[ Apparently alcohol is the kryptonite to Hilda's usually impervious nature to compliments. Well, that's not entirely true. She does tend to fare far better when it comes to compliments directed at her appearance over her skills and ability to do things. But when both of those things are piled on her relentlessly in spite of her best efforts to staunch them? It's all too much for her to handle.

Perhaps, it has more to do with who's actually paying her the compliments. She had been showered in them all evening from locals - everything from her sketches, to her shoes, her hair, her entire ensemble had been complimented but she had accepted them all (mostly) graciously with a bat of her eyelashes. There's no time to think about why these ones are getting to her. There's more important matters at hand, like trying to hide her embarrassment.

With everything combined, including Sylvain's prod in her ribs, causes her to illicit a small whine. ]

Stop!

[ Both of her hands come to her cheeks in a vain effort to hide the rising blush on her cheeks. But feeling like that isn't enough, she grabs
Sylvain's pillow before unceremoniously shoving both their heads off her lap and splaying out between them with her face buried in said pillow. Her voice, despite being muffled, is clearly embarrassed. ]

You're both so embarrassing. If I combust in this dress, I'm coming back to haunt both of you. Besides, wouldn't you two be looking at each other? Don't think I didn't see those glances from across the dinner table.