Torin's polite nod gets a long stare and then a sharp sigh when he finally looks away. Torin Byrd was unmistakable at these events, if only because he was always the same. How old would he need to get before he could be granted the same measure of dignity that this man has scraped together for himself? He knocks back the rest of his drink, absently hands the glass off to a passing avox, then shoulders his way through the crowd. He's not drunk enough to schmooze properly yet, but he is drunk enough to chat with another Victor.

"I hear they used to glue feathers to you." He gives a quick arch of his eyebrows, gets a little bit into Torin's space, but then pulls back and settles into a nearby chair. "When did that stop?" Kaito Kumon, folks. A man with no manners.