"Where's the treasure they promised...?" He murmurs to himself, more confused than anything. His face is pale, heartbeat thundering in his ears as he digs through the chest with a desperation of a man starved. There's no gold inside, no gold at all. No jewels, or pretty baubles - not even an old, rusted coin or two. There's only red. More red than he's ever seen in one place. There's so much red that it spills out of the chest where coins should have been and onto the floor, forming into little puddles he *supposes* look like the color of precious, uncut rubies. He falls to his knees, scrambling closer as he scoops the red into his cupped palms. No matter what he does, it won't stay. It slips through the cracks of his fingers, trickling down his wrists. It catches and pools in the crevices of his palms like liquid. But treasure should be solid, no? "This is no good," he mutters to himself, standing and wiping the red on his clothes. It smears, the lovely (but very much *not* precious) red left to dry on soiled fabric in waste. "Worthless. Not treasure, bad treasure." The moment he saw what the chest contained, he wished he'd never opened it...but it was too late now. If all there was inside was *red*, then... He stares at his hands, still slick with crimson despite the few good wipes he'd given them on his dirty clothes. He clicks his tongue in dissaproval, turning to peer back into the opened chest. The chest, which he had exposed before splitting open, has a very sharp lid. Rows of white, jagged things curve inwards, tearing at his arms when he gets too close. He doesn't know what they are, but he assumes they're some kind of trap set by the owner of the chest - something to ward off greedy men like himself. Perhaps it's the body of the chest, having splintered when he tore it open with reckless abandon. Nevertheless, when he inspects the teeth-like rows, he acknowledges that they *do* look a bit like ivory. But it's what's *past* the gaping maw of the chest that grabs his attention. It dangles before him temptingly in the chest's dark, cavernous space - which had been previously concealed by soft material and heaps of the red. That... *That* must be the treasure he was looking for. His prize - a *real* ruby, just for him. He reaches in with both hands, tugging on the hefty gem until it breaks away from whatever is keeping it in place. He holds it close, inspecting it carefully as he turns it over in his hands. It's...soft. Squishy, delicate. It's familiar, almost... ...flesh-like. He cradles it close, frowning at it. With it's softness and the strange bluish-purple criss-crossing cracks that travel over the pliant surface, it doesn't look much like a ruby at all. But it's solid - unlike the red - so it *must* be treasure. And now it's *his*. It's his treasure, and beggars can't exactly be choosers. He turns, tucking his souvenier into the pocket of his pants. He doesn't bother to hide the gleeful pep in his step, proud to have pilfered such a fine treasure. He's sure everyone will be talking about it tomorrow on the news - a world-class treasure, stolen. He drops his shovel, deciding against re-burying the chest to hide what he'd done from it's owner - it's not like they'd be needing it anymore. As he makes his escape, the chest falls from where he'd propped it up, limp and forgotten and covered in red.