Swann goes to clubs a lot. Not because she likes them, but because she hates being alone -- more people is more eyes is more potential appreciation. It's not as fun since her downfall, and she goes out less now, but she has enough lingering influence and fame to secure private tables, even if she sits mostly by herself on the high stools, watching everyone else move in a sort of singular entity, bouncing up and down.

The music pounds hard enough in her ears to make her not think about her Tributes, about her horrible anxiety about her position, about the fact that she going to have to go back to Tribute Tower and the only people on the eighth floor are Jolie (maybe, if she hadn't gone home) and Joel.

Ugh.

She looks only like a more glittery version of her normal, flouncy self, her dress all gold glittering tulle with a carnation pink sash. Atop her head is a huge, white-blonde bow, made of her own hair, and a small pink fascinator with a fake but realistic pink bird on it. She shimmers like she bathed in golden, iridescent dust, from her forehead to her toes, the heels of her shoes moulded into pink hearts on which she manages to balance.

Her drink is purple, shimmering, and decorated with flowers. She doesn't even know what it is, but she sips it as she looks around, unable to resist glancing at her communicator for a quick Arena update.