The reaction that the twig gets out of Oleander is just as excellent as Remi expected it to be — he ducks his head with a quiet chuckle, the kind that could be an actual laugh if he wasn't trying to keep the noise level down here.

"I thought so," he says, glancing down and picking up another errant twig, this time sticking it behind his own ear, like it's a totally normal thing to do. There's no pointed looks, nothing, just the continued quiet conversation as the blackbird continues to peck at the seeds on the ground.

"Where are you from, then?"