[ It's a bit hard to tell when Fizz flushes given his countenance and how he hides his sheepishness by stuffing his cheeks with cheese, but the subsequent stuttering and choice of words speak to some inherent nervousness about being praised－

－or, so Regis assumes. It's not like he can claim to know, but there's something a bit jarring about the sudden tonal shift that Fizzarolli takes, not dissimilar to how Geralt would always deflect discussions about the quality of his character by saying that his witcher mutations made him impossible to be cared for.

This time, the expression on Regis' face does read as slightly sad. More so than when he shared his drinking habits, or lack thereof. He reciprocates that touch that Fizzarolli gave him earlier over his clothes, his fingers resting carefully on what feels to be cold metal. ]

It's quite alright. [ Memories surface of companions lost to time, ages ago. ] Though I meant what I said without knowledge of your fame or your reputation.

[ "Or the fact that you've sold yourself", feels too intrusive. His hand remains near where he approximates Fizz's wrist would be. ]

Are you a bard?