CHAPTER 6
Poppy's never seen the station during the daytime. 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 Kelly and her go out to get breakfast at Waffle Hut. Poppy gets a waffle, Kelpy gets flies.
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"Hun, 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 until 3am. And 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 usually my process for most things in life."
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."
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That night Poppy talks about street art, and what she interprets convoluted graffiti 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, the desk isn't far. She opens up her laptop and looks up anything she can find about Poppy. Anything at all.
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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. Numbers are up to a hair shy of 10,000 now, after only a few days it's a miracle anyone cares about this. The inhabitants of the night must be really short up on entertainment to listen to her and her bad music taste. The character she plays for the people is confident but subtle about it. 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 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 hot. 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 spoke. 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 mad scientist projects. She lifts up her comical 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 Aries, she's gives me bad vibes." Poppy gives a small nod and gets up, struggling slightly.
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 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, yes, 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."
"Uhh, you're welcome, um, what was your name?"
"Amora. Amora Crane." She extends her hand and Poppy grabs it. She also grabs Newtons other hand from the counter, because why not. Now they're all holding 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 nighttime worker and owner of the shop. Poppy's heard of him plenty but never actually spoke to him. It seems that's going to 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 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 everything else. Her instincts for foraging have been overspent by constant searching 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 faces 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 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 2 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 sensation in her left antler stub, it must be spliting 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. 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 Kicks in the preseason. At least, that's what she understood. The bartender comes back with a soda with a lemon perched on the edge of the glass and Poppy clears her tab then and there. She sips the drink as she watches the other patrons enjoy themselves. After all, their days are almost done. This may be the last time she can sit in a restaurant and not be recognized, she thinks.
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. Leon isn't there yet, theres an hour or so when the shop is closed. Fig goes back in and wheels out the bike, in perfect working order. Poppy says a shallow thank you and pedals off. Fig must have noticed the dead look in the rabbits eyes.
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