The Maudslay Collection

An unshaven, scraggly, middle-aged man slowly makes his way past the crowd at the entryway of museum. Bill pulls his food-stained coat around himself, shoves his hands into his pockets and glares at a young girl holding a balloon. Bloody hell. Are these people just going to stand here all day? The exhibits are inSIDE the museum Bill grumbles to himself as he reaches for a pamphlet at the information desk.

"Welcome to the British Museum sir!" spouted a jovial, young man at the desk. His name tag reads 'Nigel'. His shirt, tucked neatly into his khaki pants, was nearly as white as his well maintained teeth. "If you're looking for-"

Bill scowls at "Nigel", snatches up the pamphlet from the desk and walks away from the desk. He scratches at his unshaven stubble as he scans the museum map. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a caramel candy, unwraps it, lets the wrapper drop to the floor and pops the candy into his mouth. Let's see why everyone thinks this Maudslay chap is the dog's bollocks... he thinks to himself as he weaves his way towards the Maudslay Collection.

Milton Peel is glad-handing his way around the crowd. He actually has a mild interest in the artifacts and discusses their significance with anyone who wants to talk about them. His real purpose at the exhibition however is to make connections. Specifically, he is attempting to get an invite to another party.

There is a man named Edward Gavigan. Rumor is he is big into the occult scene that is gaining popularity among the elite of the British Aristocracy. He is bringing in psychics and mediums to put on shows for him and his friends. Milton wants to start working in these circles to debunk the frauds. He could make a real killing if he can get with that crowd. Milton keeps an eye out for anyone wearing a Penhew Foundation pin.

Santos adores these sorts of events. Museum shows, art galleries, library dedications...they're his bread-and-butter. Such events draw crowds of posh, highly-educated people like moths to a flame. The best, the absolute best, thing about posh, highly-educated people, Santos knows, is that they think they're so much smarter than everyone else. Deep down, they believe they can think their way out of problems, and that is music to a gambler's ears. Poor folks will stop betting if they lose too much, but these folks (he thinks, looking at the crowd) will keep betting, certain that they will do better next time because they're so smart. Santos gives a little chuckle and looks for particularly wealthy-looking people he can interest in a game of cards later in the day, or diffident people he can browbeat into a game.

Milton moves closer to Maudley, doing his best to eavesdrop on the conversation and look for a point to insert himself.

Bill walks over to listen to the archaeologist while squinting at nearby piece of the collection.

Santos' eyes glint in avarice as he sees an exchange. :::What is it? A love note? Some currency? A note of credit?::: The gambler sidles up next to the pair. "Good day, gentlemen! This is a marvelous show; very impressive!"

Who's this bloke in the suit? Bill wonders as he continues to watch the exchange.