_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Episode 8: "Lady and the Tank" prose adaptation by Austin Loomis
"Time passes slowly on a weekend. A fly crawls up the wall, One of those iridescent flies of fall. Time passes slowly on a weekend." -- Jon Arbuckle
In her room, Jane Lane, artiste extraordinaire and pizza fiend, was lying across her bed on her stomach, staring at a blank canvas. Her friend and fellow outcast Daria Morgendorffer was sitting on the bed, back propped against the headboard, staring at a blank piece of paper. Their mutual friend and Daria's near-double, Lynn Cullen, was sitting with her back propped against the bed, reading _GTA or Getaway: the Fugitive's Guide to Emergency Auto Mechanics_. The room was almost perfectly still, and boredom hung in the air like a heat haze. Jane broke the silence with a moan. "It's doing it again. The canvas is actively laughing at me." In her usual monotone, Daria observed, "I didn't think it was possible to be this bored." Lynn sighed. "I haven't written anything in days. I mean, God, even the Thanksgiving visit to Ohio didn't amuse me." Daria perked up a little at that. "What's amusing about watching your relatives stuff their faces and giving each other grief?" A smirk. "A number of family traditions that are distinctly Cullen. First, the Cullens get together and snipe at each other until they get bored. Then we wait for the arrival of the Smythe." A raised eyebrow. "The Smythe?" "One of Dad's relations. Mom wouldn't let *either* of us keep his name after he ran off to Portugal. -- Anyway, a Smythe comes by with a camera and takes the annual photo of me to show my dad -- not that people couldn't have fobbed him off with the same one for the last couple of years -- and is then subjected to a dinner-long rant about how Dad blew Mom off and everything that's wrong with the Smythe family as a whole." "This sounds familiar," Jane observed. "Trent and I played that sort of role at our last family reunion. Except ours took days." _Well, it *felt* like days before we evacuated ourselves._ "So bags of fun all around. -- We did have one Smythe with guts, though; he turned to me and told me how much like Dad I was." "Reaction?" Daria wondered. Another smirk. "He fled screaming into the night ten minutes later, with all the Cullens at his heels with torches and pitchforks, practically. -- That kind of evil runs in *both* sides of my family." "Doubly cursed." A shrug. "Or blessed. Whatever." Silence fell over the room again, as that topic wound down. "Well, that killed about a minute." Jane got an evil glint in her eyes. "Hey, I know!" Daria turned to Lynn. "Do you like that look in her eye?" Lynn replied, "I *never* like that look in her eye." Jane made her suggestion. "We'll go see if Trent knows of anything amusing going on in this here burg!" Daria gave voice to a long-suffering sigh. "I *knew* I didn't like that look in her eye."
* * *
In his room, Jane's older brother Trent was sprawled out across the bed, snoring. Jane walked into the doorway. Daria and Lynn, nervous for their own reasons, stood behind her. "Trent?" Jane inquired. After giving him time to reply of his own steam, she shouted, "*Yo, Trent!*" Trent half-awoke with a start. "I'm telling you, officer, she's 18!" Now fully awake, and seeing the girls, he blushed like a maniac. "Oh...hey, Janey. Lynn. Daria." "You've gotta help us, Trent. We're all bored and uninspired and generally climbing the walls." "The weekend stretches out before us like a long and desolate road," Lynn added in her usual deadpan tones. "And all the drive-ins are closed. Help us or we will go insane and take you with us." "Love to help you, guys," Trent shrugged, "but Mystik Spiral's on the road this weekend." Jane was excited, but was also having trouble believing her brother's band actually had paying employment. "You got a *gig?* Where?" "The wilds of Carter County. There's a Grunge Grandstander's Gala on at The Horn Dog." He paused for inspiration to strike. "Hey, you guys want to come along? We could use roadies." "Maybe...what's it worth to you?" "Weren't you saying how bored you were?" "But that doesn't mean we're going to lug amps around for no pay at all. How about letting us tag along without having to pay gas or food?" "That's highway robbery." Jane grinned. "That's cool. We'll be on a highway. -- Look at it this way: we are your fan club. -- Come to think of it, we are your fan *base.* You get roadies, groupies and reviewers in one neat little package of socially deviant girls." Trent considered this a moment. "Well, we're getting fed free at The Horn Dog..." Lynn sighed. "I'll bring my recording equipment. -- And, with what I record, I will burn your first live album onto CD at no charge." Now he was convinced. "Cool. I've gotta call the guys. If this is gonna be our live album, we gotta practice." "Pleasure doing business with you." The three girls made their exit. Outside Trent's room, Daria and Jane looked at Lynn, making her feel ever so slightly defensive. "What?" Daria couldn't believe it. "You have a CD burner?" Lynn shrugged. "CD burner, mixing decks, video camera and editing board..." "Not MI6_Factory_Rejects again?" "Nope; Mom's overpaid job. When I show an aptitude for something, Mom thinks I've found my calling in life, and she's willing and able to pay for whatever equipment I need to fulfill my potential." "And you use this to your advantage how often?" Jane wondered. Lynn sounded casual. "Hey...I've got a lot of potential."
* * *
In the kitchen of Morgendorffer Home Base, Jake was inflicting another bizarre culinary experiment on his family -- this time, something that looked basically like cannelloni except for being a rather bizarre shade of orange. His wife Helen was staring at Quinn, their younger daughter, who was chattering away into the cordless phone. Daria examined the orange things on her plate. _And I thought cafeteria food was bad._ "What exactly is this?" "Cannelloni la Jake, Kiddo! I thought the parmesan cheese was a little...plain, so I used Red Leicester! You'll love it!" "Sorry, Dad, but I have strict principles about eating anything quite that shade of orange. -- Unless it's synthetic. -- Or an orange." Quinn continued to gush into the phone. "I *know,* Stacy, isn't it *sweet?*" She fell silent for a moment. Presumably, from her reply, the Fashion Club's secretary was asking her vice-president if she'd figured out the identity of her Phantom Admirer. "Well, no, not yet, but he's leaving little *clues!* His last note was talking about being my knight in shining armor and fighting a duel to the *death* for me!" Something about that sounded familiar to Daria, but if Quinn was involved in it, it probably wasn't worth wasting brainpower on. Helen sounded annoyed. "Quinn, we're at the table and ready to eat. Will you get off the phone?" Quinn put a hand over the mouthpiece and turned to her mother. "But muh-*omm,* we're discussing my potential *steady boyfriend* here! This can't wait!" She turned back to the phone. "I wish I knew what it meant but I've been watching members of the fencing team and I think..." Stacy Rowe would have to wait a while to find out what her friend thought, however, as Helen snatched the phone from Quinn just then and spoke into it. "I'm sorry, but Quinn will have to call you back after dinner. Goodbye." She hung up and put the phone on the table. "Now, let's sit down and have a civilized family dinner. Daria, how was your day? Any plans for the weekend?" Trying to sound casual about it, Daria replied, "Actually, I was planning on taking a roadie gig in a Carter County brewpub. Thank you for asking." "*What?*" Jake blurted. "My little girl's not going to spend her weekend in one of those seedy brewpubs!" Helen took her casual "you must be joking" tone. "Jake, of *course* she's not." She turned to Daria. "Spending the weekend with Jane again?" Daria decided the best way to deal with the question was to evade it. "I will be spending the weekend with Jane, yes. Lynn will be along as well." "Well, that's fine. -- So, Quinn, how are things at school?" "Well," Quinn bubbled, "Joey, Jeffy and...oh, what's-his-name... are kind of bummed out with me because I won't go out with them until I find out who that guy dressed as the Phantom of the Opera at the Halloween Haunt was, and Sandi's trying to get them to pay attention to *her* but they won't because," she giggled, "they're so *devoted* to me and--" "Oh, for the love of...I meant *schoolwork,* Quinn." "Oh, *that!* Nothing new there." Helen sighed. Jake looked up. "Hey, where's the paper?"
* * *
Bright and early next day, Mystik Spiral's tour van, affectionately known as The Tank, was parked outside Casa Lane. Bass player and proud papa Nick Campbell was carrying a bass drum and sweating like a horse. Max Tyler, the _criminale_ who would be playing that drum by nighttime, was straining to lift an amplifier into his van. Jane was carrying some amp cables in a coil over her shoulder. Daria, wearing the same blue jeans and black T-shirt she'd worn on the abortive Alternapalooza road trip, but with her green jacket over them this time, wandered toward the house and quietly watched the preparations from a safe distance. "Hey, watch it in there!" Jane shouted. "We need a place to sit, you know!" "We're doing the best we can!" Max snapped. "Anyway, you're supposed to be doing this -- you're the roadie!" Jane shrugged her cabled shoulder. "I'm doing the roadie thing! Anyway, remember who's getting you guys on CD!" Daria made her approach. "That's cracking the whip, oh slave driver." "Hey. What can I say? They're useless." She threw the cords into the van. "Some of us are going to have to go along in Trent's car." "Great," Daria deadpanned. "I can already feel the fumes killing my brain cells as I sit in the back and pray with my last coherent thought that Trent doesn't fall asleep at the wheel." "You *could* sit in the front..." Jane suggested mischievously. "...make sure he stays awake..." "One of these days, Jane..." came the sullen, deadpan reply, "...right to the moon." A car horn sounded. Daria and Jane turned to see Lynn driving a silver Mercedes convertible. As she stepped out of the car, they saw that she was wearing a pair of black jeans instead of a skirt. The rest of her outfit was the same as usual: Docs, gray T-shirt, purple field-jacket. "Hi, guys," she said. "Hey." "Whoa!" Jane enthused. "Love the wheels!" Enviously she begged, "Tell me they're not yours." Lynn grinned. "You have no excuse to kill me in a fit of jealous rage, Jane. The car's not mine...yet. I have a feeling that Mom's going to be presenting me the keys to this beauty as a graduation present. I thought we could use the room...and I don't like the look of Trent's car." "I've seen worse." _You've ridden home from the Zen in worse,_ Daria thought, which reminded her. "Oh, yeah; whatever happened to Tom, anyway?" The reply came in rather clipped tones. "I don't want that name mentioned ever again." Daria was taken aback, but decided not to press the issue. "Okay..." "I swear," Lynn muttered, "one of these days the in-jokes with you two will drive me insane." Trent came stumbling out of the house then. "Tell me again why we had to leave this early?" "It's a long drive," Jane reminded him. "Oh, by the way, we're taking Lynn's car as well as the Tank." Trent surveyed the Mercedes. "Cool. Yours?" Lynn waved a hand. "Vaguely. Trent, need to talk to you about some of the equipment I'm lugging in the trunk." "*You're not helping!*" Max shouted. "All right, all right!" Jane called over her shoulder, then turned to her friend. "Come on, Daria." Once they'd gone, Lynn opened the trunk to reveal a bunch of recording equipment. "Will there be enough room to set some of this stuff up onstage?" "Plenty," Trent replied. "We're sort of minimalist." _Minimal on the instrumental talent front, anyway._ "Cool. Now, your act won't involve any overt guitar-swinging or smashing things, will it? I can't afford to replace this stuff if you break it. Neither can you, if you get me." "Pricey stuff, huh?" "Oh yeah." "Nah. We don't break stuff." _People's eardrums don't count, obviously._ "Good. Now, what do you want to do about seating arrangements?" Trent blushed. "Huh?" She continued in a businesslike tone. "Let me put it to you in terms you can understand. You. Daria. Backseat of the Mercedes. Time to talk. I'll drive and pay *no* attention at all. The others can ride in your car or the Tank. As close to privacy as you're going to get without being obvious." Trent instantly went sheepish. "Oh yeah. Cool." He wandered off. Lynn looked after him with a fond, exasperated expression. Not too much later at all, the Tank pulled away from the curb, followed closely by Lynn in the Mercedes.
* * *
At Cranberry Commons mall, the four members of the Lawndale High Fashion Club strolled through the jewelry department of Cashman's. "And I *know* it's a little too soon to tell or anything," Quinn bubbled, "because I'm, like, still really young and stuff, but if I *was* going to get engaged, I'd want..." She searched the window display a moment and found what she was looking for. "...*that* ring." It was a tasteful design, with five oval diamond chips like daisy petals around a round sapphire stone in the center. "Wow, Quinn," Stacy said admiringly, "you have *such* good taste!" "I know," Quinn replied with her usual false modesty. "Maybe," president Sandi Griffin interjected smugly, seeing an opportunity to cut her "rival" down to size, "but you haven't got very... shall we say, *discerning* taste, *have* you, Quinn?" Quinn was confused. "What do you mean, Sandi?" "I mean, if a man *really* loves you, he should want to buy you something like *that.*" In this case, "that" was a very large solitaire diamond on a platinum band, very gaudy and obviously expensive. Quinn tried not to sound smug about her reply. "But *Sandi,* I mean, what's the point of *having* an engagement ring if it's not something you'd be proud to show off?" A reply like that to Sandi was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. "Are you saying that you wouldn't be proud to show *off* something *I* chose?" Stacy and coordinating officer Tiffany Blum-Deckler shrank back in fear, but Quinn faced Sandi down. "What I'm saying, *Sandi,* is that it's *my* imaginary engagement and *my* choice and expensive isn't always best!" Sandi turned an unflattering shade of purple at that barb. She looked like she was just about to explode when a saleslady came out from behind the counter and turned to the redhead in the jeans and the smiley- face T-shirt. "You're Quinn Morgendorffer, right?" Quinn was confused at why the question would come up, but it wasn't a hard one to answer. "That's right." "Someone left a package here for you." The saleslady handed over a small box. "The lad said, `From your Phantom Admirer,' whatever that means." She went back to her cash register. "Ooh! He's sending me secret *presents!*" She opened the box. "Oh!" It was a pair of exquisitely worked silver earrings with a small oval piece of obsidian set in each. They didn't look gaudy or expensive, but they were definitely beautiful. Sandi went from purple to green. Stacy looked impressed. Tiffany just had her usual confused "what day is this?" expression.
* * *
It was an eighteen-hour drive on the highways and byways of Carter County from Lawndale to The Horn Dog. Lynn looked in the Mercedes' rear view mirror and saw Trent and Daria sitting on opposite sides of the backseat, not speaking to each other. _Damn,_ she thought. _This is going to require a catalyst._ "Hey, guys, can we do something? I'm getting *immensely* bored up here." "How about the picnic game?" Trent suggested. "We came up with some intense stuff last time...right, Daria?" Daria blushed. "Yeah." "You guys are demented," Lynn opined. "But...okay, the picnic game. Who wants to start?"
* * *
The travelers in the Tank had had the same idea. Max was driving, and Nick had the front passenger "shotgun" position. Jane and her more-or- less main squeeze, hunky rhythm guitarist Jesse "Leather" Moreno were sitting in the back, leaning forward to join in the conversation. "I'm going to the picnic," Max led off, "and I'm bringing...an allergy to all things work-related."
* * *
The driver of the Mercedes took up the challenge. "I'm going to the picnic and I'm bringing Axl Rose's personalized running shoes and... barbecued Branch Dividians."
* * *
"I'm going to the picnic," Jane began rattling off a while later, "and I'm bringing an allergy to all things work-related...a bourgeois outlook on modern-day society..."
* * *
"...a cangue for my sins..." Daria continued. That reminded Trent. "I forgot to ask -- what's a cangue?" "A heavy wooden board worn around the neck like a yoke," Lynn explained. "Common form of punishment in China," Daria elaborated. "Right," Trent nodded. "Sorry." "Where was I? Oh yeah...Darth Maul on a speed trip...an Eco- warrior down on his luck..." * * *
"...a flux capacitor..." Nick said, "...and great green gobs of greasy grimy gopher guts!"
* * *
"...Imperialist dogs to take against the wall and shoot..." Trent said, "...a Jacobean tragedy unfolding...and Kyuss' latest album to melt in the microwave."
* * *
"...a laser scalpel..." Jesse continued, "...marital aids...Nostradamus' final unheard prophesy about Bill Gates sticking his--" Suddenly and without warning, there came an evil noise and a billow of smoke from under the hood of the Tank. "My baby!" Max outgrabe. "NO!"
* * *
"...Needles and syringes so I don't have to share..." Lynn continued, "...occult jewellery...parasites living in my guts...Quentin Tarantino's best one-liners...and Ronald Reagan's head on a stick." The Mercedes passed a dead van. "I'm going to the picnic and I'm bringing..." Daria noticed something. "Hey, was that the Tank back there?" They turned around and parked the Mercedes in front of the Tank, on the shoulder of that deserted road somewhere in Carter County. Max was poking around under the hood. "What the hell?" "What?" Trent wondered. "There is glue in my engine!" Jane, who had put the glue there with her Stikmata 5000 on the abortive trip to Alternapalooza, had the good grace to blanch. "Whoops..." "You put *glue* in my engine?" Max asked menacingly. "Hey, it was the only way we could have got it going again! I mean it was that or walk miles to call for help! -- Anyway, I bet that's not what's wrong with it." "Well, it could be!" "But you don't know?" Daria asked levelly. Max was flustered. "Well...I..." He recovered. "Well, none of *you* knows what's wrong with it!" "Step aside, slap-head," Lynn snapped, then turned to Daria. "Go in the trunk of the Mercedes and get that book on emergency auto mechanics, would you?" Trent was impressed. "You know auto mechanics?" She tried to be casual. "In a manner of speaking..."
* * *
Moving toward sunset, Lynn was ripping apart a piece of audio equipment -- none of the others were quite sure which one -- and using the pieces to patch up a starter motor. At her side was _The Fugitive's Guide to Emergency Auto Mechanics_. "Damn," she observed. "When was the last time you maintained this thing?" "Hey," Max snapped, "the Tank is indestructible." "And yet twice now it's stranded unwary travellers on the road to nowhere. Funny, that." A few feet away, Trent and Daria were sitting side by side on the grass. Trent had his acoustic guitar out. "Deja vu, huh, Daria?" _All over again._ "Yeah." A pause for thought. "So." "So..." Nick approached them. "Hey, Trent, how long do you think it'll take to fix the Tank?" Trent was both annoyed and relieved to be interrupted. "Well, Lynn looks like she knows what she's doing...but I don't think Max likes anyone fooling around with his baby." Lynn was now leaning into the engine housing, standing on tiptoe. Nobody standing outside could see her upper body at all. Max was standing protectively beside the Tank, looking very worried. "What are you doing?" he stressed. Lynn sounded quite annoyed. "What have you put this poor car through? I haven't been reading up on this stuff for long, but from what I can see, the glue was the most stable thing holding this engine together!" That only made him angry. "Are you insulting the Tank?" She barely controlled her own anger. "No...if anything, I'm insulting the careless owner who makes such a show of loving his damn vehicle but lets it fall into *this* sort of condition." She was very much reminded of the _Fawlty Towers_ episode where Basil's beloved and much-abused Mini breaks down while he's on a grocery run and he ends up beating on it with either a very large tree-branch or a very small tree. She started looking around for a branch with which to hit the Tank, or maybe Max. Jane and Jesse came out of the back of the Tank, bearing bags over to the other three. Jane spoke up. "Hey, we got warm orange soda and stale Twinkies! Let's eat!" "Your fuel line's seen better days...your plugs need a cleaning ...I bet your brake lines are screwed...Will you get out of my light, you automotive amateur? I'm trying to see if your damn block's cracked!" "Stop it!" Max panicked. "Stop! You'll hurt her!" Lynn sounded downright exasperated. "It's an inanimate *object,* Max. For the love of God, grow up! Read my lips; *it does not feel pain!*" Jesse began to wonder. "Hey, are we ever gonna get to The Horn Dog?" Max was evidently scandalized. "I can't believe you said that!" "Well, *I* can't believe I'm stranded in the middle of nowhere with a total moron, either, but if that's possible, I suppose *anything* is!" "Well," Jane answered Jesse's question, "since she's the only one capable of fixing the Tank..." "...And she's currently occupied with insulting your drummer..." Daria added. "...Or, more accurately, insulting his auto repair skills..." "...And worse yet, implying that the Tank is less than human..." They joined together to finish the thought. "...Probably not."
* * *
Twilight was falling. Jane had her red shirt in her hand and was poised to wave it at passing cars. Unfortunately, there *were* no passing cars. Lynn was seemingly on the verge of falling into the engine compartment of the Tank. In the still evening air, they could hear clanking and the odd mutter from under the hood. Max was watching with something like awe in his face. Jesse and Nick were asleep in the back seat of the Mercedes; Daria and Trent were still sitting cross-legged on the grass. Trent was strumming at his guitar, just like last time. "Nice night, huh, Daria?" "Yeah," she agreed. It's nice when it's quiet like this. Gives you a chance to hear yourself think." "Yeah." There was an uncomfortable pause, then he started to say what he'd accidentally said to Lynn at Halloween. "Daria, I--" Just then, with impeccably bad timing, Jane wandered up. "Hey Trent, any idea how..." She trailed off, realizing that she'd made a rather large tactical error vis-a-vis yenta-ing. "Oh. Am I interrupting something?" Daria answered truthfully, but due to her proximity to Trent, she was blushing anyway. "No." "Not really," Trent steamed. Jane wasn't convinced, but decided not to press the issue lest she screw it up worse. "Well, I was just wondering if you knew how Lynn was coming on the Tank." "I don't know," Daria replied. "The mutters from under the hood sound less like profanity, if that tells you anything." "And Max has stopped yelling at her," Trent pointed out. "Well," Jane shrugged, "love him, love his van..." "I wouldn't say that around her if I were you," Daria warned. "Remember, she's our only chance at a ride home. She has the only working car and she's the only one capable of fixing the other one." "Good point. I'll save up all my taunting for school on Monday." Lynn hauled herself out from under the hood and slammed it shut. She was a grease-smeared wreck, but she looked rather proud of herself. "Well, if she doesn't work now, she never will. Fire her up, Max!" Max got behind the wheel of the Tank and turned the key. The engine roared into life. "All right! She never sounded better!" "Just get her to a *real* auto mechanic before too long, okay? I have no way of telling how long that jury-rigging will last." "All right, we're on our way to The Horn Dog!" "Can we still make it before the Grunge Grandstander's Gala starts?" Jane wondered. Trent answered that question with one of his own. "What time is it?" "Seven forty-five," Daria replied. "If we hurry." "Aw, Trent," Max sulked, "you *know* the Tank can't do more than fifty miles per hour! She's sensitive!" "Max," Lynn advised him, "push her to ninety." Max gave her an incredulous look. "Trust me." He did, and the Tank burned rubber out of there, followed by the Mercedes.
* * *
Daria was sitting alone in the back seat of the Mercedes. Jane was sitting with Lynn up front. "Wonder why the guys wanted the Tank to themselves?" the driver reflected. "What did you *say* to him, Daria?" Jane demanded. Daria was puzzled. "What?" "When I came over to you guys and interrupted..." "You *interrupted* them?" Lynn sighed. "Jane, you're an idiot." The other two, confused, said simply, "What?" Lynn sighed again. "Never mind."
* * *
The banner over the door of The Horn Dog read CARTER COUNTY GRUNGE GRANDSTANDER'S GALA 1999. The Tank and the Mercedes were parked out front. Whooping and cheering could be heard from the inside. Inside, the Spiral was onstage, while the girls stood behind Lynn's recording equipment. "I sure hope this stuff works without those parts in it," she worried. "What parts?" Jane asked suspiciously. Lynn got sad and sheepish. "A lot of the stuff that looked redundant in my recording equipment and seemed like it might help fix the Tank...I gave up in the name of getting us here." Jane and Daria looked at her sympathetically. Then Trent hit a grinding chord and their attention turned to the stage. "Hey, people. We're Mystik Spiral...but we're thinking of changing our name. We came up with this one on the road tonight. It's called `Subversive Teenage Roadies.'" As one voice, the girls boggled, "Subversive teenage roadies?" Trent began to sing and strum, as the guys backed him up.
"o/~ Our crummy van broke down In someplace just like hell And we were lost for good As far as we could tell We didn't call on God We knew he didn't care At least we had the sense To have our roadies there... o/~" Jesse joined in on the chorus. "o/~ Subversive teenage roadies Subversive teenage roadies Subversive teenage roadies fixed our car Subversive teenage roadies Subversive teenage roadies Those three teen roadies got us where we are... o/~" He launched into a guitar solo, while Lynn struggled against laughter, less than successfully. "Subversive teenage roadies fixed their car?" Daria pointed out, in her usual deadpan, "It was only you that fixed the car." Jane smirked. "Artistic license." Lynn sighed. "It's not quite being Deborah from Disco 2000, but it'll do in a pinch." Trent and Jesse tore into the chorus again. "o/~ Subversive teenage roadies Subversive teenage roadies Subversive teenage roadies... o/~ ARGHHHHHHHHH!" The song ended in a cacophony of slightly missed chords, distortion pedal abuse and an overenthusiastic drum solo from Max. The girls winced a little while no one was watching.
* * *
Outside The Horn Dog, after the show, the touring company, minus Lynn, were standing over the Mercedes' hood reading the map of Carter County that Jesse's kid brother Danny had drawn. "There sure are a lot of camping/murder scenes in this area," Jane observed. "Probably has something do to with the guy with a hook for a hand across the lake," Daria pointed out. Max seemed vaguely worried. "Um...guys? Where's Lynn?" "Talking to the owner." "She thought he might be able to suggest a decent place to stay tonight," Nick explained. Trent seemed more concretely worried. "What time is it?" "Twelve-thirty," Daria replied. "Why?" In horrified unison, the members of Mystik Spiral exclaimed, "The dogs!" From behind the building came a volley of frenzied, vicious barking and a high-pitched scream. "*Back! Back, you lunatic mongrels!*" The barking became more vicious. There was another, incoherent scream and a gunshot. The gang looked at each other and with one accord broke into a run for the building.
* * *
Dawn was breaking. Daria was asleep in the back seat of the Mercedes. Trent was driving, while Lynn was riding shotgun. Her left arm was bandaged, her shirt was ripped, her face was a bit scratched and her glasses were mended with duct tape. "Wolf/German shepherd crossbreeds?" she droned. Trent seemed worried. "Sure we shouldn't get you to a hospital?" "Next time, warn someone about the psychotic owner and the vicious dogs." Trent had the good grace to look shamefaced. "I talked to Mike. They've had shots." "He *had* to shoot one to get it off me." "You got near them at feeding time." Trent still couldn't quite have met her gaze, even if he hadn't been driving. There was an awkward moment of silence. "No luck talking to Daria?" "The right time never came," Trent muttered, sheepish and a bit angry. "No privacy." "There's time," she assured him gently. Trent smiled at her gratefully. She returned the smile.
* * *
Later, in her room, Jane was painting her interpretation of Lynn's encounter with the dogs. Lynn was still reading up on emergency auto mechanics. Daria looked up from what she was writing. "Ivory fangs?" "Yeah," Lynn agreed thoughtfully, "but old ivory...stained with the blood of a thousand victims." "Hmm...I like that," she concluded admiringly and bent to her notebook again. "Well," Jane remarked bracingly, "at least we got some excitement this weekend." "Too bad the recording never came out," Lynn confessed with a wistful sigh. "I think I pulled one wire too many for the Tank." "No one minds. So long as we tag along when they play 15 to Life next week..." Daria and Lynn looked at each other. Then, in unison, they glared at Jane, stood up and walked out of the room. "Oh, come on, you guys!" she ran after them. "Jesse says the ex-cons are cool!"
ADAPTOR'S NOTES Changing Canadibrit's use of J.J. Jeeters to the jewelry counter at Cashman's was done with her permission. As far as I know, I'm the first Daria fanfic writer, or even adaptor, to use the verb "outgribe" in a fic. (Let me know if I'm not, of course.) Just in case you didn't know, it's from Charles Lutwidge Dodgson's 1871 juvenile classic _Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There_, which (like its 1865 predecessor) actually hovers on the edge of what Neal Stephenson would call "unreconstructed Brothers Grimm" content. At the Canadibrit's request, we've got a Fawlty Towers reference this time instead of a Python reference. 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. _Fawlty Towers_ is copright 1975, 2000 either John Cleese or the BBC, hopefully the former. (As Michelle Klein- Haess has pointed out, work-for-hire sucks the yolks from ostrich eggs.) 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