[continued from part 2]
Chapter 6: Exchange...
December 25th, 1999, dawned bright and early. In the flat's lounge area, the gang were lounging around the tree, looking a bit uncertain as to how to proceed, when Lorna dashed in. "Okay, people, I'm off to Marty's place. You know how to cook so I'll leave you to it. Let's say that lady of the house opens the first gift and since I'm out that means Lynn. Later." She made her exit, and the gang shared a look. "Is *everyone* you're related to like that?" Daria wondered. "I'm beginning to think so," Lynn replied. "I'm not going to stand on ceremony, though. We'll do the Secret Santa ones first." There followed something of a scramble as the gang looked for the presents they'd received from their several "Secret Santas." Finally, everyone had a box. "Okay, on the count of three. One...two...three!" And they all tore into their presents. "_Basquiat_!" Jane gushed. "Cool! I heard David Bowie made a *great* Warhol!" "Hey, you liked it," Jesse observed, articulate as ever. "Cool." "You do realize you're not going to be able to watch that on a US TV, don't you?" Lynn burst their bubble. "I don't know why, but the videos are different here. Music, thank God, is universal." "That sucks. -- Cool shirt." "Well, maybe now you'll shut up about the one Trent owes you," Nick replied. He looked at his own present. "What wise guy gave me _Learn to Play the Bass in a Week_?" Max chuckled. "Couldn't resist, man. -- Cool! Bumper stickers for the Tank!" "Well, I couldn't think of anything else," A.P. confessed. "Um... who the hell are the Chickasaw Mud Puppies?" "A damn fine alternative band. -- Geek," Trent added under his breath. Aloud, he then said, "Hey, whoa! Nirvana box set!" "For the grunge musician who has everything," Lynn explained. "Um..._On the Road_ by Kerouac. A nice thought." "Um," Daria faltered, "I thought you'd like Kerouac." "No, *you're* the Kerouac fan," a mildly annoyed Lynn reminded her near-twin. "I'm more comfortable with Nabokov. Anyway, what'd you get?" "Sorry. I kept the receipt. -- A portrait of me. Nude. Well, *I'm* clueless as to who my Secret Santa is..." Jane gave a semi-evil grin. "Can I have a look-see?" A.P. wondered. "*No!*" Daria instinctively brought the picture to her chest to hide it. "You're no fun." "Yeah," Jane agreed, "no fun at all." _Oh, you're no fun anymore,_ Lynn thought. "Why are you all so concerned with *my* present when some of you have presents of your *own* to open?" The eyes of the others lit up like the tree and they scrambled for their presents. "Curse you for finding my weakness, woman!" Jane mock-snapped while looking. "Hey, Purple Peril, a little one from your mom!" A.P. tossed a box at Lynn, who caught it easily. "Great. This will be the smiley-face charm bracelet I had on my Christmas list." She ripped open the paper, opened the small box... and went very still. "So?" Daria clamored. "What is it?" "Your mom's severed ear, Van Gogh style?" Jane theorized. Lynn was still stunned, but she managed to reply. "It's the keys to the Merc. And the ownership papers. In my name. And a note that says, `You drive it more than I do, you love it more than I do, so it belongs to you. Merry Christmas. Love, Mom.'" Daria was almost as flabbergasted as her look-alike. "She gave you the Mercedes?" In a trembling voice: "I thought that...at graduation...maybe. But...Excuse me." She made a hasty exit. "She's not...gonna...cry, is she?" "Maybe..." A.P. waffled.
* * *
Out on the balcony, Lynn was standing at the railing, glasses in hand. Her other hand was pressed over her eyes. A figure stepped up, and a hand on the end of a green-clad arm touches her shoulder. "You okay?" Lynn hurriedly tried to wipe her eyes, put her glasses back on and turned to face Daria. "Yeah." She choked back another sniff. "Yeah, fine. Just...surprised, maybe. Hard to believe, after everything ...you know...she really knows me. She really cares." Daria nodded. "Yeah, I know. I guess I'd feel the same." "You *would,* wouldn't you?" Lynn snapped bitterly. Daria was a little taken aback, but decided to let that slide -- Lynn'd been through a fair amount in a short time. The uncomfortable silence lasted a few more moments before Daria decided it could use breaking. "Um...cold out here." "Yeah. A little." "Then why..." "'Cause I..." Lynn choked a moment, but went on. "...I *don't* want to freaking *cry* in front of everyone, okay?" She turned away. A second later, she angrily removed her glasses. Daria was mortified now, but Lynn went on, bitterly. "*You'd* never cry in front of anyone..." Shocked, Daria put her hand back on Lynn's shoulder, but Lynn violently shrugged it away. "I'll be fine in a minute. Just leave it, okay?" Daria hesitated a moment longer, then went back inside, leaving Lynn to it. The others all turned to look at her as she walked back in, leaving her acutely embarrassed. "She okay?" Jane asked. Daria hesitated -- everyone was still looking at her, and she was getting a little panicked, wondering how much she should say. A.P. caught her eye and shook his head, and she sighed. "She's fine. Just a little overwhelmed. The Mercedes means a lot to her." "Yeah. I saw that," Trent allowed as. "Cool," Jesse agreed. "Maybe now she'll stop making fun of me about how much I love the Tank," Max half-snapped. "Maybe," Daria thoughtfully replied. Jane shot Daria a skeptical look. A.P. threw a parcel at Art- Smart Scarlet. She glared at him. He glared back, harder. Jane looked taken aback and moved to open the present.
* * *
Later, in the room they were sharing, Daria was sitting on the bed, looking as miserable as she felt, when Jane walked in. "Hey, Nick whipped us up some eggnog and..." She caught the look on Daria's face. "What's up?" "Jane...she was crying." "I thought so. Over what?" "Her mother knowing her...caring about her. -- But I think..." "What?" "I...Jane, I think she's...God, this sounds vain..." "She's jealous of you." Daria was truly surprised. "How did you know *that?*" "Found out the hard way. Listen." She sat down on the bed next to Daria. "She's been an original for as long as she can remember. Then she has to move to Lawndale and all of a sudden there's someone *just like* her already there. She can't help comparing you -- no one can. If she cried and you never do, she feels that's a strike against her." "*Against* her? If anything, that's a point *for* her. Yet *another* one," she added bitterly. "Sorry?" Daria sighed. "Never mind." She got up and headed for the door. "Let's go try this eggnog you were babbling about earlier." "But..." Daria turned to Jane with that closed-off look. Jane looked disappointed, but shrugged. "Sure."
Chapter 7: Party like It's 1999?
"Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives and I decline" -- REM, "It's the End of the World as We Know It (and I Feel Fine)"
Six days later (that's December 31st, 1999, for those of you reading this in Knuckledrag, Oklahoma), Mystik Spiral were setting up their musical gear in the flat's lounge area, while Daria, Jane and Lynn were setting up decorations. Lorna rushed in wearing an extremely slinky designer dress -- the kind Quinn would kill for. With it, though, she was wearing Doc Martens. "Right -- looks wonderful -- some of my friends' teenagers will be coming -- Lynn knows a fair number of them -- just keep them out of my room but fret not as I've locked it and they'll be too drunk to try forcing the lock -- I'll be home around the third -- happy Millennium!" She was out the door. "Okay," Lynn checked, "everyone get that?" Various mutters, summing up to _no_. "She likes the decorations. We're having guests. I might know them. Lorna's room is off limits. She'll be home in three days. All the best for the new Millennium." "So," Daria asked, "any plans to make the party a subversive cynic's dream, in that case?" "A.P.'s setting up anti-riot gear on the roof." "What *kind* of anti-riot gear?" Jane wondered. Just then, the Psycho-Maverick himself came in from on high. "Water balloons, paintball guns and my own special tomato tosser! We've got some nice overripe ones, too!" "Where did he get *that* idea?" Daria boggled. "I have *no* idea," Lynn felt a need to explain, like for some reason she *ought* to know.
* * *
Later, the party was in full swing. Daria barely heard the doorbell ring and wasn't entirely sure she hadn't imagined it, but she moved to get it anyway. On the other side, she found a short, sturdy young woman with long brown hair and glasses, who looked quite a lot like an older version of Lynn. "*Augh!* Not another one!" "Not another one *what?*" the new girl replied with a vaguely English accent. "Lynn, what *have* you been drinking? And why the fringe?" "I am *not* Lynn!" Lynn came up, smiling a little. "Hey, Jan!" "Christ, Lynn, who's this?" the new arrival boggled. "Does she ever resemble you!" "Thank you so *very* much for saying that. Jan, this is Daria. Daria, meet Jan." Jan thought a moment. "She's my third cousin twice removed. I think. Something about her grandmother's sister's granddaughter. It gets lost after a few generations." "*And* a few divorces." "Oh, yeah, how's Kate anyway?" "Please let's not bring my mother into this. I'm on vacation." The relatives smirked at that. Jane came walking up. "Oh, *God,* there's three of them!" "Shut up," Daria half-hissed. "So who is she?" "`She' has a name," came the reply. "Jan." "Jane. -- *God,* that sounds stupid." "I may not be able to stay long. I'm on call tonight." "Oh, why don't you ditch that stupid job?" Lynn dismissively suggested. "Because dole scams aren't as easy as _Trainspotting_ makes them look, okay? And a girl's got to eat." "What job?" Daria wondered. "I'd love to tell you...but then I'd have to kill you." "Hey, that's *my* line," Jane pouted. "Mine." "Glory hog." "Bitch." Jane looked a bit frightened. She turned to Daria, who had the same look of fear on her face. Obviously, she'd recognized how eerily the dialogue had emulated that weird dream they had back in the spring, where they were standing in Times Square talking to a camera. Lynn and Jan, who knew nothing of this, looked confused. "I didn't say that," Jane assured herself. "I didn't hear that," Daria chimed in. "That did *not* happen." "*What?*" Lynn puzzled. "I sensed a strange moment there..." Jan ominously noted, then blithely went on, "but it's gone now. I'm going to mingle. Later." She walked into the crowd and pretty much vanished. Daria, Jane and Lynn stared in the direction she'd gone. "That was weird," Daria philosophized. "Yeah," Lynn acknowledged. "Well, her family's weird. Born in Canada, moved to England at age 16. So she's not quite Canadian, but she's not exactly British either." "So you *could* say," Jane slowly began, "that she's a--" "Don't," Lynn interrupted. "It'd be too easy." "How did you know?" "*What* would?" Daria boggled. Lynn, confused, decided to answer both questions at once. "I have no idea. But just don't say it." They all silently agreed to file the whole incident under J for "Just let it lie."
* * *
The Millennium party passed as another blur of images. Jane grabbed Daria and A.P. by the arm and tried to drag them out to dance. Trent watched this miserably and downed a large shot of whiskey. Lynn watched in horror as some guy she didn't know pulled out a packet of something highly illegal and...let's just say, powdery. Jan took this scene in, walked up to the guy, grabbed his packet of Bolivian Marching Powder or whatever and threw it out the window. It then took both Lynn and Jan to restrain the guy from leaping out after it. Each holding an arm, they escorted him out. Jesse was struggling with a champagne bottle. Lynn was looking at him nervously. Eventually, the cork came out with such force that it bounced off the ceiling and hit the coffee table, smashing at least two pieces of glassware. Jesse looked at Lynn apologetically. Lynn heaved a sigh. A.P. whispered something in Daria's ear. Daria gave him one of her Mona Lisa smiles and followed him out. Trent, who had seen all this, grabbed a whiskey bottle and started drinking straight from the neck. Jane shoved Lynn and Max together in front of a sprig of mistle- toe left over from Christmas. Max grinned drunkenly, then went green, bent over and began the retching noises. Lynn gave a world-weary sigh; Jane looked appalled. Finally, the countdown began. Indoors, Trent had staggered away, still drinking from his whiskey bottle. Lynn, with concern on her face, watched him go. "Five!" everyone chorused. Out on the roof, A.P. handed Daria a water balloon. "Four..." he said mischievously. Inside, Lynn looked indecisively in the direction she'd seen Trent go, then sighed and moved to follow him. "Three!" On the roof, A.P. put an arm around Daria's shoulder. Daria blushed and flinched a little, but then relaxed rather quickly. "Two..." she said. Inside, Lynn stopped before a closed door and hesitated. "One!" On the roof, Daria and A.P. were looking at each other. They could hear the party heating up downstairs. "HAPPY NEW MILLENNIUM!" came the chorus from below. "Happy New Millennium, Daria." "It's not really the new millennium yet." "Hey, it's a cool number. That's good enough for me. So...um..." "People...generally...kiss to celebrate the new year, don't they?" "Only if they feel like it." "Oh...what the hell." She leaned forward and up, and they shared a gentle kiss. "Um...I never got to ask...am I..." "Whoa. With lips like that, any kissing booth in the country would make a mint, Daria." Daria blushed with pleasure, at the same time squirming a little under the praise. A.P. sensed her discomfort and disengaged himself. "And now...let's make a little mess!" He grabbed a paintball gun, took aim off the roof, and fired a downward shot. A man's voice called up from street below. "HEY! I'LL REARRANGE YOUR FACE FOR YOU, YOU LITTLE PUNK!" Daria hefted her balloon, testing the weight, then hove it off the roof. There was a brief pause, then a distant splash. "I'M GONNA CALL THE PIGS, YOU GEN-X CRETINS!" "LIKE THEY HAVEN'T GOT BETTER THINGS TO DO!" A.P. then dropped a tomato off the roof. There was another brief pause and distant splat. Running footsteps could be heard quite clearly. "I've always wanted to do that to someone," Daria confessed. "We're gonna do that to *everyone* who gets within five feet of this building." He kissed Daria on the cheek. She blushed, and he hurriedly pulled away. "It's okay. I...kind of liked that." They shared a sweet little smile. Then Daria grabbed a paintball gun, A.P. grabbed his tomato launcher, and they both started firing off the roof. It was a toss-up which was louder, the sounds of the party indoors or the enraged shouting from the street.
* * *
Lynn reached a decision and banged on the door. "Um...Trent? You okay?" Trent stuck his head out the door. "Daria?" "No, I--mmf!" Trent kissed her. After a brief second, she began kissing back. He pulled her into the room, and the door slammed shut behind them.
Chapter 8: Save It 'til The Morning After
"You saw me standin' by the wall, corner of a main street And the lights were flashin' on your windowsill All alone ain't much fun so you're lookin' for the thrill And you know just what it takes and where to go" -- Duran Duran, "Save a Prayer" (Rio)
"Life has a funny waaay Of sneaking up on ya when ya think everything's okay" -- Alanis Morrisette, "Ironic" (Jagged Little Pill)
The next morning, on the roof, Daria and A.P. were curled up on separate deckchairs, under several blankets. Apart from a few kisses and a fair number of balloonings, paintings and 'materings, nothing had happened. The flat's lounge area was, not to put too fine a point on it, a mess. Nick was sprawled out on one couch, Max on another. A woman whose name nobody was awake enough to remember, wearing a bra, a near- nothing miniskirt, and nothing else was sprawled on the floor. Some equally forgotten guy, wearing boxers and the remnants of a lampshade on his head, was curled up in an easy chair. Lynn drowsed with a suspiciously satisfied little smile on her face. _So *that's* what all the fuss is about,_ she thought dreamily. The smile faded as she began to stir. Then her eyes opened on a bedroom not her own. She was confused for a second, then ZAP! total recall, and her eyes widened in horror. "Oh..." she breathed. She sat up a little, gripping the sheet around her, and looked over to see a sleeping Trent in bed beside her. "...crap." _We did, didn't we?_ And there was something else, too, but she didn't want to think about that. She leaned over the side of the bed to get her jacket, but it was just out of her reach. She looked at Trent, then threw a quilt -- the kind they call a duvet in England -- over him, yanked the sheet off the bed and wrapped herself in it. Then she rapidly collected her glasses and clothes, leaving behind a single sock, and went out the door. In the corridor, she slammed the door shut behind her and tried to move away, but was tugged back. She looked down -- sure enough, a corner of the sheet had gotten trapped in the door. "*Lynn?*" Lynn turned toward the source of the voice. Jane had popped up from behind a sofa. Lynn went as white as the sheet for a moment, staring at Jane with horrified and pleading eyes. Jane gave her a look that clearly said _Okay, I'll shut up now._ Rather than acknowledging it by any means so crude as language, Lynn opened Trent's door a crack, yanked the sheet out, slammed it again, crossed the hall to her own room, went in and slammed *that* door. Trent opened his eyes and grinned, sitting up, covered by the quilt. Then he noticed a purple sock lying on the floor. He seemed to remember Janey saying something. _Oh, Daria *never* wears purple. That's strictly a Lynn thing..._ His eyes widened -- ironically, much as Lynn's had when *she* realized. "Oh, crap. Not again..." Moments later, he came storming out of his room in T-shirt and boxers, trying to pull his jeans on as he went. Janey, peering over the back of the sofa, laughed at him. "I swear, Janey..." he rasped. "You'd *better* not. -- And you'd better not try to talk to her either." He was just about to knock on Lynn's door. "Why?" The door opened, and a flying bedsheet hit him in the face. The door slammed shut, and even half-asleep, he knew the sound of a turning lock when he heard it. "Oh."
Chapter 9: Home Again
A row of three seats on a plane in flight. Nick was sitting by the window, fast asleep with headphones on. Jane was in the middle, looking with some concern at Lynn, who was sitting hunched down in her seat with her nose buried in her new copy of Stephen King's _Bag of Bones_. "So," she began an attempt at conversation, "school starts again soon." Lynn didn't even look up. "Mmm." "No more Ms. Li to torture." "Mmm." "So, any plans for the permanent annihilation of the *next* principal?" "Mmm." Jane got snide at this point. "I'm going out for a walk on the wing. Want to join me?" Lynn raised an eyebrow. "I heard *that,* funny girl." Jane paused a moment for thought. "...You have no desire to talk." "Mmm." "And I should respect that?" "Mmm." Jane sighed. "Got a book?" Lynn reached into the flap in the seat back and pulled out the copy of _Trainspotting_. She handed it to Jane without looking up from her Big Steve book. Jane sighed and opened Irvine Welsh's magnum dopus.
* * *
In another row, Jesse sat by the window -- like Nick, he was fast asleep. Daria sat in the middle with her hands clenched tightly on the armrests. A.P. was sitting on the aisle, looking at her with a slightly worried expression. The plane hit a pocket of turbulence, jostling in a not- inconsiderable way, and Daria cringed. A.P. immediately put a hand over hers, then realized what he's done and watched for her reaction. She blushed a little, but took his hand, giving him a Mona Lisa smile of thanks. The plane leveled out, but they didn't let go of each other's hands. From the middle of the plane, Trent watched them with a mix of pain, anger and unhappiness. Then he looked at Lynn, who had looked up briefly to see Daria and A.P. across the aisle. She winced at the sight of a happy couple and turned away, her eyes meeting Trent's and seeing his juxtaposed emotions on his face. She immediately went back to her book, her face a little pale. Trent's expression lost the element of anger and he took a deep breath, got out of his seat and sidled over to Lynn. She didn't look at him, but he took another breath and tried anyway, hesitantly. "Um...I wanted to ask...The other night...I don't... I mean, I *remember*...I mean, sort of...I just wanted to..." Lynn still didn't look up, but she cocked an eyebrow. He took a breath. "What... exactly...happened?" *Now* Lynn looked up, staring at Trent in that go-to-hell way she and Daria had both mastered to hide pain and embarrassment. In tones as cold as the thirty-thousand-foot air outside the cabin, she informed him, "You called me *Daria.*" His eyes widened in horror. There were things he could have recovered from this year, this decade, this lifetime, this century -- and then there was something like that, something he'd *never* live down. Jane's head snapped up, and anyone watching her would have seen her reaction cross her face -- first shock, then anger at her brother, then general sympathy for both participants in this whole tryst. Lynn maintained that go-to-hell stare a moment longer, then went back to her book. Trent's shoulders slumped, and he wandered toward the back of the plane. Jane looked at Lynn, then at the book, then closed it. _Once more into the breach..._ "Hey, Lynn?" The Purple Peril looked up, irritated. "What?" "Um...any thoughts as to how I can keep this underage partying stuff going back home? I got used to all that clubbing stuff." Lynn looked at her suspiciously. Jane met her eyes with a look that clearly said, _Better than being alone with your *own* thoughts right now..._ And as the plane flew off into the sunset, Lynn sighed and put her book down. "Well, the first thing that's essential is a *really* good fake ID. I know McGrundy's says they've seen them all, but how do they know if they've been fooled? I mean..."
END
ADAPTOR'S NOTES I nominally began work on this February 13, 2000 (which should give you folks some idea how far head I'd been working up to then), and finished it (after a long creative block) on February 21. This was by far the hardest of the Look-Alike Series to adapt, which is fitting, since CB tells me it was the second-hardest for her to write (exceeded only by "Love Him or Leave Him" among the published LAS fics, though when she was working on "Quinn-tessence," she thought it would kill her a time or two). "It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression `as pretty as an airport'." Thus Douglas Adams begins his 1988 Dirk Gently novel _The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul_. "Eyeball dexterity" is from Don Fields' "The Sound of One Band Sucking," a rewrite of Danny Bronstein's "One Band Town." With any luck, my own OBT rewrite, "One Band Town v.1.3.0: One Band or Another," will be in print before Peter Guerin finishes his "One Band Town 2: Blake's Revenge" (which I for one am raring to see). The Nine-Headed Horse is a parodically apocalyptic image from the writings of Robert Benchley (1889-1945), the Dave Barry of the Jazz Age. Calling Lorna a cross between Aunt Rita and Aunt Amy was my idea, but Jan agrees with it. 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. Song lyrics quoted as epigraphs are copyright a bunch of folks. 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