CHAPTER SIX

Poppy's never seen the station during the daytime, and it's somehow sadder when you can see every corner of the dilapidated building. It looks like someone's lake house from the 60's. The manager is a gecko, short guy in a cheap suit. The attorney's already made up a contract that Poppy reads over. 'Effective after a trail period lasting until November 18th and with approval by Sylvia Foxx blah blah blah, exclusivity to WWAK and WSUN stations for a period of 5 years yada yada yada, base salary of $45,000 plus 20% ad revenue from show etc etc etc.' She signs, everyone claps, and Kelpy and her go out to get breakfast at Waffle Hut. Poppy gets a waffle, Kelpy gets a bowl of flies with ketchup.

"Poppy, oh my god, congrats on getting a show!!! How do you feel?"

"Honestly, mostly just tired. What if I have to do the show every night every weekday forever? I won't see any of my friends."

"You'll see me, and plenty of people in the forum stay up through the night. Also, low-key, this kinda saved the station. We had no good programs."

"Maybe this will level up the other programs, right? Like that one with the punk rat, or uhh, don't y'all run the bluegrass show?"

Kelpy slurps its flys out of a bowl. "No, that's the public radio station. We tried getting them but they were too expensive."

"Do people ask for money when they do public radio shows? I thought that was, like, public."

"Sometimes. This would be your last show before the weekend, right? What are you gonna talk about? And how are those call-ins gonna work?"

"No clue and no clue. I was just gonna ride my bike around until I see something interesting and then talk about that. That's how I've come up with everything else so far."

Kelpy licks its plate clean. "Maybe you can have these people call in and talk about their crazy lives! It would save you a lot of time in research."

Poppy draws faces in the leftover syrup. Even their smiles look fake. "Nah, then the show loses its appeal. The whole idea, see, is that I go out and see things and I talk about them to an audience. If it was Joe Average talking about his day people wouldn't care, even if his day was way more interesting. It's not the content people like, it's the personality."

"Still, I worry that you're gonna go out just looking for things to talk about on the show, and it has the possibility of draining all of the joy out of your already middling life. Joy wise, I mean."

"That's incredibly ominous, Kelpy, but thanks... I guess."

That night Poppy talks about street art, and what she interprets convoluted tags to be. Meanwhile, somewhere in the suburbs of Hanover a sheep lays on her back, fully enraptured. She gets up off the bed and moves to the desk. Her apartment is tiny, it's not a far walk but tricky with the drink cans littering the ground. She opens up her laptop and looks up anything she can find about Poppy. Anything at all.



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The new studio is far larger than the old one, WSUN's technical team far more skilled. Kelpy reasons that their higher level of skill compared to it only comes out of necessity to operate the more complex equipment. Poppy backs it up on this, not wanting to hurt its feelings. Foxx starts showing up for some of the recordings, but not all. Usually she sits in the studio, visible behind the glass at all times. She's almost always starting directly into Poppy's soul.

After a few weeks under contract the show is doing surprisingly well. Poppy overheard somebody at a restaurant talking about it the other day, and when Grandma was watching tv the late night host mentioned it in passing. Subscription numbers are up to a hair shy of 20,000 now, after only a few days it's a miracle anyone cares about this. The towns nightsiders must be really short up on entertainment to listen to her and her bad music taste. The character she puts on for the people is confident but not overly brash. She's calm, almost maternal in nature, with a sort of all-knowing kindly energy.

In reality, she's still the skittish jackalope she's always been, now with a fear of being stalked despite no photos or a full name of her being released to the public. The brakes on her bike finally gave out when she was coming home from work last night. She went flying, and while the helmet shielded her brains her knees had no such luck. She wheels the busted up contraption into the bike shop, where Newton is talking to a sheep at the counter. He drops what he's doing immediately.

"Poppy! There you are, this kind lady was just asking about your show! Gee, what happened to you?"

Turns out running on no sleep with busted up knees and elbows doesn't make you look so great. Still, the sheep stares at her with absolute adoration, bordering on devotion. "Yeah, the brake line finally snapped, I busted my ass and broke a few spokes. Anything you can do for it?"

She walks right past Newton and the Sheep to leave the bike in a corner where Fig is working on a small engine, probably for one of her wild projects. She lifts up her comical mad scientist goggles to look the bike over. "Hmm, I can have this done in an hour, assuming you didn't bend the frame this time." She motions for Poppy to lean in closer to look at the frayed brake linkage, and when she does Fig whispers "Eyes up on the sheep, she's gives me bad vibes." Poppy gives a small nod and gets up, pain shooting through her knees.

The sheep speaks with some trepidation. "I'm so sorry, are you, um, Poppy from the midnight radio jamboree?"

Poppy looks her up and down. She wears a sundress with a purse shaped like a flower. She's adorable, even if she's potentially stalking her. "Yes I am, how did you know I'd be here?"

"You always mention this bike shop, I thought you might come in at some point. This lovely dog-"

"Newton! Great to meet ya!" He shoots out a paw, and the sheep takes it and shakes.

"Um, yeah, he said you might be here. and so I thought I'd come here to say, uh, thank you."

Fig looks up at the counter, Poppy looks concerned. "You see, I have really bad insomnia, and I caught your show one night. For some reason the music and your voice helped me sleep, it was some of the best sleep I've had in a long time. So, thank you for that."

"I guess you're welcome, uh, what was your name?"

"Amora. Amora Crane." She extends her hoof and Poppy grabs it. She also grabs Newtons other hand from the counter, because why not. Now they're all shaking each others hands, wonderful.

Poppy clears her throat "Look, Amora, It's not that I don't appreciate your being a fan, but the idea of people looking for me freaks me out a little."

"I'm so sorry! I just wanted to thank you in person. I won't bother you again, ok? Except, well.."

Newton pipes in, taking the chance to deliver the news. "Amora runs a fan club for your show that does listening parties, the shop is in on it! Leon signed us up."

Leon, the owner of the shop. Poppy's heard of him plenty but never actually spoke to him. It seems that might change soon. Amora looks petrified, she's visibly trembling like she's been caught in the headlights. Occasionally she glances from the wall towards Poppy's shaved horns. Poppy catches a glance at the stubs on the sheeps head.

"Look, I didn't mean to freak you out, ok? Just, no more stalking. I have an email address for a reason."

"Ok, I'm sorry, I won't be too much of a bother, I won't look for you again, I'm sorry. You know, I have to catch a bus to, uh.. the opera house, yea! Okseeyabyepoppy!!!!!" And off she went.

Fig looks up from the engine at Poppy and Newton, still standing there somewhat dumbfounded. Poppy pays for the repair and leaves the shop before Fig even starts the work.



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The city isn't as bright as she remembered it once being. Things don't stick out to her anymore, they blend in with the general scenery. Her instincts for foraging have been overspent by the constant search for show topics. She has to record tonight, and she's got nothing. Music is one thing, talking to tens of thousands of eagerly listening people is another. If only she could see them, look at their faces for reactions to what she's saying. Forget stage fright, being put on the spot live would be better than the isolation she deals with now. She stops for a beer, she's usually not the type to drink but bars are a great spot to pick up stories.

The place is dingy, busy with everyone getting off work. Staff in the small kitchen are rushing to prepare both finger foods for the daysiders and breakfast for the night crowd. They eat totally different than the people of the day, more insects and root vegetables as opposed to tofu and fruits. These things stored better in the dark, she figures, so they became the traditional cuisine. Little things like that are interesting to her, but she can't do two hours on the eating habits of the people of Hanover. The bartender is an armadillo, unusual in this part of the country.

"May I ask how you came to this town?"

He glances at Poppy, he's been asked this question a thousand times. "I went to a concert and couldn't afford the bus fare back where I belong. You happy?"

"No, not at all. I'm sorry I asked such a.. dumb question."

"It's alright, make me feel better by patronizing my bar."

Her ear twitches, a small stinging sensation in her left antler stub, it must be growing again. "Right, whatever beer has the least amount of alcohol"

"One soda, coming up." He walked off. Over in the corner Poppy notices a group of dogs in suits watching the TV. A soccer game is going on, and Victoria is winning 4-2 against Harperton. From the coats thrown hastily over stools and bags laid open with papers pulled out of them she gathers that they ran off of work to catch the game. Harperton won't win, they just lost their best kicker to the Springfield Springs in the preseason. At least, that's what she understood with her limited sports knowledge. The bartender comes back with a soda, adorned with a lemon perched on the edge of the glass and Poppy clears her tab out. She sips the drink as she watches the other patrons enjoy themselves. After all, their days are almost done. How much longer will she be able to sit in a bar and not get recognized?

She takes some notes, and leaves to get her bike. When she gets to the shop Fig and Newton are locking up, getting ready to go home themselves. The shop is run by Leon at night, but he doesn't come in for another few hours. Fig goes back in and wheels out the bike, in perfect working order. Poppy says a shallow thank you and pedals off. Theres no way the couple didn't notice the sad look in the girls eyes.



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