After a few months here, Geralt has had plenty of time to think over his brief and unexpected encounter with Regis in Toussaint, and the relief and joy he'd felt upon finding his old friend very much alive, as though by some miracle. But of course the cause is not miraculous, as Regis had been able to explain, but another higher vampire. The very one he'd been hired to hunt.

Seeing Regis turn up where he least expects him yet again instantly brings those emotions to the fore once more. They'd had very little time to catch up before Geralt was whisked away here, and he's regretted that deeply. At least this circumstance isn't as pressing. The familiar scent of herbs is strong even from a distance of several booths. For a moment Geralt watches Regis wrap the dark cloth around his deceptively thin frame with a combined sort of amusement and fondness before he approaches, just in time to step up in response to his request.

"Sure. Got a fourth if you need it," he offers. His lips curl up at the corners, though the smile is most obvious in his eyes, and in the warmth that can be heard in the low rumble of his voice.

As asked, Geralt puts a hand on Regis's shoulder to hold the loose end of the fabric in place to be pinned.

"You look a lot less ridiculous in this than everyone else," he notes wryly. Geralt himself has resisted all efforts to get him into a toga, wearing instead a pair of simple breeches and a linen shirt along with boots that are proving to be a little too heavy for the beach.