Deniera is familiar with the fabric that the woman (her Escort. She's still having a hard time wrapping her head around the idea that she has an Escort) is clad in. She has a dress at home that's made of a similar fabric, one of the cast-off bolts where one of the rows was just a touch too big and couldn't possibly be shipped off to the Capitol because it wasn't perfect.

For the briefest moment, she's distracted from the tiny, blue-themed nymph of a woman by her entourage of adorable tiny animals and someone carrying more wrapped boxes and finely stuffed bags than she's sure she's ever seen in her life. The distraction ends when she finds herself being hugged, and she can't resist to hug back. Swann's perfume isn't like the lilac oils her mother wears, but that doesn't change how comforting about the action is, especially after staring her own mortality in the face since the train pulled away from her home.

"It's very nice to meet you, Miss Honeymead," Deniera says as sweetly as she can. Her accent has a touch of the Capitol to it, from years of being around her step-father and him teaching her how to fit in if she ever managed to find a way out of District 8. "I just wish it was under better circumstances."