_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Season 2, episode 2: "Mercedes Bends" prose adaptation by Austin Loomis
ACT 1: ADDICTED TO LOVE
Amazingly enough, Tim O'Neill had made a full recovery from the games the members of the Flack-Jacket Mafia had played with his head at the abrupt end of Lawndale High's fall 1999 semester. Now, in January, he was back in the language arts classroom, droning away in the background as usual. Flack-Jacket Capa di Tutti Capi Lynn Cullen was tuning him out by reading _Best Served Cold: the Ultimate Revenge Tactics for Any Occasion_. Her look-alike, Daria Morgendorffer, was reading Stephen King's classic _Misery_. A.P. McIntyre, once Lynn's boyfriend and now interested in Daria, was looking at Erudite Emerald nervously. Finally screwing his courage to the sticking place, he scrawled something on a piece of paper and slipped it onto Daria's desk. Daria looked at the paper, then unfolded it. In handwriting even worse than quarterback Kevin Thompson's -- Daria was put in mind of a 6-year-old with poor motor control on a turbulence-ridden plane flight -- she read the words, _Date-thing? Friday? 6:30?_ She looked at the note again, then looked at Lynn. Lynn, without looking up, shrugged and nodded. Daria scribbled on the paper and handed it back to A.P. He unfolded it, and it said, _OK._ A.P. looked at it for a moment, then broke into a huge grin. "*Woo-hoo!*" he shouted out. Daria blushed and hid behind her book. Lynn just smirked.
* * *
Later, in the chambers of the fourth Jacketeer, artiste extraordinaire Jane Lane, Art-Smart Scarlet herself was looking at Daria, who was lying on Jane's bed with her hair streaming down the side in what they all called her "something eating at my soul" pose. "So he asked you out," Jane rechecked the story. "Yes," Daria confirmed. "And he disrupted the class with much joyous shouting over you saying yes." "Correct." "And now you're nervous." "Indeed." "What *about?*" Daria sighed. "Clothes." "And yet you share a house with an ex-Fashion Club member." That embarrassed Daria -- both the fact, and the having to be reminded of it. "Oh, yeah."
* * *
In her own room, the Chamber of Dark Mysteriousness, Lynn was on her computer, not looking at A.P., who was sprawled across her bed on his stomach, looking stressed. "So you asked her out," Lynn made sure she'd understood events. "Yep," A.P. confirmed. "And she said yes." "That's right." "So you should be happy." "Right again." "But you're not." "Uh-huh..." "What's wrong?" "Mom won't let me have the car. She said something about seeing me in hell before seeing me behind the wheel of her baby." "She drives a Ford Escort." "Try telling *her* that. She treats that hunk of junk as well as you treat..." _...the car your mom signed over to you as a Christmas present._ An idea formed, a wonderful, awful idea. "Hey..." "Oh, no. No way. I am *not* letting you borrow the Mercedes!" "But why *not?* I mean..." "Remember when you were twelve and your mom bought you that mountain bike? Remember saying you could take that hill, and wiping out into the Gundersons' fence instead? You did that three times that year. The fence, the Myers' garage door, and the wall of the school. Then your mother refused to buy you another bike. And you wonder why no one lets you drive their car? Why not just stay in Lawndale?" "It's our first real date and I want it to be special! Please?" "Sorry to sound hard-hearted, but when it comes to the Merc, I am adamant. No way in hell."
* * *
In her room, Quinn Morgendorffer, former vice-president of the Lawndale High Fashion Club, was digging through her closet, coming out with a small rummage sale's worth of clothes for the critiquing. "Hmm...rose pink? Hot pink? Ah! Coral!" She heard the voice of the bane of her existence, still a minor threat to her popularity if their true relationship ever came out -- her brainy older sister Daria. "Hey...Quinn?" "Hey Daria, can't talk, big date with Ted and..." "That's sort of why I'm here. I..." She trailed off under Quinn's scrutiny. After a moment, Quinn figured out Daria's question. She was, frankly, stunned. "*Date?* -- One moment, please." She went to the phone and dialed a number. After a beat, she spoke into the mouthpiece. "Ted? Quinn. -- Hi, you! Um...sorry to do this to you but something's come up and I'm not going to be able to see you until..." She turned to Daria, covering the mouthpiece. "When are you meeting the boyfriend?" Daria was still recovering from the datapoint that Ted DeWitt- Clinton's parents actually let a telephone into their house. "Friday at six-thirty, but..." Quinn turned back to the phone and the Boy in the Bubble. "How about Friday at eight? -- Thanks for understanding, Ted. -- Yeah, great! -- You too. Bye." She hung up. "Right, now where to start?" "Quinn, I only wanted a bit of advice. I don't want to change my look too much and I didn't want you to cancel dates with Ted for me." "Daria, are you *kidding?* I'm *not* going to change your look too much!" "But I thought..." "You're a fashion mistake, true, but...I guess it's a you thing. It's like, I couldn't wear the things that *you* wear just so people would think I'm smart..." "No matter how hard you tried." _*Real* existentialism isn't something you can coordinate with wardrobe, after all._ "I'm getting on with my life, Daria. -- Anyway, so you can't dress like me so that people will think you're fashionable and popular." "Isn't that usually `*attractive* and popular'?" "Um...well, it's *not* that you're not attractive. -- I mean, you've got *great* hair." "Um..." "You could just *do* something with it instead of letting it *hang* there! Now, let's get started. We've got a *lot* of work to do." She shoved whole racks of clothes aside, revealing (to any real or imaginary observer inside the closet) herself and a very nervous- looking Daria.
* * *
In school, Lynn opened her locker and a note fell out. She unfolded it and read a single word, in A.P.'s handwriting: _Please?_ She took out a pen, wrote on the paper, and walked towards A.P., who was standing across the hall, waiting. She handed him the paper. He read it and winced. _Ouch, that's cold._
* * *
Quinn held swatches of cloth in different colors up to Daria's face. She held up a piece of green and nodded appraisingly. Pink -- she looked disgusted and threw it over her shoulder. Blue -- she seemed to consider it for a moment, but put it down. This had been going on for awhile, and Daria was getting bored.
* * *
After school, Lynn walked up to the Merc and saw a sign tied to the back end -- _LET A.P. BORROW ME, [address] She tore the sign off, dumped it into the nearest trash can and got into the car. A.P., hiding behind a tree, sighed loud and long. _Shot down again._
* * *
In the bathroom, Quinn was demonstrating how to use an eyeliner pencil. Daria tried but, since she couldn't see very well without her glasses, accidentally poked herself in the eye again. Quinn sighed and handed her a piece of tissue. When Daria had used it, she threw it, too, into the already-overflowing wastepaper basket.
* * *
Lynn was online in her room when the phone rang. She picked up, listened just long enough to be sure who it was, and rolled her eyes when he got to the pitch. Then she opened a desk drawer, grabbed an air horn, and sounded it off into the mouthpiece. Then she hung up with an evil smirk.
* * *
Daria was sitting on the edge of the bathtub in her maroon bathrobe with curlers in her hair, looking disgusted with herself. Quinn was holding Daria's wrist and testing different shades of lipstick on the back of her hand, which by now looked like a slasher had been at it.
* * *
Lynn opened her locker and found, you guessed it, another note -- this one said, _I Know What You Did Last [address] Lynn raised an eyebrow, scribbled on the paper, and then walked up to A.P., who was standing across the hall. She pinned him to the lockers, forced his mouth open, stuffed the note in, and walked away. A.P. spat out the note and read it. In Lynn's looping copperplate handwriting, it said, _If I'm going down for that, I'm taking you with me._ A.P. considered this, going a little pale as he did so. He then put the note back in his mouth, chewed it thoroughly, and swallowed it.
* * *
Lynn was online that night when A.P. climbed in through her window. "Hey, Purple Peril," he led off. "Okay, spare me the suspense. What's the latest tactic to get me to hand over the keys to my prized possession?" "Um...guilt-trip? I pick Daria up in an hour, you know." Lynn sighed. "Is there *no* other way you could get transport to parts less boring?" "Um...the bus." She sighed again. "I swear to you, A.P., if you wreck the Merc, I *will* have to do unspeakable things to you." "Promise! I promise! Does that mean you're caving?" "Like a wet cardboard box." She dug in her jacket pocket, came up with the keys and threw them at A.P. "Just...treat her better than you do mountain bikes, okay?" A.P. tossed the keys in the air and re-caught them. "You are a..." "Don't bother. Get out of here."
* * *
Quinn was peering out the window of her room and saw the car pull up. "Silver Mercedes convertible! An SLK, I think! Wow, Daria, is *that* what your boyfriend drives?" "No," Daria replied from some nice safe place where nobody could see her until it was time, "that's what his best friend drives. I wonder what it took to get her to lend it to him." "Well, he's got style, anyway. And I'm so glad I didn't decide on gray. You'd sort of fade into the leather on the seats." "How do you know about cars, anyway? I thought that sort of thing would be beneath you." "When you used to have a car rating system for dates, you pick up stuff. Now let *me* get the door. You want to make an entrance, right?" "I don't want to play games here, Quinn." "It's not a *game,* Daria. It's *drama!*" "And coming from the Drama Queen herself, I suppose I should accept that." Quinn smirked good-naturedly and left the room in a doorward direction just as the doorbell rang. She opened the front door to see that guy who hung out with Daria and her geeky friends, standing there holding an inflatable palm tree. Very fast, so as to get it over with, she greeted him. "*Hi!* You must be Daria's date. She'll be ready in a minute. I'm Quinn. God, what are you *wearing?* Why couldn't you have brushed your hair? And what's *that?*" "What passes for flowers in the A.P. philosophy," he replied. "It doesn't wilt, need water, or die." "I...*guess*...that's supposed to be some romantic gesture, right?" "Best I could do on short notice." "Well, just be glad that Mom and Dad aren't home yet. Mom would interrogate you like some kind of...witless thing like in her courtroom and Dad would try to..." Quinn shuddered. "...*bond* with you. Just a sec." She yelled upstairs. "*Daria! Your date's here!*" She turned back to A.P. "And what kind of name is A.P.? It makes you sound like a...a supermarket or something!" "And I'm fresh out of melons. Damn." "Ooh! Even when Daria's doing something *normal* she's weird!" She yelled upstairs again. "*Daria! Your date!*" Upstairs, Daria looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, her hair clipped back with a wide green barrette. "Oh, God..." Down in the front hall, Quinn and A.P. heard booted footsteps coming down, and they looked toward the stairs as the Misery Chick of the hour arrived. Daria was wearing her inevitable Doc Martens under a pair of black boot-cut jeans rather like Quinn's blue ones. She wore a dark green satin blouse tied up under her breasts, leaving her midriff bare. Her hair was caught back, but she had decided to wear her glasses instead of her contacts. All in all, she looked like a more mature version of Quinn. A.P. went wide-eyed. "Nrgh!" Daria panicked, remembering when she'd gotten that reaction from Trent at the Halloween party. "What?" "Don't *worry,* Daria!" Quinn replied smugly. "`Nrgh' is a *good* thing!" "So people keep telling me," Daria sighed. "You two kids have fun, now! -- Now get him *out* of here," she hissed, "so I can prepare for my *own* date!" "Later, Quinn." She turned to A.P., who was still staring. "Come on." "I..." he began intelligently. Daria grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out the door. Quinn looked after them with a smirk.
ACT 2: I FELL IN LOVE WITH A CINNAMON GIRL
Driving along in the Merc, A.P. shot Daria sidelong glances, but he did manage to keep his eyes on the road for the most part. Daria stared out the window, trying to avoid eye contact. Back before school let out, Lynn had said that a "date-thing" with A.P. would lead off with "a romantic dinner for two at the BSE- burger purveyor of your choice, followed by blowing the virtual genitals off things in the local video arcade." This was not strictly accurate, as it turned out -- they went to Mr. Fun's first, and instead of any sort of shooter, they wound up playing some beat-em-up game -- _Revenge of the Fists of the Eight Drunken Monkeys_ or something of the sort. A.P. wasn't really paying attention to the game -- he was looking more at Daria than at the screen -- and Daria won the game. He bowed to her, and she blushed and looked away. Dinner was at the Pizza King in Oakwood, where A.P. splashed out on a Super Crown -- as he said when the look-alikes took him to PK after his first day at Lawndale High, "Gourmet rocks." Daria got a blob of pizza sauce on her chin, and A.P. sheepishly wiped it away with a napkin. Daria blushed furiously and looked down at the pizza. She noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that their hands were perilously close to each other on the table. A.P. noticed it too, apparently, and his hand reached out and covered hers. Daria was surprised for a moment, but then she recovered and did one of her Mona Lisa smiles. A.P. grinned and blushed. Out in the parking lot, Daria and A.P. approached the Merc. After a moment's thought, A.P. handed Daria the keys. "Why don't you drive it home?" "Lynn's Mercedes? Oh, A.P., I don't know. I..." "Come on, she won't mind. It's *me* she doesn't trust. And I bet you're a great driver." "Um...well..." _As long as there aren't any dogs around._ "And don't tell me you don't want to drive the Merc! I can see it in your eyes." She was tempted. "Well..." Too tempted. With a squealing of tires and a startled look on A.P.'s face, they peeled out. "Um, Daria? Aren't we going a little fast?" "If I don't go this fast," Daria panicked, "people try to pull in front of me and I'm scared of them hitting me..." "Daria, relax, okay? No one's going to..." A bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle passed the Merc and cut in front of Daria, nearly hitting the front bumper. Daria made an alarmed squeaking noise and swerved a little. A.P. covered his face with his hands. "Can we pull over? I'd rather you be doing the driving here." "You're doing fine, Daria. If you quit now you'll always be afraid of scenes like this. You give up now and you might never bring yourself to drive again." Daria sighed and clenched her hands tighter on the steering wheel. A.P. bit his lower lip.
* * *
Not far enough away, a little yellow convertible was roaring along the road. Behind the wheel, Sandi Griffin was scowling. Tiffany Blum- Deckler, sitting in the passenger seat, looked a little scared in her usual blank-faced what-day-is-this? way. "It's totally *pointless,* Tiffany." "Buuut, Sandi, we *can't* have a Fashion Club with just *us.* I mean, like, who will we *advise?*" "There are *no* decent candidates, *Tiffany.* Not with Stacy cheerleading -- wearing primary colors during daylight hours, ugh -- and Quinn dating that...*nerd.*" "Buuuut..." Sandi spotted something ahead. She squinted, making sure she'd seen what she thought, then her eyes narrowed with cruel joy. "And I bet it's *their* fault. Those *geeks* with the flood-victim look." She put the hammer down, accelerating to catch up to the Mercedes she'd seen at the Mall of the Millennium last year. _That Lynn girl has no *right* to drive such a cool car._
* * *
At the sound of a car horn, Daria and A.P. looked out the driver's side window of the Merc. They saw Janus and Igor, known to lesser mortals as Sandi and Tiffany, driving on the wrong side of the road, smirking at them. "Hey," Sandi led off, "want to drag?" "Sorry," A.P. replied, "I prefer men's clothes." (Unbeknownst to them, on the road ahead, a large truck was driving along, headed their way.) Back at the car, Sandi was still driving on the wrong side of the road. "You're nuts!" A.P. informed her. "Back off!" "Will everyone please stop shouting?" Daria pleaded. "I can't *drive* if you're all *yelling* at me!" The truck came around the corner, heading right for the yellow convertible, and honked. Tiffany's eyes widen a little, as the noise startled her out of her normal vegetable state, and she tapped Sandi on the shoulder, then pointed straight ahead. "Um..." Sandi's car tried to cut in front of the Merc, and Daria was forced to drive off the road at full speed. She didn't see the tree until it was too late, any more than her dad had seen another tree when he and Trent took the Lexus out into the tornado to look for her and Jane. There was a sickening crunch. Tiffany looked back over her shoulder with a slightly worried expression on her face. Sandi looked smug. "Um...should we call someone?" "Why? Are you suggesting that it was *my* fault the loser ran into a tree?" "Um...I mean, you could have..." She trailed off, noticing the evil glare Sandi was giving her. "Um...I guess not." "I mean, *she* could have slowed down." "Yyyeeeaaahh...I guess." _But still, that was *so* wrong._
* * *
Daria and A.P. staggered out of the car, and A.P. ran around to Daria's side. "You okay?" he blurted. "Yeah. Maybe I shouldn't be so bitter about airbags ending more lives than they save." "Man, if we'd been in a lesser car..." The realization hit Daria like a wad of bricks. "Oh, God, the car..." They reluctantly stepped forward to assess the damage. The windshield was smashed, and the entire front end was dented *very* badly -- even worse than the Lexus had been after its tree encounter. Looking at the hood of the car, they could just about see how totalled the engine underneath must be. "She is going to kill me." "Nope. She gave *me* the keys. She is going to kill *me.*" "I can't let you take the blame for this..." "Who gave you the keys?" "Who got panicked and ran off the road?" "Daria..." "*No.*" She sighed. "She is going to kill *us.*" "Okay, I've got to give you that one..." "We need to get this thing to a mechanic. Maybe it's not that bad." "Just like Chernobyl wasn't that bad," A.P. sarcastically noted. "She has a car phone." "If *that* didn't get totalled too..."
* * *
Mercifully, it hadn't, and before too long, a tow truck was gathering up the Merc. Daria and A.P. were talking with one of the tow truck guys -- the name badge sewn onto his shirt identified him as BEN. "Whoa," he observed; "that is *some* car. -- Well, it *was* some car." "How long will it take to fix?" Daria wondered. "And the all-important," A.P. added, "how much will it cost?" "Well, cost gets covered by the insurance," Ben explained. "From what I've heard from you, this was just some accidental thing. Could have happened to anyone. And that insurance is hefty. -- But the time factor...well, you're looking at three weeks of having this beauty in the shop before she runs again, at best." "And...at worst?" Daria asked, dreading the answer. "Well, that engine took quite a beating. You two are lucky, but that motor sure wasn't. -- Kids, we'll do our best, but this car may *never* run again." Daria and A.P. looked at each other with panic in their eyes. In one voice, they informed each other, "She *is* going to *kill* us."
ACT 3: SO I DUB THEE UNFORGIVEN
Lynn opened the front door of her house to discover Daria and A.P. standing sheepishly outside. She gave them a Mona Lisa smile. "So how was the date? Was it what I predicted?" "Yes and no..." Daria began. "In what way no?" "Um..." "And where's the Merc?" She had a horrible thought. "Oh, God, what happened? It didn't break down on you, did it? I mean, I only got the damn thing serviced before we went to England and--" "It didn't break down," A.P. interrupted. He swallowed hard and explained, "There was an accident." "Oh...crap. You guys are okay, right?" "Yeah," Daria reassured her, "we came out without a scratch." "Good thing for us we had such a sturdy car under us, Purple Peril!" A.P. chimed in. "Shut up!" Lynn rounded on her longtime co-conspirator. "You *promised* me you'd be careful, so what the *hell* happened?" "No, Lynn, don't!" Daria interceded. After some swallowing of her own, she confessed, "I was the one behind the wheel." A deadly silence fell over Lawndale. At length, with enforced calm, Lynn grated, "Tell me what happened." "I wanted to drive it..." Daria confessed. "I talked her into it..." A.P. insisted. "I can't *handle* driving a car that expensive..." "I thought she was gonna puke..." "Sandi was driving in the wrong lane..." "Taunting us, the insensitive little..." "And then there was this truck..." "She cut us up and we had to get off the road or..." "And then there was this tree..." "Whole front end like an accordion..." Lynn got the picture. "*Stop!*" More dead silence ensued before she trusted herself to speak again. "How long. Before. My car. Is fixed?" Sheepishly, in unison, Daria and A.P. replied, "Three weeks." "*Three weeks?*" "Or possibly never." There was a deeper hush. Lynn stared at them. They looked back at her apologetically. Finally, she felt she could trust the active volcanoes of her emotional landscape not to go off in their faces. "I am going into the house now. I'd check with a neutral party before speaking to me. I have no wish to be tried for murder, even as a juvenile." With that, she walked into the house and slammed the door in their faces. Daria had to know. "You know her from a long time back. How long before she forgives and forgets?" "You know the phrase, `when hell freezes over'?" A.P. checked. "Yeah..." "Well, that seems *short* compared to Purple Peril's grudges." They looked at each other sadly, then turned and walked away.
* * *
In English class the next day, Lynn had her nose in her revenge book. Like someone throwing a bone to a hungry dog, she looked up and pretended to pay attention to O'Neill for a moment. When she did, she saw Daria and A.P. looking at her with apologetic looks on their faces. She gave them a glare that would make helium freeze solid, and they looked away in fear.
* * *
In science class, having heard the story, Jane was looking at Lynn in concern. "*Totaled?*" "I'd respond to that by saying `totally,' but it seems trite and amateurish somehow. I should never have given him the keys." Jane was confused. "But you said..." "It was *Daria* who drove the car into a tree, but if I know A.P., he goaded, prodded and wheedled her into taking the wheel. I'm upset at Daria for letting him talk her into it. I'm mad at A.P. because he's careless and inconsiderate." She sighed. "And I'm mad at myself for letting him talk *me* into giving him the car in the first place, if you want honesty." "So what's going to happen now?" "Well, to be honest, they can both swing in the wind for a while. I haven't decided what to do yet." "...Daria said you hold a grudge." "I do." _I don't believe I'm risking this._ "Can I ask you a favor... and promise that, whatever you say about it, no one ever finds out I asked?" "Cynic's honor." "...Can you...sort of...let Daria off easy?" Lynn raised an eyebrow. "This is a side of you I've never seen, Lane. You gone soft?" _She'll kill me for this._ "...Daria's kind of...sensitive, you know." "I suffer the same syndrome myself." Jane sighed her frustration. "But *she's* not...I mean..." Lynn understood. "She can only defend by burrowing deeper into her shell while I lash out at anything that moves. So you're concerned." "If she *ever* finds out I told you this..." "You would be slime. It goes no further." "So..." Jane wondered expectantly. "I promise. I won't talk to her for awhile because I'm afraid of what I'd say. But there will be no revenge tactics against her." Jane sighed and shrugged. "Um...thanks. I guess that's the best I'm going to get." "But A.P., on the other hand..." "Need help?" Jane asked with one of her trademark evil smirks. "In the words of the biggest, stupidest klutz known to man... Purple Peril walks alone. If I *do* need help, it won't be much." "Damn." "You can help me pick a new form of transportation -- I need something motorized while my car's in the shop." She sighed. "And in case my car's irreparable." "That's cool, but...it's not the same!" Jane grumbled. "I'll let you paint about it." "Try to *stop* me!" They shared a smirk at that.
* * *
After school, they barged into the Chamber of Dark Mysteriousness, and Lynn switched on her computer, dropping into the chair and drumming her fingers nervously near the mouse pad as she waited for it to boot up. Jane leaned over her shoulder. "Come on, come on, come on..." Lynn fidgeted. "Ah." She looked at her email and sighed. "Spam, spam, sausage and spam." "What's the rush?" Jane wondered. "I am waiting for two main things. Number one...confirmation on the bike." "You actually *ordered* it? From *Italy?*" "Hey. You want a Laverda, you pay. And Amethyst is a beaut. She's a 750 Strike -- they normally only come in black, California orange -- ick -- and slate blue. So custom painting was a must." "So what's the second thing?" Lynn gave an evil smirk that put Jane's to shame. "A little dish best served cold..."
* * *
Some days later, in the Lawndale High parking lot, Daria, Jane and A.P. were standing around. Daria looked worried. Jane looked smug. A.P. looked angry as hell. Suddenly, they heard a motorcycle engine come within earshot, and Lynn roars up on a Laverda 750 Strike, custom painted purple. She wore a silver helmet and kneepads, but had forsaken leathers for street clothes. She wasn't going terribly fast as she pulled up, dismounted, and lifted the visor to take off her glasses before pulling off the helmet. "And how's everyone?" she asked as she replaced the glasses on her face. "My hard drive is *toast!*" A.P. thundered. "What the *hell* did you sic on my computer?" "Not even *I* know. The people I spoke to in the technological underground are as reluctant to divulge their tactics as they are their names. You lose much?" "*Every* damn thing!" he moaned. "Then you should take precautions," she shrugged. "So...we're even?" "Yeah...only *you* got to get a new bike out of the deal." Lynn raised an eyebrow. "And I really wanted to blow a not- inconsiderable chunk of my trust fund on a motorcycle, right? Come *on,* A.P. Peace?" A.P. sighed. "Peace." He examined the bike. "I gotta give you this, Purple Peril. You've got taste. This is a *beauty* of a bike. But why no leathers?" "Three reasons: First, I need to be sized -- given my substandard height, I'm not going to be able to pick up just any old thing. Second, I mostly intend to keep to the speed limit and -- unlike some -- *I* am a fairly careful driver." "Hey, are you going to beat me over the head with that for the rest of my life?" Daria snapped. "No...but I *am* going to beat A.P. over the head with my bike helmet if he ever even *thinks* of asking me for the loan of a vehicle again." "So...what's the third reason?" Jane wondered. "Rowr..." oozed a familiar voice. "I always find a lovely lady all the more titillating on a motorcycle...you can rev *my* motor *any* time, baby!" With one accord, Daria, Jane, Lynn and A.P. turned to look for a moment at Charles Ruttheimer III. Then Daria, Jane and A.P. turned away from him to look at Lynn. Lynn handed her helmet to Daria, who took it half-gladly. "Excuse me," Lynn said politely and steps past them. They kept their backs turned, feeling no real need to watch this, and just stood and listened to the distinct sound of someone small and helpless being mercilessly beaten to a pulp. "*Ow*..." Upchuck bleated. "...feisty...*Ow! Ow! Ow!* Your... *ow*...continued...*ow*...feistiness only...*ow*...serves to...no, not the face!" With a final whack, Hefner's Folly fell silent. A moment later, Lynn walked back in front of them and wordlessly took her helmet back from Daria. A.P. raised an eyebrow. "Feel better?" Lynn nodded. "Much. Now I don't have to hurt either of you." "This forgiveness stuff gets easier every day," Daria observed. "I beg to differ," A.P. grumbled. "Whatever," Jane shrugged. "Come on," Lynn reminded them. "Trial by boredom awaits. And I don't want to be around when Upchuck comes to." "Can't take the heat?" Jane wondered wryly. "No...don't want to go to jail. If he does that again too soon, I may kill him." Daria and Jane shrugged, A.P. grinned, and they all walked off together into a new day.
ADAPTOR'S NOTES "Cartoon Network: you've got questions, that's understandable." Anything you don't grok, drop me a line and I'll explain it, first in private email to you, then to the class in general whenever I get around to remastering these things. Obligatory legal blap: Daria Morgendorffer was created (as were the rest of the Lawndale characters) by Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis Lynn, and she and her neighbors are copyright 1993, 1997, 2000 MTV Networks, a Viacom company. (As Michelle Klein-Haess has pointed out, work-for-hire sucks the yolks from ostrich eggs.) Monty Python quotes and characters are copright 1970, 2000 Python (Monty) Pictures Ltd. They are here used, without the permission of their creators or owners, in the not-for-profit context of fan-fiction. The characters of Lynn Cullen and A.P. McIntyre are copyright 1999, 2000 Janet "Canadibrit" Neilson, as is this storyline, which was adapted by Austin Loomis (to whom the prose format version is copyright 2000) with permission. All other characters, locations and incidents (of which I don't think there are any, actually) are either imaginary or used fictitiously. Any coincidence of names is regretted, and any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or wandering the night in ghostly torment is either purely satirical or not my fault. As a "substantially transformative" derivative work, this story is protected by the Supreme Court's decision in re Campbell v. Acuff Rose Music. It may be freely redistributed as long as this copyright notice is maintained intact, but may not be in any way redistributed for profit without the permission of the legal owners of all concepts involved. The present author hereby gives permission for any and all keepers of Daria fanfic pages to archive this work (as if I could stop them). Any publication of this story for profit without the express written permission of Austin Loomis, Janet Neilson and MTV Networks (like any of that'll happen, especially the last) is strictly prohibited, and violators, if I ever decide to track them down, will be strung up by the thumbs, beaten about the head and shoulders with a free-range carrot, and then handed over to corporate lawyers who will do terrible things to them. On purpose.
Austin, and good day. Al D T0 W- Q Fw^Fr O+ Ow+OH+Of m c- MV+ F:111,208,313 BB+ FCT -DT+ q fJ^fj^fD