The Gentlemen's Club
[Sir Oliver lounges bonelessly in his armchair, the air around him wreathed in the oily smoke from his opium-tainted cigarette. He leans back and twiddles his moustache awaiting the arrival of his guests.]
Oh, the burdens of being a villainous, moustachioed, English aristocrat.
[A beautiful, trembling handmaid, who bares an uncanny resemblance to popular model and pop singer, Sophie Ellis Bextor, enters the room, carrying a tray of drinks.]
Ah, marvellous. Just put those over there on the table, will you, my dear?
Handmaid: Y-y-yes, sir.
Excellent, excellent, there's a good girl...
[Sir Oliver leers at his trembling handmaiden lecherously, as she bends over the table, placing the tray upon it.]
Excellent, excellent, very good. Your are dismissed, Sophie, my dear.
[The handmaiden bobs a curtsy, before darting out of the room as quickly as her shapely, well-turned legs can carry her.]
[James, Sir Oliver's enormous, scarred, bald-headed butler looms in the doorway, his wide shoulders almost filling it completely.]
James: 'S s'r.
Get the door, will you, I believe that the first of my guests has arrived...
James: V'ry good, s'r.
[James lumbers off to answer the door. Sir Oliver leans back, and permits himself another long puff on his opiated cigarette.]