Participants:
| Scene Title | Obi-Raquelle Cambria, You're My Only Hope |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | In need of help and advice, Lance turns to the hairdresser. |
| Date | November 15, 2019 |
It’s late in the day, in fact just shy of the salon closing for the night, when the door is suddenly thrust open and Lance steps inside. He’s breathing hard, suggesting he was running, and looks equally bedraggled with his tie untied and suit jacket unbuttoned - otherwise he was clearly dressed for work, all government agent chic.
Work ran late and he wanted to make sure he caught the proprietor in.
“Raquelle! I need your— Uh, are you— I mean— hi.”
Raquelle has been having slow days, that working half-days for the last couple of weeks. The hairstylist turns around from where he was sweeping up after his last hair cut and his well groomed eyebrows raise a fraction. Fitted chain-pants in shades of dark blue in the plaid and what not, dark blue shirt under a leather jacket and what not. His hair has been tousled in its style today and he taps a shiny dark blue nail against the broom.
Make-up is on point as usual and he just smirks gently as he looks the young man over, waiting for the correct greeting as he tries to get his own heart rate to slow down. “…well hello to you too.”
“Sorry, uh, lost track of time at work,” Lance takes a deep breath, straightening and raking a hand back through his hair to straighten it out a bit before flashing a smile over, still a bit flushed from the run, “Wanted to catch you. Hi. How’re the girls and everything?”
Niceties are important with Raquelle, otherwise the young man might find himself bald, or worse. So he tries to go through those before he gets to the meat of why he’s here.
"Mmhm. Girls and everything are okay. Are /you/ okay?" Raquelle heads towards the front of the salon to peek out and make sure nothing is chasing the poor boy.
With a satisfied 'hm' he spins around to face Lance and raise his eyebrow again, questioningly. "It is always a pleasure to see you baby but you ran in here like you slept with the quarterback's girlfriend. What's on your mind?"
“What? No. I didn’t— who has time to date?” Lance’s life is super busy. He finally gives up on his hair and walks forward, shaking his head, “So, uh— the station? I mean, WSZR? So, Martin kind of… went missing, there was a terrorist attack awhile back? And he’s still missing, and, mo— Gillian took Jolene, and they went after Squeaks. So, uh…”
He spreads his hands, “I’m the only one that’s running the station.”
It’s not said in celebration, but closer to ‘WHAT DO I DO’.
Blink. Blink. Raquelle leans the broom against the wall and holds out his hands in a placating gestures. "Okay okay okay. Take a deep breath. Sit down." He gestures towards the couches.
"1st of all. There's always time to date. You just have to wait for the one who fits into the glass slipper of your insane life. 2nd of all, I am very proud that you have stepped up and taken this new responsibility by the danglies."
He retrieves something from the front desk before heading towards the couches as well with a couple of pens and a notepad. "Now, I know you already have a job so you are going to need to make a schedule and plan for what you want to do with the station." He offers a pen and the notepad. "Let's workshop it hon."
Lance flops down onto one of the couches, leaning forward and reaching out for the notepad and pen. “I mean, I could just leave it on the WRAY feed,” he admits reluctantly, “But it’s the only radio station the Zone has, you know? People expect, like, local news and stuff. I can’t be there that often, though…”
“Like you said, I have a job,” he says, waving the pen.
“You do. How’s that going by the way?” Raquelle settles down beside Lance, having magically apparated (who knows) a bottle of water which he hands over as he nods towards the notebook. “Okay, so you need to block out the hours you already have allotted for work. Then you need to block out which hours you want the Wray Feed to go during the hour and mix it up with whatever original content you are trying you share. You find some people who have their finger on the pulse of what’s happening in the Zone and you leverage their experience to give the local news and stuff.”
He frowns slightly before smoothing out his brow. “How much do you want recorded live and how much do you want pre-recorded?”
“It’s going good,” Lance replies, flashing a smile even as he reaches out to grab the water bottle offered - pen dropping to the notebook. “We’re even working real cases now, and even though some of them are… well.” The smile fades a bit, “It’s not fun but we’re helping people, and that’s important.”
The bottle’s opened and he takes a swig, lowering it, “Shit, I hadn’t even thought of pre-recording stuff. See, this is why I came to you.”
There is a flicker of both pride and concern in Raquelle’s eyes as he nods slowly at the updates about ‘work’. “Well, as long as you know what you’re doing it all for, and it seems like you do.”
Back to the topic at hand. “Do you know what you want to highlight on the channel? What you want folks tuning in on the regular to hear?”
“I mean, local news and happenings, local events,” Lance says, “Stuff to help make the Zone seem more like— a community, I guess? I’ve started doing some broadcasts of the names of people looking for family that got separated in the war, hoping that they can find each other…”
He hesitates, “Honestly, I started because— I found out me and Hailey’s dad might be alive after all.”
Raquelle points to the notepad. “Write that down.” He encourages before he takes a deep breath. “So you need to decide which days you will do that broadcast for the family situation stuff. You decide what information you can pre-record.”
He pauses before smiling a bit sympathetically. “Has…any contact been made then? Or are you still looking for him?”
The pen’s tip darts over the page as Lance starts making notes, sweeping it over to add a list of days as well to one side. Not looking up, he grimaces a little. “Still looking, and— he might have died in the war, no way to know,” he admits quietly, “Turns out when he ‘died’ the Company actually— picked him up and put him in Slice jail.”
He glances up, “He was told we were dead, too.”
“You want to put a special little daily shout out for him as well? Are you going to set up a contact number or place to help connect people?” Raquelle asks carefully and he tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes and looking thoughtful. “Alright. So. What else do you want to make sure is included in your schedule?”
“I’ve been adding him in,” Lance admits, “Now and then, hoping he’ll hear, but…”
A frustrated exhalation as he leans back, “The only lead I have goes to a really bad guy, and I’m hoping it’s wrong. A contact number…” He pauses, “That’s a good idea. Or a, a website or something, maybe?”
Schedule! Right! “Well, local news and such, missing persons, music obviously - people love music, it keeps them going. Maybe do some interviews and such, local people?”
“That’s it. You always have to have a way to connect people if a missing family, friend, or lover wants to reconnect with the people looking for them.” Raquelle agrees before idly toying with a silver stud in his ear and eyeing what Lance is writing down.
“You could do a Red Hook Market update, maybe get some people on the CoOp who want to speak as well.” The hairdresser pauses before asking carefully. “Do you have anybody outside of yourself that can actually /run/ it while you are in James Bond Training?”
“Oh, that’s a good one,” Lance admits, scribbling that down, “I need to look into someone who can make websites anyway, for Silvia… uh.”
He glances up, pausing, and admits, “Nnnnnno, not really. I’m the only person left at the station, like, at all.”
The hairdresser now leans forward for a moment, moving a hand to cover his mouth and then slide back to brush up so he can run his fingers through his hair. They tangle there though for a moment so he can fix the tousling as he cuts a look to Lance beside him.
Raquelle takes a deep breath and just laughs softly, not mockingly but just in sympathy. “I…oh baby.” He blinks a few times. “We’re gonna need to get you a couple of employees or volunteers.”
“I can’t pay employees,” says Lance, eyes widening a bit, “I can barely pay the— half of the Lighthouse don’t have jobs, do you know how much Joe eats?” He gestures vaguely, as if to indicate something very large.
“Wait, don’t— “ A lean forward, “Didn’t you say you used to work at a radio station?”
Yes. Yes Raquelle knows how much Joe eats. Extra Rice is always a much. He tsks sympathetically before thumbing the side of his nose and nodding. “That is why I said /volunteers/ from the community who want to use it as a way of giving back.”
Then it happens. The question about the radio and he blinks slowly. “I worked on the radio during the war, yes.” He replies carefully.
“So, I’m just saying…” Lance’s hands spread a little, pen still in one hand between two fingers as his eyebrows crawl upwards, “…you’re from the community. And you have experience…”
Eyebrows lift higher. Hopeful.
Blue eyes narrow as Raquelle eyes Lance and rolls his eyes as he runs his fingers through his hair again. “Last time somebody told me they was trying to talk me into a foursome with a new local band.” He drawls softly.
“C’mon Teen Titan. You want something from me, you gotta ask me direct.”
Lance clears his throat, straightening, “Well, I was just thinking that with your experience in the field and your amazing community spirit, it would be amazing if you would volunteer to assist at the radio station.”
A pause, “…please?”
There is just a stare from Raquelle as he processes what he’s been asked and he looks down for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck and then back up. He takes a deep breath and finally replies softly. “I will /volunteer/ for no more than 2 days a week for now. For now. Until you generate enough buzz to get more. I have to run the salon you know. I can also do Morning Reports for you as well.”
A broad grin from Lance, then, “Thanks, Raquelle. You’re a life-saver. And I mean— hopefully it won’t be long before Lene gets back, or we find Martin…” Worry there, shadowing his brow. If he’s alive. The old man is old.
“I appreciate this.”
“I will draw up a contract.” Raquelle unslings his arm and pushes himself up to his feet. “You are welcome.. And this only until you get the help you need.” He waggles a finger and then gestures towards the list. “I’ll also get you a couple of days I can work each week.”
“Maybe we can make this work after all,” Lance says more encouragedly than when he’d come in, twirling the pen and leaning over it, “I can see who else I can get… maybe Cash would be willing. She needs to stop playing gargoyle anyway…”
“Joe…?” He grins broadly, “Oh man. Imagine an Ask Joe call-in.”
Raquelle gestures towards the paper. “Any idea you have, just right it down. That’s how you get things organized.” Then he pauses as he imagines that and blinks several times. “That’s…that would be brilliant in a terrifying way. Just amazing.”
He smiles slowly and then opens his arms for a hug. “See, you’ve got this. And you’re not alone Sir Lancelot.”
A laugh, and Lance pushes himself up to his feet to reach out and return the hug. “Never alone,” he replies cheerfully, “That’s what Lighthouse means.”