"Only to birds," he says, although he honestly knows very little about birds or mites.

Laszlo sighs, defeated, but Tybalt looks just fine even with his hair in tangles, full of bits of feathers. He always does. "Take a shower tonight. I—you can just brush them out."

He picks out the most complete feather he found in Tybalt's hair, looks at it for a second, then pockets it. It's not the weirdest thing Tybalt's seen Laszlo keep for undisclosed reasons. "Congratulations."