_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Episode 5: "Trick-or-Trent" prose adaptation by Austin Loomis
On a late October day in 1999, three young women were gathered in Jane Lane's room at Casa Lane. Jane herself was pondering a blank canvas. Her first-ever friend, Daria Morgendorffer, was busy rummaging through Jane's shoebox full of CDs. Daria's almost-twin, Lynn Cullen, was reading _Living with Your Attitude Problem: Why Everyone's Stupid But You_ -- presumably acquired from Subversion_Is_We -- and going over sections with a purple highlighter pen. "_The Black Album_?" Daria asked. "I don't know..." Jane shrugged. "It's a classic, but no matter how cool an album is, it loses its charm after the first three million times you hear it." She turned to Lynn. "You're coming to my Halloween party, right?" "_Gish_?" Lynn looked up from her book. "I refuse to listen to any Smashing Pumpkins album recorded before _Siamese Dream_. Billy Corgan had *no* standards then." "So you're coming?" Jane confirmed, hoping she didn't sound as impatient for a reply as she felt. Daria continued vetting the music selections. "_Portrait of an American Family_?" Lynn was starting to get bored. "I don't think I'm in the mood to perpetuate the `I am a cynical, depressed freak, therefore I listen to Marilyn Manson' stereotype today. I swear, if I ever go postal, I'll do it dressed skin-out in Tommy Hilfiger with the Spice Girls in my Walkman." She turned to Jane. "Sure. It's either that or watch Mom eat trick-or-treaters. -- You think I'm kidding." "Hey, Jane, what happened to your Silverchair album?" "_Freakshow_?" Jane had to think a moment. "Trent's got it. She felt her face going into one of her evil smirks. "Why don't *you* go get it, Daria?" "One day, when you least expect it, I will gut you with your own palette knife. You'll be sorry, but it will be too late." Jane maintained her smirk. "I'll watch my back." Daria exited with a sigh. There was a moment's silence. "Lynn?" Jane asked hesitantly. Lynn didn't look up from her book. "If you believe my birth certificate." "Could you help me come up with an idea for a Halloween costume?" "What happened to your creative edge?" Lynn wondered suspiciously. Jane shrugged. "Dulled through overuse." That only made Lynn more suspicious, it seemed. "Why me?" Jane shrugged. "You're creative, you're smart, you know a lot about the dark side of pop culture..." "...I'm insane..." "And great with it?" Jane asked with a hopeful grin. Lynn thought the request over. "Hmm..."
* * *
Jane's brother Trent was in his room, sprawled out on the bed, asleep. The door was wide open, but just to be polite, Daria knocked anyway. When Trent didn't stir, she hammered on the door. "Get away from me, man," he said drowsily, obviously caught in mid-dream; "I'm trying to *kiss* someone here!" Then he woke up with a "Huh?" And then he spotted her. "Oh, hey, Daria," he said with a sleepy grin. Daria felt herself blushing. "Hey. Um...Jane sent me. She wants her Silverchair CD back." "Cool." He dug around on the floor for a few moments, then came up with the silvery platter and handed it over. "Tell Janey I'm sorry about the bloodstain. Had a little accident with Jesse's guitar. Don't want to talk about it." Daria was confused, but decided not to press the issue. "Um... okay." _Well, that's that._ "Thanks." _Okay, feet, we can move toward the door now._ But they didn't. _These boots were made for walking._ So why weren't they acting like it? _*Move,* damn [address] "Um...Daria?" She was surprised enough to answer him. "What?" "Can I ask you about something?" She felt a truly furious blush coming on.
* * *
As they sat on Jane's bed, Lynn scribbled in her notebook. "Okay, we've ruled out half my ideas because you want to show off your figure for a certain leather-clad guitarist. You and Daria are as bad as each other." "What about you and Max?" "I don't make an idiot of myself for *any* man. Yet, anyway." "Yeah...well...don't rub it in." "You won't do Morticia Addams or Elvira because you're as disgusted by the cliche as I am, and you won't go as a vestal virgin because of some bizarre prejudice about wearing white that you don't want to talk about. No wonder you can't think of anything." Jane shrugged. "So, any other thoughts?" Lynn paused for thought. "Well...you *could* go as Becky Bondage or someone..." "*Who?*"
* * *
Daria and Trent were sitting side-by-side on his bed, pretty close but not actually touching. "You know Mystik Spiral's doing a set for this Halloween party Janey's having..." _SOE. Save our eardrums._ "Cool." "Yeah, well, we want to go in matching costumes, but we don't want to do anything trite and corny like go as the Beatles or something." "Good thinking." _Imagine the earthquakes caused by John Lennon spinning in his grave._ "You could go as the Three Musketeers." Trent seemed a bit confused by Daria's suggestion. "But there are four of us." "There weren't only three Musketeers. In fact, there were lots of them -- they served France as the King's personal guard. And in the story, the Three Musketeers that were the main characters were joined by a fourth -- D'artagnan." "Really? Cool. What about the other three?" "There was Athos -- he was a bitter, hard man because he was ever pining for the one true love that betrayed him ... perhaps in practice for when she betrayed France years later." She fell silent for a moment while Trent did one of his coughing laughs, then went on. "Porthos was known for his vast enjoyment of food and wine, and Aramis for his pursuit of anything wearing a skirt, a pretty face and impressive ...um..." She trailed off, embarrassed and feeling herself blushing. Trent let her off the hook with a little grin. "I get it. -- What about D'artagnan?" Daria had to think a moment. "Basically an overconfident kid with something to prove." Trent nodded. "Cool. Thanks, Daria. You've really helped." Daria felt herself blushing even harder, getting really flustered now. "Yeah...um...yeah. See you." She made her exit. Trent watched her leave with a little grin on his face.
* * *
Jane sketched a vague figure with angular hair wearing a really punk outfit. "So I should go as a punk chick?" "Yeah, but a *casual* punk chick. The leather-wear required for a Becky Bondage outfit is prohibitively expensive. You've got the hair for it anyway. Maybe spray-paint it a weird color." Daria entered just then, looking flustered and blushing. "Hey, Daria!" Jane teased her friend. "How did it go? Or should I ask, how *far* did it go?" "Go to Hell, Lane," Daria replied coolly. "Been there, done that, didn't want me, sent me back. -- So what are *you* two wearing for Halloween?" In unison, the look-alikes shrugged and replied, "I'll think of something." They looked at each other and shrugged again, then Daria put the Silverchair CD she'd just recovered into Jane's CD player and pressed Play, swinging the song "Freak" into motion.
* * *
In "Lawndale after Midnight," the rather drebley-named Goth shop on Dega Street, Daria watched as a sales assistant put a black velvet cloak with a green satin lining into a bag for her. She walked out. Unbeknownst to her, but beknownst to us, Lynn emerged from a back room an instant later, carrying a nearly-identical black velvet cloak, this one with purple satin lining.
* * *
Anyone coming into Trent's room would have seen Jane's boots protruding from under bed. She emerged holding a red T-shirt and a large pair of scissors and grinned evilly.
* * *
Trent and his Mystik Spiral bandmates -- Jesse "Cool" Moreno, Nick "Proud Papa" Campbell and Max "Criminale" Tyler -- were in Angelique's, the costume shop a few doors down Dega Street from Lawndale after Midnight. Four boxes were stacked on the counter. The band pooled their money, digging tattered bills and assorted change out of various pockets. The man behind the counter looked on in resigned annoyance.
* * *
Lynn came out of a changing booth wearing a long flowing black skirt and the kind of white peasant blouse that needs a half-corset over it. She surveyed herself in the three-way mirror, decided she liked what she saw, then went back in. Daria stepped out of another changing booth a moment later, wearing the same get-up.
* * *
Some more clothes flew out of Jane's closet, then they subsided, and a rumpled Jane emerged, bearing a black leather miniskirt and wearing a triumphant smirk.
* * *
Trent pulled a last bill out of his pocket. His triumphant grin was a lot like the one Janey was wearing at about that moment. The salesman looked relieved as each Spiraller took a box and all four left the shop.
* * *
Daria's search for pieces of her costume had taken her to the "Leather and Lycra" shop at the Mall of the Millennium (the world's second- or third-largest mall). She perused corsets, finally selecting a soft suede half-corset in forest green. And not a moment too soon -- her shopping was interrupted just then by a *very* familiar shriek. "What do you *mean* there's none with a British flag design? This is *Halloween!* I want everything about my costume to be *perfect!*" Daria sighed and moved towards the cash registers, where her airheaded younger sister Quinn was pestering a sales clerk -- a "cute" boy of perhaps 17. She was going incognito, wearing sunglasses and with her hair tucked up in a baseball cap -- a look Daria didn't see very often, most memorably when Quinn had been trying to avoid attention after the _Lowdown_ printed her essay "Academic Imprisonment." "Look, just see if you can find me one with sequins on it." "Of course!" said the sales kid, obviously infatuated. "Right away!" He sprinted off. Daria shook her head in disgust. Quinn finally noticed that her "cousin" had showed up. "Oh, God, not *you!* That's *all* I need today! *Nothing's* going right!" Daria sighed. "Don't worry, Quinn. I'm not here to check up, follow you around or cramp your `style,' for lack of a better word for how you are. I'll finish paying for this and then I will leave you to wallow in your own shallow world." "What's *this?*" Quinn grabbed the half-corset from a *very* annoyed saleslady. "Daria!" she said incredulously. "What *are* you buying?" she smirked. "And how do you think you'll get away with *wearing* it? I mean, *look* at you!" Daria, steaming, decided to change the subject by needling her sister. "A sequin-covered corset, Quinn? Don't they kick you out of the Fashion Club for such transgressions against your petty obsessions with Capri pants and anything bearing a designer label?" Quinn sounded annoyed as she explained, "*Sandi's* making the whole *club* go to the Lawndale Halloween Haunt as the Spice Girls. I told her they were *out,* but she wouldn't *listen* and made me dress as Ginger Spice. Damn red hair." "Nothing a bottle of Clorox wouldn't fix." She took the bag with her purchase, collected her change, and turned to go, but couldn't resist firing a parting shot over her shoulder. "Hey, Quinn...Ginger isn't *in* the Spice Girls anymore." After a suitably loaded pause, she finished the thought. "I wonder if Sandi's trying to tell you something." With that, Daria left. Quinn was worried and annoyed. True, Sandi *did* seem to feel that her position as president of the Fashion Club was threatened by Quinn's continuing as vice-president. Then the sales kid came back with a devoted-puppy look in his eye. "I found your corset! And may I say how great I think it'll look on you! Most girls just don't have what it takes to wear sequins, but you..." He blew kisses up at the sky. "Bella, bella!" As usual, flattery sent Quinn's worries out the window. "Really? I'll take it!" She held up a credit card. As the sales kid did all the verifying malarkey, Quinn turned to look over the store's patrons and saw that Lynn Cullen girl picking up a purple version of Daria's half-corset. "Oh, God, not *again!*" She hastily scrawled her signature on the transaction confirmation slip, grabbed her shopping and dashed back out. "Geeks and brains, geeks and brains *everywhere! I can't take it!*" Lynn looked after her curiously for a moment, then just shrugged and went forward to the cashiers.
* * *
Daria was flipping through CDs in "Sound By The Pound" when Lynn came up beside her. "Hi, Daria. Pumping money into the music industry, I see." "And every other one. What else are teenagers good for in the eyes of the economy?" "Causing shrinkage in some cases. Making up for the shortfall caused by shrinkage in others. Creating a market for really stupid crap no one in their right mind would buy all around. -- So what'd you get?" "Stuff for my costume," Daria replied, a little embarrassed. "You?" "The same," Lynn answered in turn, equally embarrassed to judge from her behavior. "See you, then." "Yeah." "Yeah. See you." And Lynn was gone. "I have a bad feeling about this."
* * *
In her room, Quinn was wearing the corset, a green Lycra mini-skirt and a really stupid pair of strappy high heels. Quinn was practicing her Spice Girl moves, trying to sing along with "Wannabe" -- excruciatingly badly -- and looking at herself from all angles. "o/~ If you wanna be my lover... o/~" She tried a dance step and fell over. "Ow! God!" "Um...Quinn?" Quinn looked up at Daria, her eyes going up from the floor. She hadn't ditched her boots, but she still looked stunning in the medieval vampire-style outfit. Once Quinn's gaze got to her sister's face, she saw that Daria hadn't abandoned her glasses either. "D... Daria?" Quinn was stunned almost to speechlessness. Daria ignored her sister's reaction. "I never thought it would come to this, and every fiber of my being rebels against doing it, but," she sighed, "I need to borrow some of your makeup." Quinn was still too stunned to react properly. "Sure. Help yourself." Daria picked up a few things from Quinn's makeup center -- "The Temple of Groom" as she called it -- while Quinn just stared at her, slack-jawed. "I'll get the rest from your medicine cabinet. Um... thanks." She turned to go. The time it had taken her to pick up those items, however, gave Quinn time to recover her usual bounce. "Of course, if you *really* want to do that outfit justice, you'll *have* to lose the glasses. I *know* the contacts burn your eyes, but it's only for a few hours, and anyway, beauty is pain! -- Oh, and then you'll *have* to do something with your hair to properly frame your new face -- right now it looks so...so *you* and..." "Ugh!" Daria ran for the door. "Daria, *wait!*" Quinn implored after her. "Let me *help!* Let me *save* you from yourself!"
* * *
In the upstairs bathroom of Morgendorffer Home Base, Daria had put on the makeup and was about to put her glasses back on to survey the result properly when one of her lesser nightmares came true: she heard Quinn's voice inside her head. _Of course, if you *really* want to do that outfit justice, you'll *have* to lose the glasses._ She told herself that hearing voice- overs is a sign of insanity, but it didn't help. Then, worse yet, she heard *Trent's* voice inside her head, from when she wasn't wearing glasses. _Hey, Daria! Looks [address] She sighed and opened the medicine cabinet. The contact lens case, sitting there next to her lonely toothbrush on the bottom shelf, seemed to be staring at her.
* * *
In the Cullen bathroom, Lynn, wearing an outfit identical to Daria's except for the color of its accessories (the half-corset, the lining of the cloak and the faux gemstone holding that cloak clasped), bounced her own contact lens case up and down in her palm. "Ah well," she sighed at length. "Pain is so *very* Gothick. Here's glass and chemicals in your eye."
* * *
The girl in the black cloak rang the Lanes' front doorbell. Jane opened the door, revealing her costume -- her faithful fireman's boots, a pair of fishnet stockings and a garter-belt, the black leather miniskirt, a belt made of old bullet casings, a now-extremely-shredded red T-shirt held together with safety pins, more safety pins in her ears taking the place of her usual earrings, and red spray in her hair. "Wow, Daria!" she said, sounding genuinely impressed. Daria, in her Gothick dress with the green trim, remarked, "Love the shirt. Recent mauling?" "Ha, ha," Jane replied snidely. "Someone step on your glasses?" Then she wondered mischievously, "Or did you want to earn another `looks good' from Trent?" Daria blushed -- *that* shot had hit a little too close to home. "I'll rip your earrings out one day, Lane. Just see if I don't." Jane grabbed Daria's hand and bodily dragged her into the house. There were only a few people in the living room, most of them older -- Trent's friends, Daria assumed. Mystik Spiral was setting up at one end of the living room, wearing Three Musketeers outfits. Daria was surprised. "Wow. They actually did it." "Well, Trent keeps going on about being Athos and pining away for some woman." She smirked. "Wonder who he means." Daria blushed, her blush deepening when Jane yelled at the band, "*Hey, Trent! Daria's here!*" Trent broke off from the rest of the band and came over to the two of them. "Hey, Janey. Hey, D-nrgh!" His eyes widened as he stared at Daria for a moment. Then, without another word, he wandered away. Daria was strangely perturbed by this turn of events. "Well," Jane braced her friend and perhaps herself, "you made an impression anyway." She noticed the expression on Daria's face. "Hey, don't worry! `Nrgh' is a *good* thing." Daria wasn't convinced, but the ringing doorbell saved her from having to comment on the matter. "I'll get it. It'll probably be my only chance tonight to show my face to someone who *didn't* see that humiliating development." She opened the door and looked out. "Happy- crappy-Hallow..." She trailed off, seeing Lynn standing there in her almost-identical outfit. "Oh, God..." There was a rather long and extremely embarrassed silence, which Lynn finally, tentatively broke. "...Great minds think alike?" At the back of her mind, Lynn heard Graham Chapman as Brian Cohen shouting "You are all individuals!" and the people of Judea replying, in perfect sheep- like unison, "We are all individuals." "It really can't get any worse." "You should know better than to say that. The moment you insist it can't get any worse, some Groucho Marx of a God points at you and says, `Oh yeah?'"
* * *
In the Lawndale High gymnasium, the Lawndale Halloween Haunt was in full swing. "When the Lights Go Out," by British boy-band Five, was playing. The obligatory pumpkins and whatnot were hanging everywhere. The Fashion Club were standing by the punch bowl in their Spice Girls costumes -- president Sandi Griffin was Sporty, coordinating officer Tiffany Blum- Deckler was Posh, and secretary Stacy Rowe was Baby. "Of *course* I'm not trying to get you out of the Fashion Club, *Quinn,*" Sandi insisted with her usual smarm. "If you'd stop being so *paranoid,* you'd realize that I was *trying* to use our natural *attributes* in our costumes." "I realize that, Sandi, but..." Quinn was mercifully interrupted by a piercing shriek directed from head cheerleader and living pudding Brittany Taylor to her boyfriend, quarterback and sieve Kevin Thompson, who'd persisted in wearing his football uniform as usual. Brittany was dressed as Juliet, and was reminding Kevin, "You *promised* me you'd come as *Romeo,* you...you..." Vocabulary failed her. "...non-truth- teller!" Kevin went instantly defensive. "But *babe!*" He lowered his voice. "I *saw* that costume. I would have had to wear *tights!* I mean, that's a little...twisted!" "*That's* no excuse! *Mack* wore tights for *Jodie!*" She waved an arm to indicate where Lions captain Michael Jordan Mackenzie and his girlfriend, superstudent Jodie Abigail Landon, were standing side-by- side, dressed as Robin Hood and Maid Marian and looking *very* fed up with the whole thing. "Jane's having a party," Mack told Jodie. "Want to crash?" "What I want," she replied, "is to go *anywhere* away from here." They turned and walked away. The Fashion Club saw this, then turned to watch Kevin being pummelled by Brittany. As serenely and wisely as she could manage while being herself, Quinn remarked, "I don't think we should fight anymore, Sandi. See how *embarrassing* it can be?" Sandi glowered, but brightened when a blond boy in a Phantom of the Opera costume and mask -- probably good-looking, if his chin was any indication -- wandered over to them. In her most flirtatious tones, she said, "Well, *hello.*" "Good evening, ladies," said the Phantom, then focused on Quinn. "My dear Ginger vixen, are you here alone, or will I have to retain your affections over someone's dead body?" Quinn giggled. "Well, I *am* with my friends." "Well, that's fine. I do so hate having to embarrass little boys. May I have the honor of this dance, dearest Ginger?" "Okay..." The smitten Quinn took the hand he offered. He kissed her hand, then spun her smoothly into his arms. Somehow, she'd managed to work out dancing in her silly shoes. Sandi glowered some more as the Phantom guided Quinn deftly away onto the dance floor.
* * *
Trent stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He looked dazed and goofy but happy with it. "Wow," he philosophized. "That's no kid, no matter what age she is. -- Tonight. I'll tell her tonight. -- Now how the hell do I *do* that?"
* * *
In the living room, the music played on. Jane was laughing at Lynn and Daria's matching costumes. Both glowered at her, but their identical expressions of irritation only served to amuse Jane further, making her laugh all the harder.
* * *
In his room, Trent pulled a six-pack of beer out of his closet, grabbed a can off the rings and opened it. He stared at it for a moment, deep in thought. Then he started thinking out loud. "`I've been watching you, you know.'" He took a swig of beer. "Nah, that's lame." Swig. "`Nice shoes, wanna...'" He shook his head. "Nope, that only works on net.goths." Swig.
* * *
As Oasis' "Wonderwall" played, Quinn was still dancing with the Phantom. "You're *such* a good dancer. Why won't you tell me your name?" "Unmasking at eleven, sweet Ginger. Have patience." "But I can't *be* here at eleven! I'll never know *who* you are if you don't tell me!" "You'll see me again, fair Ginger. Until then, let the mystery add to the excitement." Quinn was a little confused, but she decided not to press the issue, and they kept dancing.
* * *
Trent was drinking his third can of beer; two empties were lying on the floor. `"Worship me!'" Swig. "Nah." Swig. "`I keep all of my most important poems and drawings in this little book. And I'd like you to have it because they're mostly about you.'" Swig. "I don't *have* a book like that. -- I could give her that pizza box with those song lyrics on it...nah." Swig. "`Although you seem content, you also seem quite alone over here. Can I interrupt your reverie?'" Swig. "But she'd probably say `no.'" He drained the can, tossed it over his shoulder and opened a new one. "Damn, this is hard."
* * *
"o/~ For tonight/Is the night/When two become one... o/~" Sandi glared, Tiffany had her usual blank look, and Stacy looked rapturously pleased as the Phantom dipped a laughing Quinn. "Don't they make a cute couple?" she gushed. "One more word out of you, Stacy," Sandi's deep voice took on a warning tone, "and you're on fashion sabbatical." "Eep!" "You're wonderful!" Quinn said, surprised that she could say this to a guy and mean it. "As are you, fair Ginger," the Phantom replied. "I worship you, my vixen. Say you'll be mine." Quinn was taken aback. "What, you mean like going steady?" "A crude term, but it will serve." "I don't know...it's a big decision and I need time...can I tell you for sure when I find out your name?" "Do names matter so much to you?" "No..." she said slowly. "It's just that I only just met you ...as far as I know, anyway...and I don't want to rush into anything. Although I like you and everything." "For a fair word from you, I would hold back Armageddon." Quinn sighed and beamed as she leaned her head on the Phantom's shoulder.
* * *
Trent was on the last can of the six-pack, and the effects were starting to show. "`How about you, me, some 20-year-old Scotch whiskey and some jumper cables?'" Pause. Swig. "God, not for Daria. She'd hit me." He drained the can, tossed it, reached for a new one and was surprised to find none there. With a sigh, he stood up. "This is it, man. Now or never. Eyes on the prize." He ambled out of his room and went downstairs. As he reached the foot of the stairs, he saw a brunette with a black cloak move into the kitchen and out the back door. He followed her into the backyard, where she was standing in a line of light cast from the open back door. His shadow fell on her as he said, quickly and loudly, "I'm falling in love with you, Daria." She wheeled around. Trent noticed that she didn't seem to have any bangs and her face was a different shape...and then he saw the purple cape lining and half-corset and realized what had happened. His face took on a rabbit- or maybe deer-caught-in-headlights look before Lynn spoke. "Um...trick or treat?" "Oh, crap." He turned, nearly falling over in his haste and semi-drunk state, and ran back into the house. Lynn heard footsteps pounding on the stairs and then the door to his room slamming. After a respectful pause, she observed, "That would be `trick,' then." Jane's shadow -- she could tell by the hair -- fell over Lynn's face. "Hey, have you seen Trent anywhere? The band wants to start and they can't play without him." For a moment, Lynn actually considered telling Jane what had just happened, then thought better of it. She shrugged and brushed past Jane into the house.
* * *
The next day in the hallway, the three of them were hanging around Daria's locker as usual, listening to Jane relate the rest of the night's events. "So Trent got really blitzed and passed out before the party even started. That's not like him, but Jesse says he's depressed about not getting that decent gig over at Swedesville." "Is he okay?" Daria asked. "Kicking himself for drinking so much...when he's not puking his guts out, that is. That'll teach him." Lynn raised her eyebrows. "I'm sure it will." Quinn and the rest of the Fashion Club wandered by. Quinn was carrying a red rose. "And even though I couldn't give him an answer straight away, he said he understood and went away and then this morning there was this *red rose* in my locker! I mean, how romantic is that?" "Oh, very," Stacy said dreamily. "It couldn't have happened to a nicer person, Quinn." Sandi's voice took on a nasty edge. "I suppose that now that you have a secret admirer or something, you think you're that much better than the rest of us." "I don't think I'm better than you, Sandi," Quinn said, actually meaning it. "I just think I'm really lucky. I mean, here's this guy and he's really cute and really nice and has a really good way with words and he wants to go out with me." She sighed. "I just wish I knew his name." "Well, that tears it," Daria muttered. "Now that she's got a secret admirer, she'll be more insufferable than ever before. However hard that is for me to imagine. Wonder who he is, though." "Jealous much?" Jane asked mockingly. After a beat, she added reassuringly, "Don't worry; I'm sure someone out there admires you too ...someone not unrelated to a certain artist and pizza fiend you know and love to hate." She smirked. "Right, Lynn?" "Maybe," Lynn replied evasively. "I wouldn't be at *all* surprised." _But if he plans to do anything about it, he's going to have to speak for himself._
THE END
ADAPTOR'S NOTES _The Deeper Meaning of Liff_, by Douglas Adams and John Lloyd, defines a "drebley" as a "name for a shop which is supposed to be witty but is in fact wearisome, e.g. `The Frock Exchange,' `Hair Apparent,' etc." It's technically a noun, but I use it here as an adjective. "Angelique's" is a sideways nod to "Josette's," a costume shop on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, by way of _Dark Shadows_. "Cohen" is Brian's surname from _Monty Python's Life of Brian_. Or so my junkheap memory tells me, anyway. 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. Lyrics off the album _Spice_ are copyright 1996 to someone, but I don't care enough to find out whom. They are here used, without the permission of their creators or owners, in the not-for-profit context of fan-fiction. The character of Lynn Cullen is 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