[ The closest thing that Regis has to a bath is a big wooden tub in the corner of his crypt that he fills, when he can, with rainwater (a complex filtration system that he built himself); otherwise, it's just a cot that he's built to substitute a bed, and stone-formed coffins as far as the eye can see.

"Damn, bitch, you live like this?" would be a good meme to describe Regis' self-imposed isolation. Then again, Regis, even with his centuries of knowledge based in this reality, can't imagine the conveniences of more advanced societies. ]

Hm. Wild wolves, and the occasional wraiths.

[ Not comforting! At least he's honest. Regis still looks contrite, however, and rubs his palms together in a way that looks almost like a sheepish raccoon. Graceful, but still apologetic. ]

We should expedite your glamouring exploits. There are far better accommodations in Beauclair proper― ah, how mortifying that I've been caught so unprepared.

[ A small smile, brows downturned. ]