Good Morning, Miss Australia [Rumbelle]

Mr. Scotsman

                    Mr. Gold's pawnshop was a dusty place, one of those shops that people on their average Saturday shopping day were reluctant to set foot inside. It was a place where darkness never really left and where real antiques sat next to worthless knickknacks on the shelves like brothers, sharing a fate in which nobody would ever come to collect them.

The Venetian blinds blocked curious views through the windows and filtered the daylight to slight and harmless beams that did little more than illuminate the specks of dust on their way to the polished wooden floor. It was how Mr. Gold liked his shop – peaceful, quiet and with only the echoes of the past surrounding him in the disjointed collection of objects on display.

Taking inventory was something he didn't have to do often. Well, that wasn't entirely true. As the people in this town rarely dared to set foot inside the shop let alone buy something, once every five years actually would be overdoing things. But taking inventory also provided him with an opportunity to check up on all the objects in the shop, to see if repairs were needed or a more thorough cleaning. If so he would remove the object from its spot and with painstaking care he would take it to the workshop behind the shop. There he would restore its brilliance, whether if it were an antique gold watch or a tin whistle.

Mr. Gold repaired things, things that were delicate, complex and which required unbelievable amounts of patience. And patience he had in abundance – patience and almost as much devotion to his shop as to his son. He had an eye for honest beauty and a nose for finding it in extraordinary items, the simple they might seem at first glance.

That same talent had helped building his reputation as a notorious businessman in this town. His brown, wide-set eyes seemed to register with frightening accuracy what was important to other people – that and his unperturbed attitude towards pleas and tears.

'Hm, let's see: a 19th century bicycle. Check. An antique Wedgwood tea set. Check. Two...'

Trrriiinnnggg! Trrriiinnnggg!

A penetrating sound ripped through Gold's peaceful state of mind, harshly breaking his concentration. His fingers stiffened around the pencil in his hand and he looked up, annoyed by the intrusion, but also confused that he couldn't immediately place the familiar sound. He knew it was familiar because his response to it told him so but somehow it sounded much closer than normal.

Slowly, as if someone had glued his unstable feet to the ground he turned around, feeling as if his shop turned with him. But he managed to cast a gaze at the showcase behind him. His eye caught the cell phone perched on it and belatedly realisation sunk in. Of course. His phone. Someone was calling him.

Immediately, he lost interest and Gold turned back around. Whomever it was they would have to wait. He was taking inventory now and he needed to concentrate.

'Two ominous dolls, one male, one female. Check. One Mickey Mouse collectible. Check. One unicorn mobile. Che...'

Trrriiinnnggg! Trrriiinnnggg!

There was that blasted phone ringing again. Gold sighed inwardly. Couldn't he even go to the shop on a quiet Sunday afternoon to take inventory without any of those ignorant townspeople calling him?

'Seven lidded mugs. Che...'

Trrriiinnnggg! Trrriiinnnggg!

The obtrusive ringing now started to force his concentration to slip from his grasp and Gold cursed under his breath. Maybe he should ask Bae to install a less offensive ringtone. And make sure his son wouldn't get the chance to change all the other preferred settings like he did the last time he'd...

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The angry sound of his alarm clock beeping yanked the man in the antique mahogany bed from taking inventory. Sucking in a forceful gulp of air, he tumbled into far less dreamy dimensions and his eyes flew open.