The door opens, admit one Pobble. Or half admit. A second taken to hastily suck the last from a cigarette including a small burn of the filter before he flicks it out past the dirty fella he has in tow. Stepping fully inside the gallery, he lightly adjusts the sit of his top hat as he holds the door for Cash, peering across with a sharp and determined expression. His thin lips are set in a crooked line, silver tipped fingers tapping against the door as he scans the room.