60

[tatty_bye]

[The screen clatters to life as someone's journal appears to have been wrestled off of a desk and onto the floor. The picture rights itself just as a lithe creature tumbles into view and then sits just on camera. Reaver sits up straight on his hind legs and strokes the front of his coat as though he were worrying the wrinkles out of his usual clothing. His little paws move up to smooth the fur on his face back, murmuring distractedly to himself. He can be understood perfectly.]

Oh dear, this will not do at all...

I can hardly organize festivities in such a state. [His head arches upward, looking toward something offscreen.]

Blast it, I've left my notes up there.

[Oh. Right. He turned that on. His whiskers flatten and flare as he sniffs at the journal for just a moment, before he whips back into place, all business.]

Merlin? 

Merlin, I need you.