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Take his time and do it right. Freya felt like she was about to melt, right then and there. Hearing those words coming out of Herryk's mouth, it made her feel all funny inside. Why did he have to be so manly, with that rich voice that made everything sound like it was a line straight out of a movie? Completely unfair.

She remained with her back to him, but this time it was mostly because she was blushing redder than she'd ever managed to blush in her entire life. Both of her hands pressed against her hot cheeks, trying to calm them down. She felt like she was coming down with a fever.

"Herryk is Freya's boilfriend." She finally responded, though her voice was a pitch higher than usual, and shaky as hell. "And if yeh wants to do it right, I can waits."

For like.

A minute.

Freya knew full well that Herryk was a simple boil. Innocent, and unknown in the ways of love. She knew that, despite the very passionate things he was saying. She knew that he did just want to make her happy, but gods help her, Herryk. That was not the kind of thing you told a girl if you wanted her to wait. That was the kind of line you fed a ghoul if you wanted her to jump your bones in the middle of a field. Which was the opposite of his intent.

Freya's fingers clenched in and out, and she took several calming breaths, reminding herself that Herryk was an innocent boil. Innocent, and not at all conniving her into attacking him and ripping his clothes off.

"I know. Yeh will." She answered, her voice now so high she was squeaking. Terrible. Then, her eyes lit up and she turned around - yes, her cheeks were still so red she looked like an apple, but all of that was forgotten as she remembered something.

"Herryk! I wanted to show yehs something last night, but we got.. distracted." The blush couldn't actually get darker, but it tried. "Before it's too late, do yeh wants to see my private place?"

Wait, what.

Inasmuch as Freya's mind was cluttered with terrible thoughts, she hadn't even thought of the phrase as a double entendre. She lit up like a Jack-o-Lantern when he agreed, and took his hand, dragging him off into the fields. She took off into a run, the freedom of the wind flying through her hair and against her body a remembrance of how she would usually arrive at her private spot.

She wanted to fly.

"Keep runnings, okay? Straight this way. I promise I won't lose yeh, I just wanna make sure there's nobody ahead, nobody following.." She was making excuses, even as she let his hand go. A gust of wind beat the weeds at her feet when her wings unfurled, and flung her headfirst into the air. She whooped in joy, soaring quick as a bird (funny, that) straight into the sky.

She wasn't looking ahead, or behind. She was looking up, and up, and-

The cloud cover around her signaled that she'd gone too far, and probably out of his sight, so she dipped and came back down, letting the wind carry her where it may. She had forgotten that it was not a good idea to go flying in a dress, however.. so as she dipped, she made sure to keep her head low.

The sound of flying was intoxicating. She could have gone forever, but as soon as she saw the shimmering of the moonlight in the water of her lake, she started descending. She flew low enough that she was just at the level of Herryk's head, flapping hard until her body turned vertical, her dress flew up into her face, and her feet touched the ground. She was quick to slam the flowy dress back down into place, and laughed childishly, filled with exhilaration.

She looked like a different person, standing there beaming after a flight.

Freya took his hand, grinned cheekily, and led him through a grove of trees that looked solid, but parted easily when she touched the leaves and moved them out of the way.

Hel grinned as Mot agreed. She took another bit of cake, popped it into her mouth, and then reached over for one of Mot’s hands, and placed what was left of it into his hand.

“Me furth to ge changed thith time!”

The ghoul was then off the couch and out of the room at an incredible speed.

The reaper returned a bit later in her sleep clothes, and her hair free of flowers, though it was now a mass of waves. In her arms she had two large mugs, her dress, and in a hand, was a large cast iron kettle. “Your turn, Mot!” She called out cheerfully, dumping the dress onto her bag, and placing the mugs on the stones in front of the fire place. She then grabbed an iron rod with a hooked end, and placed the kettle on the end of it, and then hooked it onto spot over the fire. She then poked said fire with the iron rod, stoking it.

With the kettle filled with apple cider warming over the fire, Hel spun around and stared at Mot, with the cake still in his hand.

She blinked, and then strode over to him. “In my stomach!” She announced, plucking what was left from his hand and stuffing it into her mouth. “Go ge’ dresst nao!” Hel made shooing motions, and then spun on her heel again to go back to the fire, watching the kettle.

Hel finished munching on the last of the cake, swallowed, and then tilted her head as Mot entered the room once more.

“Welcome back!” She greeted, turning her attention back to the kettle briefly before looking back at the cowboil as he took a seat on his bed roll. “Ah…! You take them out…but I’ll do it!” She oh so helpfully offered, padding over to behind the boil. Hel stood right behind him and then kneeled, boldly reaching down to touch his hair once more. She took her hair band out, fluffing the hair as it fell back down, and then grabbed one of the braids and started to undo it. While she did this, Mot would find a bit of a pressure against his back, which would be Hel leaning against him as she worked to undo the rest of the braids, fluffing out his hair once they were done.

She chuckled. “Now your hair is wavy too!”