Pollock emerged from his slumber with an annoying predicament. A noxious strand of kelp had found its way into his life and wound around his horns and neck frills, intersecting with his exterior features with aggravation. Pollock decided that he would wear it as a new fashion piece until it could be discarded because he was not far enough removed from the comfort of sleep to be bothered to remove it. It would serve as entertainment for what was definitely going to be a mundane day of fishing and gathering sand for the pearl farms.
The kelp fit snugly, drifting along carelessly as Pollock swam out of the sleeping cave into the bright and cheerful common area. His roommate had prepared a fine breakfast of shrimp and fish but spat out the remnants of a less fortunate animal when Pollock appeared with his questionably but undoubtedly unique decoration.
Did the gremlins visit you last night? I'm sure you're aware of the kelp, right?
Oh shush. I'll get rid of it later. Besides, I think you're just jealous.
Sure buddy. Well, eat up. The oysters are just about ready to be harvested and the pearl jewelers need that fine sand to polish this crop. Maybe we'll be lucky, and they'll gift us a few pearls.
Like that will ever happen. This kelp is the closest thing to fine jewelry we have around here.
You do look quite stylish.
Pollock snorted, expelling a stream of bubbles from his nostrils and grabbed his trowel and sand pouch and headed out of the stone dwelling out into the refreshing cool current. Fresh crusty salt flowed past his gills, and he set out for the reef in the distance.
Farming pearls is a delicate art involving careful selection of debris to irritate an oyster or similar shelled mollusk and compel the creature to secrete a substance known as nacre, or mother-of-pearl that would cover the offending debris and over time, form a precious pearl to be sold for a hefty price to self-conscious prospective couples.
Of course, the artisans and merchants kept most of the profit, with only a few shells trickling down into the likes of Pollock and crew, but it was enough to subside in a relatively comfortable home if luxuries were avoided. Pollock wasn't dissatisfied per se but wondered what life could be if the earnings were shared more equitably. Though if he wanted any semblance of an income, he ought to start searching for the sand instead of wondering.
From experience, the best sand for polishing came from the deposits around the largest and busiest corals, where green parrotfish eagerly chowed down on coral and expelled fine white sand as waste. Maybe the parrotfish should be compensated for their hard work, Pollock joked with his roommate, not that his roommate understood the humor, they merely cringed at the idea of having their already dismally low compensation cut into further.
Up ahead, Pollock spotted a worthy prize: a brilliant red coelenterate, with the markings of a parrotfish raid upon one of its branches. The products would be nearby, deposited underneath the sprawling arms. Pollock swished his tail and pushed forward, approaching the ancient monument. Just as he suspected, a mound of fine dust had built up underneath the blemished arm. This would make fine materials for a collection of pearls strung upon a string, purchased as a gift for a special occasion for that special someone.
Using the trowel, the SeaWing dug a sample and examine it, brushing away unsuitable kernels and dumping the rest into the bag. The kelp accessory proved useful at this point, as Pollock unraveled it and took a particularly strong section and tied it around the opening of the bag, sealing it shut.
Task completed, Pollock swam away, ready to deliver his first product of the day. With any luck, he would be able to deliver several more pouches before lunch. It wasn't much money, but it paid the rent.
From the corner of his peripheral vision, Pollock caught sight of something unusual, a white blur that sped happily in erratic directions seemingly without respect for the currents. On closer inspection, the mystery blur revealed itself to be a small octopus frolicking. The creature stopped its playful actions and stared at the approaching dragon.
Hello, I won't hurt you. I promise.
The octopus looked up and down the intruder and swam towards the surprised SeaWing, nestling itself into the remainder of the kelp.
Pollock nearly leapt out of his scales as the tiny critter caressed his neck and horns with its small but agile tentacles, crawling around before settling down and attaching itself to him. He had owned several pets before, or perhaps kept some animals alive until "accidently" consumed, but never had such a small fellow willingly embraced him and it filled him with a sense of warmth that the pitiful bag of shells exchanged for a pouch of sand never could.
Alright then, little fellow, hang on tight. We're going to go see the merchant now.
Marketplaces popped up randomly on various islands as congregations of merchants and buyers assembled to trade goods and services. The specific merchant Pollock dealt with always brought a large purple tent and a snobby rich voice, guaranteed to give potential buyers the impression of nobility and elegance.
Naturally, Pollock landed ungracefully and hopped over in a manner befitting the peasant classes, a behavior the merchant found disturbing. Pollock delivered good products, however, so a few moments in the presence of the uncultured would be worth it.
"I brought a bag of ultrafine dust," Pollock said as he handed over the pouch. "Freshly produced, should make for some nice polishing material."
"Address me as sir," the elder SeaWing replied. "Good work, I will post you the payment tonight," he added gruffly. As he turned away to his awaiting customers, he caught a glimpse of something crawling in his employee's neck spines. "Pollock, there's something moving on your neck."
"Oh this?" Pollock reached up and scooped out the little octopus. "I was actually wondering if you knew what this, er, creature, was." He held up the octopus and the two of them examined it. The octopus appeared to be made of carved white wood, with eight short wriggling tentacles and an adorable face. It stared back curiously at the two inquisitive dragons.
"This oddity would fetch a handsome price. I know the right customer who would pay in gems for a treasure like this. We can split the profit," said the merchant, fervently rubbing his palms together at the idea of striking it rich. Forget pearls, just selling this one item could set him up for the rest of his life. Especially if he split the profit a way that benefitted himself, since it was unlikely that the stupid bumpkin Pollock really knew what he had on his talons. The merchant reached out for the octopus.
"No," Pollock stated. "I'm not selling this little fellow. Actually grown quite fond of it."
"But, just imagine what you could buy with a couple emeralds!" the merchant sputtered. "How about ten emeralds? Twenty? That's a whole year's worth of your salary! Three moons you could afford your own property at that point."
"Nah, just send me the payment for the sand," replied Pollock.
"Fine," the merchant seethed. In a fit of anger unlike his cool and rigid demeanor, he threw a small bag of shells at Pollock. "Don't come around here again, you worthless scum. My efforts are wasted on stupid morons like you. I hope that your little trinket eats you alive." The merchant stomped off and left Pollock alone in the wake of his fury.
"Well then, little fellow, I guess that's what it feels like to be fired," the now unemployed SeaWing quipped. He should have felt furious, or bitter, or some other negative emotions but watching the octopus dance around in his talons put a smile on his face like nothing else could.
Pollock wandered around the market stalls, eventually settling his gaze upon a fruit stand. The seller had coconuts on sale, half price off, and a transfer of a shell and kind smile later, Pollock had a treat to enjoy. He took off with his buddy and coconut stowed away carefully.
The bay of scales contained many beautiful islands, and though most were privately owned, Pollock knew of a special isle, covered with dense foliage and surrounded by severe currents, two aspects that made it a hard sell as vacation property for the rich and landed elite. It was also close to the mainland shore, which coincidentally meant that any other prized islands were far away. The pragmatists didn't want a location close to potentially hostile territory (that would affect future property values), and the showoffs didn't want somewhere not easily flaunted. Therefore, this island remained empty, perfect for a quiet lunch with his new friend.
Once he had landed and tromped around to find the ideal spot, he brought out the coconut and began slicing away at the top. The octopus climbed down from his neck and watched the coconut preparation intently. The SeaWing finally completed the circular incision and lifted part of the shell out and gave it to the octopus who happily rolled around grappling the shell.
"What should I call you, my new friend?" Pollock mused as he dipped a talon into the fruit and scooped out some of the delicious innards. "What in the whale flippers even are you?"
The octopus seemed to be a wood carving come to life, imbued with a magical life force that allowed it to cavort with the same energetic enthusiasm of a dolphin. It beamed with incredible innocence and mischief, and though the body was constructed of destitute driftwood the creature exuded the joy of a million smiles and to Pollock, was the most valuable thing he had ever laid his eyes on.
Pollock pondered how to break the news of his sudden downturn in finances to his roommate. The merchant never joked or spoke a word they didn't actually mean, so Pollock assumed that the warning to never return was serious. How was this little octopus worth so much that the merchant would be willing to give out a year's wages in exchange? He remembered from school that certain dragons had powers to create magical objects, notably there was such a dragon in the royal family. But would princess Anemone or really anyone in the aristocracy entertain a lowly plebeian?
"What do you think, Buddy? Yes, I think I'll call you Buddy," said Pollock.
Buddy stopped messing with the shell and paused. This enchanted pet had seen countless lifetimes over eons of existence, and though it had no actual way of verbally communicating, the animate object could provide comfort and companionship, the original purpose of its creation. Buddy dipped a tentacle into the coconut and scooped out a bit of fruit and offered it to the SeaWing.
"Thank you," answered Pollock as he accepted the delicacy. The taste of sweet coconut and smell of sharp salt in the air melded into a smooth palate of the tropics. After he cleaned out the rest of the coconut, he watched Buddy entertain him, carrying the empty shell on his back pretending to be a hermit crab. Worries of his roommate, job, rent, and the overall struggle of life faded into the periphery. The sun still burned bright in the clear sky, seagulls squawked, fish swam, and all of the Kingdom of the Sea, sea dragons went about their daily lives.
In this isolated corner of the vast ocean, Pollock and Buddy sat together, alone. And that was enough to enjoy today. Tomorrow would wait for the cycle of the heavens, and Pollock imagined no matter how his future would unfold, Buddy would be there to support him.
Buddy eventually got bored of the coconut and flung it into the dashing waves. The shell bobbed along the surface of the water, carried away by the motion of the sea.