mitsubishievo | [voice test

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[voice test - Ramon]

He had a lot of work to do, but he couldn't do it in the studio anymore, which meant he was at one of the coffee shops nearby. It was slow, and relatively quiet, and Kavinsky was tucked into a back corner of things so that he was out of the way ad could sprawl all his things out and take over all the space he needed to keep thing straight and organized as he worked through plans and schedules and layering notes.

It was hard work, but he loved it. But he was distractable like this, in the moments when the music was just playing for him to listen to. His eyes wandered slowly, listlessly, across the crowd.

There was a young man approaching the counter. Kavinsky should put his eyes back down at his computer before he made an idiot of himself.

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Ramon stands at the counter, head tipped all of the way back so that he can look up at the menu boards and try to figure out what the hell he wants. One of the reasons he'd liked as because he hadn't had to think too hard - he'd just ordered black coffee, known it would be good because Henry made it.

He doesn't know what his usual is, here.

In the end, though, he just orders black coffee, because how bad can it be?

Once he's got a mug cradled in his hands, he looks around, finds all of the tables crowded.

"Shit," he breathes, softly.

Kavinsky realized that he'd sort of taken over two tables, and so he scooched and scooted and made himself more compact. It was a bit of a task, with the number of papers and the laptop and everything else, but he managed. Then he pushed out the opposite chair, a silent indication.

He wasn't trying to stare. He was, though. Once, he'd teased Al and Newt for unconsciously falling into these hipster styles when they'd never known them on their own. This guy--he looked like he'd never not known these styles.

Kavinsky felt like his ears were warm. He hopped they were red. At least he still had his headphones on to hide it.

"Hey, thanks, man," says Ramon, sliding into the offered chair and shrugging out of the battered biker jacket. It's a good jacket, but he misses his one with the Colombian flag. "I appreciate it. Thought I was going to have to fucking stand for a second."

"Yeah," Kav said, bumping one ear of the headphones off so he could hear him talk. He looked around a little and, supposed, that it had picked up a little bit and he hadn't even noticed it since he'd been sitting there. That had a tendency to happen. He had been there for a couple hours, he supposed.

"It's a popular spot," he said with a shrug. "I mean, they all are, since we've only got so many to go to."

"Yeah," says Ramon, grinning, his fingers curled around the mug in front of him, though it's too hot for him to drink right now. "I'm still getting my head around that. I mean, I'm used to Portland, man. Feels like there was a new coffee shop opening every other week." He holds out his hand, wiggles his fingers a little. "Ramon. Nice to meet you."

Kavinsky puzzles over that's Portland, Maine, or Portland, Oregon, but either way, it didn't make much of a difference. His experiences were pretty similar in both of the weird cities. He smiled a little bit and moved his headphones off his ears entirely.

That finger wiggle drew his attention, just for a moment. He doesn't hesitate to shake hands.

"Kavinsky. New to town?"

"Pretty new, pretty new," says Ramon, shaking Kavinsky's hand warmly and then picking up his mug so that he can cradle it between both hands. "Still kind of figuring out where I stand here."

It was a good grip, and Kavinsky was very sure that his ears were way more pink than they had any right to be in that moment when they were just sitting on opposite sides of a table and talking about nothing at all.

"The first few months are sort of weird," he said. "I mean, the whole thing's pretty fucking weird, but the first few months tend to be the weirdest while you get used to it."

Ramon tosses his head, flicking his hair over his shoulder before he takes a sip of his coffee. It's good - not as good as Henry makes, but definitely not bad - and he makes a soft, satisfying sound. "Yeah. I'm feeling a tonne more settled since I woke up the other morning and my whole set-up was here, including my game files."

Kavinsky smiled and nodded a little bit. It was nice to get things from home, even little things. They were always personal things, each time, and it was nice to hear the things that people got that meant something to them.

Maybe he was just a little nostalgic. The last thing he'd gotten was his car. That felt like a lifetime ago.

"Game files?"

"I'm in school for Game Design," says Ramon, shifting a little in his chair, nervous energy, pulling his knee up, his heel resting on the seat. "I got the files for the game I was workig on. So at least I've got something to keep my hands busy, you know?"

Kavinsky watched all that fidgeting, that shifting. He licked his lips, just a little bit, and nodded along.

"Congrats, man. That's big, getting that stuff. Better than starting from scratch and all that. This place always feels like picking up from nothing. That's a good thing for some things, but I'd hate that if I'd actually invested any sort of time into anything back home." He laughed a little, self-deprecating. "Besides parties."

Ramon has been out, has been hooking up for long enough to know what that look means, to know what the quick touch of Kavinsky's tongue against his lip means. He hasn't hooked up with anyone since Henry; he can feel it, like nervous electric energy in his bones and his guts. He shifts a little, turning in his chair so he's facing Kavinsky more directly.

"That game, it's everything, man. I used to get high, work for hours. Feels good." He rolls his shoulder.

Something settled in Kavinsky's stomach, that bold knowing of flirtatious energy. He shifted his laptop's screen down, just an inch or so, so it wasn't so much of a barrier in between them. It was still. There was a bridge he shouldn't cross, even if flirting was fun.

"Well, if you need help on the creative juices?" Kavinsky laughed a little and shrugs. "What was your poison?"

Ram watches the adjustment of the laptop screen and, when he looks up, he's smiling. He reaches it for his coffee, cradling it his hands.

"Nothing special. Just weed."

"Easy access to it, nice high." Kavinsky nodded a little bit. It was what he tended to be on these days, rather than cocaine or ecstasy any more. He knew he was a little dependent to keep his edges all blunted down.

He felt like he needed to blunt down a little bit of those those edges right now.

"It's nice and legal here, so that's nice. But it's certainly not my favorite shit here in Darrow. I'm always going to be partial to my shit."

"Your shit?" says Ramon, arching his eyebrow. He leans forward on his elbows, his hair slipping forward to touch the side of his face. "What kind of shit's that?"

Kavinsky's eye was drawn to the fall of his hair, and he almost laughed, because it was everything, everything about the unkempt, sort of frazzled stoner artist kid he'd known in passing at the public schools and Aglionby and the nearby colleges. It made him want to pin it back or something. Hold it back in some variety. He really shouldn't be thinking like that.

He grinned, lazily. The sharpness was a quiet thing these days; he was a cat more than a shark these days. "Anything you could dream of."

"Promises, man. Promises," says Ramon, flashing a bright white grin. He sets his coffee cup down and idly plays with his hair, pulling it up into a bun on the back of his head, undercut exposed, fastening it with the band worn around his wrist. "I've got pot at home. I'm good."

Something thrilling and warm curled and uncurled in Kavinsky's stomach, and he did his best to ignore it. He ought to. He curled his fingers in front of his laptop and fidgeted with his ring a little bit. He could feel the smile still on his face, lazy.

"Well, if you wanna try something that isn't the local Darrow shit, I can bring something by."

"Are you hitting on me, man?" says Ramon, and the expression on his face says that he wouldn't necessarily mind if that was the case. He looks at Kavinsky's hands. "You got someone at home who'd have something to say about that?"

Ramon's a lot of things, but he's not interested in getting in the way of anyone's relationship.

Kavinsky laughed a little and pushed his fingers into his own hair, fluffing a little.

"I really shouldn't be," he admitted. There was a ring. There was a nice little house and cats and a good husband. "But I'm pretty sure he'd laugh at me for worrying about flirting so much."

"Oh, yeah?" asks Ramon, arching an eyebrow, leaning a little bit closer. Under the table, his shifts his foot so that the toe of his boot nudges Kavinsky's. "He doesn't mind flirting?"

It felt like a simple thing to adjust his ankles under the table, to nudge his his feet gently so that he invited the brushing attention. "No harm in flirting. It's all the fun stuff that can come after the flirting that calls for checking in."

Aware of the way Kavinsky shifts his feet under the table, Ramon extends one leg until his foot is between Kavinsky's, their legs intertwined. He sips his coffee.

"What's allowed if you check in?"

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