It was a relief that his attention was mostly fixed on his brother and Stark. Wanda didn't have to be so vigilant about guarding her expressions. She had overlooked how perceptive this man could be once, she was determined not to do so again. She watched him watching Thor for a moment will ill-concealed interest, but his next question brought her up short.
Her fashion sense. That hadn't even occurred to Wanda as something to worry about. But of course she'd have to look the part to blend in here. There were so many things she hadn't considered. How was she ever going to get close enough to the people that mattered if the most basic aspects of fitting in eluded her? What if this party was the closest she'd ever get to Stane and the parasites who profited from the Hunger Games? What if she'd just wasted her best chance for revenge idling at the sidelines, drinking wine and chattering about inconsequentials?
She swallowed a fresh wave of grief at the thought. The very instant revenge stopped occupying her mind, misery set in. It was almost paralyzing, the unfathomable depths of her anguish.
"I certainly hope they don't forsake me now," she laughed, her voice betraying none of this inner turmoil. "I know I've been a trial to them. I'm not sure I'd worn so much as a dress before the Reaping." Having managed this inconsequential bit of chatter, Wanda felt herself grow calmer. She couldn't afford to doubt herself. Not now, not ever. Pietro wouldn't go unavenged; it was unthinkable.
Having managed to tamp down the sudden wellspring of despair, Wanda felt in control of herself again, even emboldened. "You certainly seem to know the ins and outs of the Capitol."