Mr Quaintly had been in the pawn shop business for several years, having inherited the shop from his father, who had inherited it from his father... it was an honest trade that perhaps could be considered a little dishonest. They gave money to those without in exchange for something worth the money being given. And should the poor beggar who had sold away their meagre assets be able to buy it back, they did so with interest. Still, Mr Quaintly felt that being in the business was better than being a money lender; if those in need of money could not give it back, Mr Quaintly would not be banging on any doors making demands; their items would just remain in his hands.

This meant that he had quite the collection building up within his shop, so naturally he would attempt to divest himself of them by allowing them to be purchased by the public. Thus the risk to the seller using his services was to lose their items for good. But such was the need of he who pawned his things here. Of course Mr Quaintly also obtained items that had a risk of being illegally obtained in the first place or items that the sellers simply did not want in the first place, but could not rid themselves elsewhere.

Mr Quaintly had just sent Mrs Hunt upon her way after purchasing her husbands Sunday boots for the sum of 1 shilling so she might supply the ungrateful man some cheap wine for the week. He placed them behind the counter knowing she would be back on Friday to buy them for a shilling and tuppence, when she received her wages from the factory. He never charged her obscenely for repurchase, he felt she was pitiful enough.

Now he just had one customer in his shop, a strange one who was rummaging through boxes and shelves in a rather cobwebbed corner that most avoided. It was here he placed items that he was uncertain of their value or origins. The man was muttering to himself constantly, occasionally verbally speaking a question and not there long after answering it by himself. Mr Quaintly was wondering if he ought to call a mental institution to pick the man up, certain that his oddness was not the result of alcohol, when the man suddenly stood up having come to a decision.

"Good sir," the youth approached the counter with a selection of goods in arms. Mr Quaintly was startled by the rather nobby accent spilling from his lips. From his poor clothing, he thought the young man was a commoner such as hisself. "Could I perhaps barter for the purchase of these goods?"

Mr Quaintly looked down at the junk upon the counter, bushy brows raised. Was he serious? He picked up the foreign sword that had been in stock since his grandfather's time. "Are you sure about this?" He said, even though it went against his usual ethics of things. He didn't really want the attractive youth to be thrown in a cell for the sake of owning a weapon. Sure it was alright for the upper crust, but a crooked copper would happily place judgement on those commoners who looked at him wrong. "You risk arrest for it, if you are caught with it."

"Benwang will take his chances," the man said, his tone sounded as calm as still water and exotic as a lotus flower. The older man shook the strange thoughts from mind and frowned. Surely he should have called out the men in white coats.

With a inward sigh, he glanced over the goods and came up with a sum. The man began to barter, his voice returning to that of a upper class gentleman, but the price settled on was not too unfavourable for Mr Quaintly. "Be certain to hide that thing well," Mr Quaintly said, kindly as the youth happily left his shop with his goods. The old man shook his head with a sigh, wondering what was going through the young man's mind, but he pushed the thought to one side as a new customer entered his shop, this one carrying a pair of cuff links he wished to pawn.

*****

Aidan wasn't sure what had occurred when he had woken from his daze. He was lying upon his back in the living room beside a closed front door, vaguely aware that this place was not his own. He had tried to figure out what had happened, but the last thing that he recalled was the little voice that called itself a backup system sending him a message that his missions were complete and asking him if he wished to leave his world. He had sat up and immediately felt the wrongness of his body.

It was too skinny, he had felt weak upon chicken legs and troubled by cold wetness of his clothes. However, before he could dwell what had occurred, the scent of cooking meat teased his nose and he had made his way towards the small kitchen in the back of the property. Upon the aga, a pot of water with mutton simmering in its midst was close to boiling dry. He had grabbed a tattered square of cloth and folded it so he might remove the pot from the heat without burning himself.

From the scent of the meat mixed with the herbs within the pot, the chef responsible for this meal knew what he was doing at least, Aidan had thought with a sigh. It looked tender and just the aroma was making his mouth water. He had also noticed cold, cooked sausages upon a plate to one side. There was no fridge, no white goods, the sink was of Belfast design and the aga clearly meant to burn coal or wood. This kitchen did not resemble one he was familiar with.

Placing a sausage into his mouth, he had savoured the fatty, untainted flavours of the cheap cuts within, enhanced with just salt and pepper. As he had sated his stomach, he had come to be aware of something stirring inside his mind. It did not concern him at first, he had thought it might be the back up system, so framed a thought to question it and figure out what was going on. However, then he had noticed that it was not one presence in his mind but several...

*****

"What is all of this stuff?" Aidan said aloud as he placed it upon the table in the kitchen. It was of decent wood, but it wobbled badly, one leg being slightly shorter than the others, so he had stuffed a wedge of newspaper beneath it in attempt to steady it. His warm, brown eyes seemed to glaze a bit for a brief moment.

"In honest truth," the voice that spilled from his lips was his and yet not. "A fair few of these things would be of little worth. I purchased them as a foil for what I truly thought worthy."

"This?" Aidan asked as he picked up a broken silver chain.

The other, who called himself Matthew hesitated. "Well no," he replied. "Perchance the chain is silver, but I believe it more likely that it is heavily tainted with tin. Actually it is this." The slender fingers reached down and grabbed a wooden box. Aidan glanced over the box, which was just a little smaller than his handspan. It appeared very ordinary, varnished with no decoration, one corner even chipped. "Look inside," Matthew told him.

He placed the box down and opened it's brass clasped lid. The box was quite empty. Aidan frowned and admitted he did not understand. He became a observer in this body that he now claimed and watched his finger reached inside of the box, the long digit reached just passed the knuckle once the tip had reached the bottom. His hand was removed from touching the inside, instead running along the outside of the box. As his finger tip reached the table, he finally realised that there was a difference. It could not have been much more than a fingernail's worth, so not noticeable to an unpracticed eye. Matthew, who had full command of the body, turned the box over and tapped the bottom of the box with a knuckle.

"Of course," he said aloud, "this is all conjecture. Even though there is a secret compartment, does not mean it contains a treasure." They almost held their breath as Matthew worked his fingers along the outside and inside of the box, finally coming to understand the method of loosening the bottom panel and from the bottom of the box fell a small clothed wrapped item. Inside was the hidden treasure they hoped for, a golden ring with a small blue stone clasped upon it. "So long as this is not glass, this could keep us well in funds for sometime," Matthew theorised.

Aidan sighed with some relief. Ever since the person named Matthew announced his idea to treasure hunt within pawn shops as a quicker way to increase their wealth, Aidan had been sceptical. However, he trusted the person trapped in the body with him without question, though he could not say why this was true. They had been to a handful of shops, but this could count as their first true find. The other items, Matthew had produced a little profit, but it was not significant, just obtaining a few extra pennies here and there.

"We'll seek to sell it in the morning with the other things," Aidan recommended, deciding to cook a meal with the left over vegetables and cured bacon that remained in the house.

"It is a pity that this land has no rice," came another within him, one who identified as Yu Long. He apparently was a Prince of his lands, but he was not a spoiled nor arrogant man, unlike Matthew, who had been raised as a small lord in his own right. This did not mean that the latter was spoiled to the point of being a useless human being, but occasionally he came across demanding and condescending.

These two were not the only ones to share the body with him, there were others as well, some were quietly spectating, others more brazen and outspoken. Strangely, each and everyone claimed to have a pale eyed, male lover or husband. Aidan's heart had sounded loudly in his chest as he thought of Warren. It felt quite crowded at times in their head, especially if there was an argument when it came to what to eat for dinner. All had accepted Aidan as the chef, however, even though others felt that they had once been able to cook, it was as if the knowledge was now lost to them.

"Rice is considered a foreign product here," Aidan reminded Yu Long, who pouted in his mind, but relented once he suggested seeking to obtain them should the ring prove worth something.

For now, he settled on a thrown together stew that would last a couple of days.