The elite 1%. Or, as Kyle would like to say - pompous, undeserving, selfish, apathetic, needlessly rich assholes. The majority of them CEOs of something or another. Much like the main sponsor for this event. Kyle hadn't been to a lot of charities and event and functions - the SAS werent really made for specialising and diplomatic conversations as the Airforce and Navy were, and occasionally the Army. Didn't mean he didn't want to go and have a real break, even if he was still stuck with the same buggers. He jut wished it wasn't at the behest of some rich fuckermand their fat bank account. He said as much to an old friend of his he had been reunited with, scoffing. "I mean, if they wanted to make a bloody difference, all this money would go to a goddamn deserving cause. Not some fancy party for us exhausted war dogs," he criticised, despite the ice cold beer clutched in his hand no doubt bought with the very money he was bjtchung about. Unfortunately, social etiquette was not part of the rigorous training of the SAS. And you, the aforementioned 'they', walked right past and heard every single thing. It was stupid. Childish. But you decided to but right in and play along. "You think so?" You interrupted Kyle and the other man, your expression carefully neutral.