"Ugh," Greta grumbles in a general protest that might cover both his joke and the predicament (such as it is) in which they've found themselves. "You did," she insists, though she's also fully aware that the most practical thing he can do is back away a bit, and that's the last thing she wants.

Well, the second-to-last thing. The actual last thing is being stuck in this frock for the entirety of the proceedings.

So she sighs in disappointment when he draws back, but also wastes little time in wriggling out of her sleeves. With a little help from Thomas, she pulls the garment up over her head, and -- after a giggle-inducing few moments of feeling as if she's camping beneath the bloody skirt -- she's finally free. Her hair is a little worse for being dragged several which ways by the fabric, but she's finally down to just her underthings and a slip (and that is loose enough to offer little resistance).

"Huzzah," she says as they dump the dress off the edge of the bed, and then she winds her arms around him with a much happier sigh. "I've missed you terribly," she murmurs.