own, breathing air into his lungs, while three dark shapes dove into the water around the pair, carrying knives in their maws, heading straight for the net. While Ali kept him supplied with air, the otters set about carefully extricating him from the clinging tendrils of webbing with neat little cuts of the wickedly sharp knives they carried. In a few moments he was clear, kicking off the remainder of the netting and striking for the surface, throwing his arms over the side of the boat as his muzzle reached the air, sucking in gasps of breath and holding himself on the boat, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He felt so weak; he didn't even have the energy to pull himself up into the boat, instead just clinging there to the hull as the otters crawled back onto the boat and began to bring the boat back to shore.
John was vaguely aware of an otter in the water next to him, little paws ensuring that his head stayed above water, seeing as the otters were too small to heave him into the boat with their limited strength.
In a few minutes, he felt his feet dragging against sandy floor, and he stumbled a little, letting go of the boat and trying to crawl the few metres to the shore. Instantly, he was back underwater, legs too weak to support his weight, and he clawed at the soft sand as a wave buffeted him and then deposited him unceremoniously on the shore, giving him just enough time to spit out a mouthful of salt water before another wave washed over him entirely. He spluttered, crawling up the shore just far enough to be safe from the crashing waves before collapsing, face-first, into the sand.
After several long moments of lying on the gloriously warm white sand he was aware of the pattering of small feet, and then a worried weight settling near his head. "Are you okay, John?" asked a worried, feminine voice.
The Jackal popped open a single, bleary eye, squinting into the brightness and at the form of Ali, who was sitting on her rump in the sand next to him, looking worried. "Feels like the morning after pay day." he admitted, tone muffled while he mumbled.
The otter made a soft sound, and stroked at his ears for a moment soothingly. "Just wait there." she murmured, bouncing to her paws and then scurrying off somewhere. She returned a minute later with a rock and a coconut, cracking the coconut and rolling him over with insistent pushes of her paws and head, dribbling the milk from inside the coconut into his maw. "Just rest." she said calmly, laying the coconut aside and laying besides him in the sand. "I'll be right here when you need me." she said.
John nodded once in reply, his eyes already closed, and the last thing he remembered was trying to mumble a thank you before he fell unconscious.
John awoke to the sound of seagulls, and his eyes peeked open to stare at the brilliant hues of orange and purple streaking across the sky from the west, where the sun was setting. He must have been out for hours; judging by how close to dark it was. He rolled over carefully, and worked his jaw, rolling his tongue across his dry mouth, blinking his eyes open and peering around at his surroundings. He was closer to the resort than he had thought, only a few hundred metres, and there was a yellow-and-white umbrella erected above him to keep the sun from burning him while he dozed.
Rubbing his forehead, he groaned and pulled himself onto his knees, his ears splayed back flat against his skull as he whined slightly. He felt horrible; but then again, almost drowning would do that to a person. His throat hurt, his head hurt, and his tongue felt like dry sandpaper.
Half a coconut lay in the sand next to him, and he blinked for a moment, picking it up and swirling it around slightly. It was filled with clear water; warm, but drinkable. And drink it he did, carefully, at first, and then with hungry gulps, his thirsty enthusiasm taking over until he spluttered slightly and laid the coconut down.
He crawled to his feet, dropping the coconut in the sand next to him, and then starting across the white-washed sands towards the resort buildings. A pair of fishing boats were rowing slowly back to shore, with the otters inside them bearing a net between the two vessels, trawling for fish in the shallows, and, from the looks of it, not having much luck.
John looked around as he went, wondering where Ali had gone to; He was finding himself rather attracted to the otter. He could still remember the feel of her lips against his own, even if they were in the process of delivering oxygen to him at the time. She was so...exotic, in an entirely good way!
His thoughts made the walk to his little shack relatively short, and he slipped in through the doorway, sprawling out across his bed and digging up his bottle of scotch and proceeding to pour himself a general amount, tossing it back like it was water, and then splaying out on his back, throwing an arm over his eyes and just laying there for a while, to let the alcohol work to chase away his headache and give him that pleasant buzz.
After long enough of that, though, he found himself getting hungry, and found the energy to get to his feet and slink out of his cabin.
Night had fallen properly now, and the delicious scent of cooked fish was wafting from the main area; a dual-purpose open-air kitchen and restaurant of kinds, with quaint little tables set up for groups of up to four, with umbrella's fashioned from palm fronds, all of them lit by wax candles set on the side of the umbrella stands, giving of a faint, sweet scent.
Sometime while John was lying on his bed gaining his alcohol induced buzz, the torches had been lit, and the way across the wooden bridges was easily permeable.
His watering mouth drew him onwards, and soon, he was standing at the edge of the tables radius, frowning and trying to find a seat that wasn't taken. The food was all piled up on a series of trays; a self-serve type of affair, and he was a little worried when he saw that a lot of the food was gone. People were on what looked like their second or third helpings already, busily shoving wooden forkfuls of fish down their throats. Dinner was almost over; and already, the entertainment was being set up. A live band of otters playing traditional instruments, while several female otters were dancing, wearing little more than reed skirts. He found himself wondering if Ali was one of the dancers.
John wasted no time in fronting up at the trays of food and grabbing a fillet for himself. He had to be careful with it, it almost disintegrated on the flat wooden spade-like serving tool he used, as it was so perfectly cooked. Placing the fish on a broad, stiff leaf that was provided as a plate, he carried his burden around for a few moments, trying to figure out where to sit to eat it. All of the tables seemed occupied; families, business partners and the like, all sitting around together. John was suddenly aware of how alone he was on this trip.
Frowning once more, he veered off to the side, electing to sit at the edge of the wooden platform that met the water, away from the rest of the guests, dangling his feet over the edge where his toes just barely scraped the surface, happily pulling a piece of fish off and popping it in his mouth.
The flavour was amazing, mouth-watering in every sense of the word, with the butter the otters used in the baking process perfectly mixed in with the natural juices of the fish to cause the meat to just fall to pieces once it was subjected to the merest of stresses, spreading across his palate like a shot of the finest scotch, making his mouth beg for more.
In mere moments, John was half way through the piece of fish, now understanding why the others had gone back for seconds and thirds; If there was any left, he would certainly be going back for more!
As he was eating, he frowned slightly, watching an otter traipsing across the sand, holding a torch, to retrieve the umbrella he had left on the beach where he had lain. The Jackal felt a slight pang of guilt, before returning to his food.
A snippet of conversation made him pause though;
"-a whole lot, sorry. The loss of that trawling net hit us pretty hard...We won't be able to get it fixed for another day or two. Until then, we'll just have to make do."
The Jackal blinked, and stopped chewing to listen, turning his head towards the two otters who were speaking. One of them was holding a leaf with barely any fish on it at all towards what looked to be an adolescent otter, who happily took the offered fish and wolfed it down.
"It's okay, uncle!" the otter squeaked, "I know that when we don't catch enough fish, sometimes we have to not eat! I'm a big boy! I can handle it!"
The second otter smiled, and leaned down to ruffle the headfur of the younger otter. "That's a good boy." he said with a faint smile.
John swallowed. Or he tried to swallow, more accurately. The food in his mouth felt like sand now. The once mouth-watering taste and scent of it made him ill. The thought that, here he was, contemplating going back for seconds and thirds, when the otters, those who had gone to all of the trouble to catch the food, and then cook it all, didn't even have enough to feed their young. He wanted to spit all the fish back out, but his inner voice of reason made him swallow the unwanted food he still carried in his mouth. It felt like gravel going down his throat; unwelcome and alien.
Wiping his mouth in disgust, he slid to his feet, and then stalked over to the pair, pausing, and then dropping to one knee, holding out the piece of fish.
The otter looked a bit taken aback, frowning slightly and looking up at the Jackal. "Is it not to your liking, sir?" he queried cautiously.
"I-I'm not hungry." John said, wiggling the folded leaf a little bit for the otter to take it, looking at the young otter, who was eying the folded leaf with unguarded hunger. It made him feel a little bit sick to his stomach. It was his fault the net was broken, and that the amount of food they gathered wasn't enough to feed them and their guests.
"I...Well...thank you." the otter said after a moment, staring at John for a long moment, unblinkingly, seemingly judging the Jackal, looking at him in a slightly different light. "I won't forget this."
"It was nothing. I'm not hungry any more." John stated, shaking his head and then rising to his feet before the otter could say anything else, quickly stalking towards the other edge of the platform. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he saw the two otters sharing the fish, happily devouring their welcome meal.
John didn't see it, but an otter watched him, her bright eyes narrowed narrowed.
It took the Jackal a few minutes to figure out where everything was kept; first the nets, and then the cast offs from dinner. He took an entire bucket of the fish guts, a knife, a net, and borrowed a boat, carefully crawling into it and then pushing off from the jetty, heading towards the calm, dark waters of the reefs near the edge of the island.
Fishing from a boat with a net couldn't have been much different to river netting, which he had done once or twice on occasion. The trick was to get the fish where you needed them, and then throw the weighted net where it would catch them; that's what the fish guts was for. It wasn't only sharks that would be attracted to the scent of blood in the water, fish would be too. And he'd catch the fish and be long gone before the sharks arrived.
Wrinkling his nose, he dipped a hand in the fish guts, and drew out a handful, lowering it into the water besides the boat and swilling it around, immediately coming across the first snag in his plan. It was so dark it was almost impossible to see what was happening in the water. He frowned slightly, and dipped his hand into the water again, leaving it there, feeling for the currents in the water. He felt a fish brush by his fingertips, but the agitated water it left in its wake, and he grinned, spreading more of the nasty-smelling bait in the water and continuing to wait.
After a few minutes, he decided he had waited long enough, and cast the net into the water, picking up the oars and beginning to row his way away from the spot. There was significant drag on the boat from the net, and it was far from easy, so after he'd gone a few metres, he quickly pulled the lines in for the net to close it, and began to pull the rope back in, dragging the net up into the boat. A crab scuttled across the bottom of the boat, and John quickly picked it up and flung it into the water from whence it came, before inspecting his catch.
It was far from a handsome catch; but he had caught enough fish to make himself proud. It wouldn't be a feast, but it would be a small meal at least; more than what the otters had not, that was for certain. There had to be two dozen fish in the net; each of a decent size. Beginners luck, perhaps; or maybe the otters just didn't have the time to do a night-run for fishing? Or maybe they were scared of the darkness?
It wasn't until he had rowed almost all the way back to the pier, and the torches atop it were lighting up the water, that he saw the school of sharks shadowing his boat, and felt his blood run cold. He shifted his limbs closer to the middle of the boat, and pulled alongside the pier, carefully tying the boat up and then stepping with extra care onto the jetty, and then jogging the last few steps to dry land, his ears splayed back flat against his skull.
So that was why they didn't go night fishing. And to think he had his hand in that water while waiting for the fish.
He lugged his load of fish, net and all, up towards the kitchen area, blinking and looking around. It was deserted now. The sounds of music and singing, mingled with laughter, was coming from the beach further down from the resort, where torches were lighting up the entire area. Frowning to himself, John dragged the load of fish to the kitchen area, and then found a rather sharp knife, setting to work.
Growing up in an oceanside city, John had found his way to the docks as a worker rather quickly, first as merely a forklift operator, and, for a month or two there between jobs, as a filleter. The motion of gutting the fish and filleting it was, after all that time and all those fish, just a mechanical action for him, and he had it done rather quickly. By the time the entertainment was starting to die down, John had a neat pile of fish wrapped in leaves sitting on the coals of the cooking fire, with a special kind of butter he had found placed inside the fillets. He assumed that was what they used to give it that sublime flavour.
By now, John was hungry again, and all too eager to test out if the fish was cooked properly or not, and opened up a leaf, extracting a piece of meat to see if it was done and popping it into his maw. It tasted alright; far from the otters own cooking, but certainly edible. He took the entire piece of fish out, and began to pick pieces off of it to eat, looking around a little, sitting at a table in the deserted restaurant area.
It wasn't long before some of the other otters began to trickle in with tired expressions, seemingly resigned to having a mere mouthful of food for the night, checking the trays and shaking their heads mournfully.
"U-Uhm...excuse me?" John asked tentatively.
The otter raised a brow, turning towards him, before giving a pained expression. "I'm sorry sir, but we don't have any food left. You'll have to wait until morning when we crack open the food crates." he said with a helpless nod.
John almost squirmed uncomfortably, wishing the otters would just find out about the fish he had caught and cooked by themselves. "I...Uhm..." He trailed off after a moment uncertainly, and then waved a paw towards the fire pit. "I got you some more fish." he said, wincing slightly. "It's not as good as what you guys cook...but its food." he said helplessly.
Blinking a moment, the otter leaned sideways, and then stared at the bundle of leaves with the fish in the middle of them, reaching out for one of them and carefully unwrapping it, before grinning, ear to ear. "Thank you!" he squeaked, taking the food to the table and calling another of the otters over to share the piece of fish. John watched, smiling a little bit. It made him feel warm and fuzzy in the way a good shot of alcohol did on a cold night.
Smiling slightly, he climbed to his feet, and began to head towards his cabin, content to sleep for a while. His fur was matted down with salt from the ocean water, and he needed a good shower, but for now, sleep would be good.
"I saw what you did." a voice said, startling him, making him jump slightly.
She was sitting on the edge of the walkway on the way to his cabin, her brown fur blending in with the wood, in the darkness, the green reed skirt she was wearing helping not one bit.
"Ali?" he asked, blinking, squinting into the darkness.
"Yes, it's me." she said with a slight giggle, patting the edge of the walkway besides her. "Sit." she said.
The Jackal paused a moment, and then nodded, slipping down and sitting next to the otter.
"It was the least I could do." he defended, shaking his head.
"It was very foolish, going out on your own, in the dark. You're lucky you caught anything at all." she chided, staring at him sideways for a moment.
"I won't do it again." he replied, his ears flattening.
He felt a small, warm palm on his arm, and blinked sideways at her a moment. "Thank you, John. It was a very nice thing you did. I knew you were different when you arrived."
The Jackal made a sound, his brows furrowing, looking around for a moment, and then back at her. "Different?" he asked blankly.
"Different." she said, turning back towards the ocean, staring out over the water, where the moonlight was shimmering off the waves. "Most of the people that come here are self-centered and care nothing for others. They're so obsessed with their life, and even when they come here, to relax, they still only focus on what they can get while they're here, rather than just enjoy themselves." she said with a shake of her head.
The Jackal gave a faint grimace and a helpless nod. "I suppose. I'm a pretty simple guy. I don't think I fit in with the rich people who would usually come through here." he admitted, agreeing with her.
"It's noticeable." Ali said with a little nod, the small hand on his arm squeezing affectionately. "The other people here think that their money can solve any problem at all. They're not the kind of people we all thought we'd attract when we started this place up." she said, shaking her head a little bit.
"Oh?" he asked, curiously, raising his head to peer around at the resort. "It isn't quite like any place I've ever seen...or heard of, for that matter." he pointed out. "There's no state-of-the-art facilities. There's not even an air con in the rooms." he said with a simple nod.
"Well, we kinda wanted a really...low-tech resort. Mainly to show how we live, and so other people could experience what it's like. But because of that, there are also times we have to go without. Like when we can't catch enough fish for dinner." Ali answered, leaning slightly against his side in an affectionate manner. "Which is why it's so nice to find someone among our guests who's so willing to help, even though you're paying to be here. The others wouldn't dream of doing any work. They'd just try to pay for it to be done."
John nodded helplessly. "But what can you do? People like that are everywhere. I'm surprised you even keep the resort open, if that's the kind of people who are always here." he puzzled.
"It pays the bills. Taxes, mostly. My kind owns most of this island chain, but the local government isn't about to let us sit here in peace without getting some kind of income from us. So we use the money from the resort to pay the taxes and the various other things so we can keep living like our kind always have." she explained.
The Jackal nodded once more. "That's a good way to do business." he said with a faint smile. "And I like this place. It's...simpler."
Ali giggled slightly and pet his arm with her hand a moment. "I'm glad you like it, John. And seeing as I've pegged you for a more hands-on kinda guy, would you like to learn how to cook our secret recipe fish tomorrow afternoon?" she offered.
John paused slightly, and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Actually, that sounds like it might be more fun than just sitting around." he admitted.
The otter smiled, waving a hand slightly towards the open air restaurant. "Well, you know where we'll be." she said with a happy nod.
He nodded in return, looking out over the waves for a moment, and then looking at her sideways. "Ermh, I have a question." he said after a moment.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Well, I was wondering what you lot do for showers around here?" he said after some slight hesitation. "I didn't notice any shower facilities anywhere at all."
Ali giggled again. "In the ocean, silly. There's soap in the huts." she pointed out.
John wrinkled his nose a little bit. "The salt kinda messes with my fur to be honest." he said with a helpless sound.
"Ohhhh, a little bit more cultivated than you were letting on?" she teased, and then grinned at him slightly, pondering for a moment. "Well, there are natural springs we used to use for drinking water that you could bathe in. Just go grab some clothes and a bar of soap, and I'll show you where it is."
John nodded, and then climbed to his feet, stepping around the otter and then ambling along the bridges to his hut, stepping inside and grabbing a change of clothes, and then hunting around for a bar of soap. He found several, of different colours, pleasantly scented and seemingly hand-made, sitting in an alcove near the entrance, along with a rather well-made shell-comb, which he picked up to comb his hair out. It would be nice to get everything neat and tidy.
Ali was waiting patiently outside for him, wearing naught but the green reed skirt that left none of her figure to the imagination. John found it strange, that he was attracted to her strange body shape. It was nothing like himself, or any other species, for that matter. Especially with that thick tail, there weren't many mammals that could claim to possess such a feature.
"This way~" Ali sing-songed, and then turned on her heel, heading back along the walkways they had come across, but instead, headed left along a different path, towards the forested area further inland from the resort. The way was lit with burning torches, set alight earlier by otters, John assumed. A solitary string of them barely lit the way through the trees along a path that seemed barely used, screened from view of the resort by multiple layers of greenery. As she passed, Ali flipped a sign over from 'Vacant' to 'In use'. It was used to denote if the spring was being actively used, and therefore, if interruptions were allowed.
John followed after her, holding his clothes in his arms, watching her. He found himself momentarily wishing he was her height. Her tail never, ever strayed high enough for him to see what she had o underneath the reed skirt, if anything at all. The thought of her being possibly naked underneath it made him shiver in an entirely pleasant way.
Ali peeked at him over her shoulder as she walked, and seemed to notice his staring, giggling at him, making him snap his attention back forwards properly, swallowing once.
She led him to the spring, which was a rocky area with water flowing up out of the ground, cool and clear, trickling away towards the ocean. It was rather private, with bushes crowding in close on either side, screening everything from view unless you entered by the path. It seemed to have been cultivated like that, giving the entire area a nice sense of peace and privacy. The otter hummed to herself, reaching up with a match to light a torch at the edge of the spring, the flickering flame lighting the area up.
"Thank you, Ali." John said with a nod. "I'll see you later on." he said with a warm smile.
Ali nodded once at him, and then turned on her heel, bouncing away happily with a wave.
John turned around, and then made his way towards a structure that looked like a wooden bus stop, and placed his clothes on the seat, stripping out of his used clothing and stretching a moment. Parts of his body ached from the almost drowning incident, muscles over-worn from lack of oxygen coupled with hard exertion. He took the comb and the bar of soap, and then slipped over into the cool water, seating himself down in the spring and stretching himself out, picking up handfuls of water to douse his hair and then run the comb through, pondering getting a hair cut. Salt and medium-length hair sucked.
The spring was quite pleasant, the air filled with the faint sound of water bubbling over the rocks, flowing this way and that, creating a lulling, soothing ambiance only helped by the darkness all around and the stars overhead.
It was perhaps the bubbling water that caused him not to notice the approaching patter of soft footsteps. The first hint he had of her presence was a warm paw resting gently on his shoulder, making him yelp and peer over his shoulder with wide, surprised eyes. Ali had seated herself behind him, holding a bar of soap, with a smile on her muzzle, head canted slightly to one side, and a brow raised in query. "Thought you might want some help getting that lovely fur all clean." she said with a knowledgeable nod.
John swallowed hard a moment, paws drifting closer together in his lap to cover himself completely, his ears splaying backwards in mild embarrassment. It took his mind a good five seconds to process the fact that an attractive otter was sitting behind his naked form, and then a further five to fully realise that she was completely naked as well. His eyes widened slightly, and his gaze dropped down her form, before he snapped his head forwards to avoid anything that could be considered lewd staring, his heart beat pulsing in his ears.
"Oh don't tell me you're one of those silly people who think that your body should be covered at all times." she chided, shaking her head slightly. "I only wear clothes because we'd get shut down for indecent practises if we all didn't." she said with a slight giggle, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. "Now reeelax a little bit." she soothed, nodding and dipping the soap into the water between her legs, and then beginning to slather it across his back.
John gave the faintest of little whimpers, unsure how to handle what the otter was doing. He was usually a lot more confident with females...but then again, he was usually not this sober when he dealt with them.
"C'mon, this isn't church." she said with another giggle, leaning against his back a moment and then reaching around him to grip his arms with her hands, tugging them apart with a gentle, but insistent pressure. "Just relax. We'll get this part over with quickly so you'll be less jumpy." she teased, and he gave another faint whimper as she parted his hands far enough to reveal his ccanid sheath.
He was aware of his cheeks flushing faintly, and he tried to open his mouth to say something, but words just wouldn't come out.
Ali made a 'tsk' sound, peeking over his shoulder for a moment appraisingly. "Oh my, if I was you, I'd be naked every chance I could get." she teased with a giggle, seating herself back down properly and returning to working the soap over his back.
John flushed even harder, and his voice broke as he tried to speak once more. He tried his best to rest his hands on his thighs, rather than covering himself again, his ears pinning back fully and his tail giving an agitated flick.
"Come now, I'm naked as well." she stated, lathering up his back happily. "And you're going to have to get used to it." she added, smiling at him, before leaning forwards to whisper in to his ear; "Especially since after I'm done washing you, you're going to wash me."