Did everyone on the damn island know the little bugger with the stick legs and dimpled smile? Sawyer was certainly starting to suspect that such was the case as his grin faltered for an instant. It was a little cut into his facade that Sawyer would regret greatly (as much as anyone could be upset over a poor first impression), because at the end of the day, kissing a dude to escape the clutches of force fielded, nargle-infested mistletoe shouldn't have been so big of a deal. What had Sawyer keeping most of his calm was, in the end, the fact that this radioperson didn't seem to be paying him the greatest of attention anyway, more concerned with getting the music just right and looking like he was sweating buckets just to deal with that special level of stress.

It nearly made Sawyer laugh in the way that he often did whenever he was grating on someone's nerves, because yeah, it was fun to watch people blow up over nothing. Even though he'd largely given up the habit over the months, being on Tabula Rasa was occasionally like being handed a completely new set of victims to toy with, with the added benefit of a larger population, making disappearing into the crowd that much easier.

"Maybe I am. Why, you tellin' me I gotta audition?" Sawyer asked in return with a cough and a smirk, shaking his head as he stared at the man, smile only widening with each passing second. "'Cause man, I dunno how well I'd hold up against the crickets you got chirpin' half the week."