It takes a moment for Tallisibeth to hear the whistle and register it, her bird sings pretty often at home. Another moment to realize why it's a bad thing. She then looks like she wants to die.

The cockatiel looks down at him and raises her crest like an antenna, still singing a meandering whistling cover of something out of a videogame. She sees him. She sees the towel. Try it, punk! She's fully flighted and fearless!

Her mage on the other hand sinks down in her chair like she would like to hide behind the suddenly alert cat and shakes her head frantically. Internally Tallisibeth riffs quickly through the short list of spells she's prepared to cast without rituals, and the longer one of magic inscribed on items on her or her familiar's person that she could activate, looking for something that would fix this situation.