Presley walked in and whistled for Mercury. She found her almost-silver owl perched on the window ledge, already knowing Presley's common owlery-haunt. Presley sat next to the bird and stroked it's feathers gently. "Hey, Merc?" she asked it softly. "Why can't anything ever be easy? Is there a point to the dificulty?" She wasn't expecting an answer, but it looked better to be talking to an owl than to herself. At least talking to the owl, she only looked half-crazy. Talking to herself, fully crazy.