[Hilda is not a poet, Lorenz—and she is endlessly entertained by thinking of progressively stupider words to rhyme with purple, truth be told, but alas! This is to be taken (somewhat) seriously! And she would like Lorenz to land a nice date for the night, so allow her to heave a dramatic sigh.]

It should, but—fine. Put something about your purple hair, or your purple eyes. [Oh! Oh! Time to sit up a tad straighter.] Beeeeecause they're what makes you such a prize.

[Holy shit, she is nailing this.]