[ Fizzarolli is actually a passably Toussaint-native name, which makes this night feel even more like a bad prank. Oh well. Regis tests it on his teeth a few times, mouthing Fizzarolli once, twice, before he speaks it in his soft tenor. ]

Fizzarolli. What a lovely name.

[ Very musical! Things Regis appreciates, despite the predicament they're in. He remains where he's crouched, elbow to one hiked knee, before he decides that it's a pain to maintain that position. Down he goes onto dust-soaked stone, taking a perch with his legs neatly folded.

Fizz isn't wrong, by the way. Regis knows he really has no business being this calm, but one can't fight one's nature. ]

As for my being calm, why shouldn't I be? I know exactly where I am, what time of day it is outside, and the name of the Duchess currently occupying the royal city of Beauclair. It's any given Sunday for me, despite the sudden appearance of a rather－ forgive my saying so－ eccentric-looking guest.

[ A soft, thoughtful sound. ]

I'm certain that if you wanted trouble for me, you would have caused it by now.