If there's a snort of laughter to accompany the comment, then it's subdued and swallowed up by the piano. They'll push and shove and bare fangs all they want, but it's harmless banter, in the end. Adam won't let any of his conversations with the others take on an aura of gravity.
"Tion must be rubbing off on me," he notes casually, folding and unfolding one hand while the other continues what has now become a fractured, oddly stilted sound. It's an interesting experiment, but Adam's never had much patience for science. He goes back to playing properly as Myer brings forth another reminder. "Don't let Cindy hear that, you'll hurt her feelings."
It's easier to avoid harm when it comes from outside the group; between them, the lines are fraught with pride and egos as thin as paper. Adam tells himself this is Tion's province. He's the FBI to Adam's CIA. But it doesn't quite stick.
He plays another few notes before the melody drifts into silence. It's all he had time to see Myer perform, his attention elsewhere for the rest of the piece.
"What, and waste valuable time that could be spent listening to insipid music on the radio?" Adam rolls his eyes. "Keep your thinky thoughts. Knowing you, they're probably in Latin or Greek or something." Something, which in this case could easily be dangerous to them but which Adam trusts, in spite of himself, because Myer is one of them. He could get away with murder on that excuse. "I want no part in your nefarious plans, so if you're done... want a ride home?" The family driver could be here to pick up his quarry at a moment's call, no doubt, but that's always struck Adam as a little impersonal. A little cold.