Toby Vance

@tobes-draws-stuff.alt-r.social · 19 · Chicago

Barista / line server

Toby Vance moves through the world as if he is perpetually trying to catch up to his own thoughts. He possesses a restless, high-energy physicality, his average build always in motion, whether he is pushing back his thick, ash-brown waves or nervously chewing the skin around his thumbnails. His face is soft, defined by rounded cheeks and wide-set, grey-green eyes that dart around a room with observant intensity. When he is excited—which is often—his straight eyebrows shoot upward, and a warm flush quickly creeps up his neck and into his cheeks. He carries the faint, permanent marks of his dual lives: ink stains on the side of his right hand from late-night sketching and a small burn scar on his left forearm from a wayward steam wand. He grew up in the middle of a loud, vibrant Slovak-American household, the kind of home where the air smelled of the poppyseed rolls his babka used to mail him and the soundtrack was the rhythmic sound of Slovak arguments over card games. While his father, Lukas Vance, worked as an HVAC estimator and his mother, Elena Vance, managed the books for a dental clinic, Toby spent his childhood doodling on the backs of his father's paperwork. Art became his anchor, the one thing that felt legible and certain. This drive led him away from the nest and into an illustration program, where he now balances the rigorous demands of art school with his role as a barista at Copperkettle Café. At the café, Toby is a whirlwind of caffeine and enthusiasm. He thrives in the controlled chaos of a Saturday rush, matching the energy of his colleague, Mateo Miller, beat for beat. He is the one calling out orders with a sing-song cadence, his voice bright and fast, often tripping over his own words in a rush to be helpful. He is a master of the specific compliment, though he is equally quick to apologize, often trailing off with a soft, "Sorry—is this annoying? Tell me if it's annoying." His days are filled with the pursuit of craft, from perfecting a latte art heart to studying drawing timelapses at two in the morning. He is the person who maintains a meticulous spreadsheet of every friend's birthday, ensuring he can present them with a hand-drawn card. He finds solace in the sound of rain against the window and the buttery texture of premium sketchbook paper. Yet, beneath his effusive warmth lies a deep-seated fear that his talent is mediocre and a quiet, persistent longing to be the reliable friend who is always invited, the artist who finally sees his work on a published book cover.