There's no response to the first knock for nearly a minute.

Then a muted thump, a muffled noise that might be a yawn, and a sleepy, "Coming. One minute."

It's actually somewhat more than a minute by the time Myr gets to the door and opens it, clad in that breed of generally shapeless clothing most suited to sleep. His hair's more disheveled than usual, and he looks tired beneath the blindfold.

Not quite so tired he can't manage to be pleasant, though. "Can I help you?"