To Wanda's intense relief--she had begun to doubt even splinters of her self control remained--she narrowly manged to resist grimacing in distaste at the notion of a little family of Victors, of taking pride in being one of them. She wasn't a Victor, she wasn't even a survivor. The best parts of herself and the only thing that really mattered had been brutally extinguished in the course of the Games. Even if Pietro's name had never been called and she had entered the arena alone, there would have been nothing triumphant in having made it out alive or in what she did to survive. Romanticizing the Games disgusted her, but Wanda was interested that, in Loki's case at least, the pride he felt in his brother seemed genuine. And at least he hadn't found her inquisitiveness off-putting. He was strangely gallant, actually, about her curiosity.
Proud of Thor, she mused, her pensive gaze also traveling back to his brother. Very proud of Thor... and not of him? Was that the unspoken corollary? Wanda continued to try and decipher what was going unsaid. It was delicate work, like tapping a tree and listening intently for what the sound revealed. She was blind--from natural ignorance of him and of the Capital in general--and needed to rely on instinct to guide her.
"Is he younger or older than you?" Wanda asked diplomatically, trying at once to set him at ease and piece together this little familial puzzle. "Birth order is always so interesting."