Who: Wanda & Loki What: Dinner with a side of homicidal hankerings. Where: Loki's apartment in the heart of the Capitol. When: Evening, a few days after the party.
What exactly did one wear to an evening with one's brother's murderer? Her simple, shapeless dresses from District Three felt like a lie now. She wasn't the same girl who had once carelessly thrown them on in the morning, eager to be out the door with Pietro, foraging for spare parts at the market or helping their father in his tech lab. But the outlandish outfits her team had selected made her feel ridiculous. All those perilous heels and fitted skirts, her every move circumscribed as if she was once again on that platform waiting for the Games to begin before she could move an inch. She decided to compromise on her attire-- as she did on everything nowadays, choosing a dress with all the fanciful embellishments the most fashion-forward Capitol denizen would wish for, but in somber, funereal black. It felt grimly appropriate.
Wanda had sat primly in the backseat of the car that had been sent for her, her face a neutral mask as she steadily looked ahead, rather than at the cityscape whizzing by outside the window. The only hint of where her thoughts tended was the steady staccato beat of one perfectly manicured nail against the leather seat. The driver considered her briefly in the rear-view mirror, but correctly assessed that chitchat would not be welcomed as they sped off in the direction of Loki's address. His apartment was located in the very heart of the Capitol of course, Wanda noted with a fresh wave of disdain. She would have preferred neutral territory-- a bar, a restaurant, anywhere. But at least this way she'd only have to calibrate her performance tonight for him alone, not for any overly curious onlookers or government cameras.
The lavish building's security was mercifully quick, efficient, and most of all discreet. Wanda had detected that familiar flash of recognition in one guard's eyes, but no one had said a word to her aside from the necessary questions. If it was out of the ordinary for a Victor to be paying a social visit to a Gamemaker, their blank expressions gave no indication. With a curt nod of thanks, she found her way to the elevator, trying not to relax in the brief moment of semi-privacy as the doors glided shut. It would be of short duration.
Soon enough she was walking down the hallway with slow, measured steps, pulling her mental armor on piece by piece. When her feet stopped she simply stared at the door for a long moment, as if sizing up an opponent. She seemed to reach some internal decision and abruptly reached forward, rapping crisply on the door.
"Hello," she said in a rush as the door opened, but before she could see who was behind it. "Thank you for inviting me."