"Couldn't you fuckin' tell? I'm a man of wealth and taste." Kavinsky can't even keep a straight face as he says it. He grins and nods to the bartender, confirming his drink order. It's not completely a lie: he came from money, even if most of it was probably ill-begotten, given his father's line of work.

But that isn't what he meant. Sarcasm drips from Victor's mouth and Kavinsky laps it up.

"Poor fucking me, right? It's not boring it's-- different. Arbitrary makes it different."

He scans the crowd, noticing the line tattoo on some people and not others. He's never been in a place organized quite like this, but class disparity, among other things, is nothing new. That this place makes it arbitrary is interesting. No one here got to the top of the ladder because of their family or place of birth, or because they're genetic lottery winners. Luck of the draw, that's it.