Myron and Open
Myron hadn't really anticipated the party when he'd made his way to Styx this evening. Not that he minded. He was pretty used to impromptu gatherings cropping up wherever he (or mostly Kirley) went. But he wasn't a natural extrovert and had to be in the right mood for those kind of things - ideally helped along by several substances which didn't seem to be too readily available here. But better not think about that too much, or it made his fingers itch. Instead Myron helped himself to a generous glug of neat whiskey and slid into a corner booth. He had his notebook (as opposed to his apparently very flammable journal) in his pocket, and he fished it out so it could be placed on the table in front of him.
Of course, lyrics were all but impossible when someone else's music was being piped out, but if inspiration did strike, he could at least jot a note down before it vanished into the ether.
In the meantime, Myron took a sip of his drink and absently flicked through the pages, his dark gaze occasionally flicking up to the rest of the group, carefully watching.