"Victor. He knows we have money to burn." Scott didn't know Rosehearty to be picky about who he dealt with - so long as you had the cash, you had a deal. And, more often than not, Victors had the cash. Scott had only met one Victor who had burned through their winnings, and she had spent three decades maintaining a very expensive drug habit. It could be done, but it didn't seem likely. Bucky, certainly, seemed like he was decent in managing his money.
Aside from when he was blowing it on crepes. And, as that directly benefited Scott, he was in no position to judge.
"Pretty decent," he agreed, cheek bulging, having forgotten his table manners in the presence of familiar company. He'd learned how to conduct himself over the years, but, given the opportunity, Scott always seemed to devolve into the boy from Twelve who had never grown up with enough to eat. Without three solid meals, he hadn't gotten enough practice. His eyes fell to the sweet box, considering, and decided he'd rather not waste the other half of the vegetable crepe he'd already sawed into. "Yeah? I can't eat cheesecake, too rich for me." Most desserts were.