_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Episode 4: "Run Away from Homecoming" prose adaptation by Austin Loomis
In Lynn Cullen's dark and mysterious room, the art-smart Jane Lane was sketching something; she seemed to be a bit morose and embarrassed for some reason. Lynn's near-double, Daria Morgendorffer, was on-line on Lynn's computer. "What's that URL again?" she asked. Lynn barely looked up from where she was penciling notes in the margins of her copy of _1001 Ways to Manipulate the Working Mother_. "Subversion-underscore-is-underscore-we dot co dot UK forward-slash booklist -- one word -- dot html." Daria turned around in her chair to face Lynn. "British?" It was just barely a question -- the *.co.uk was a dead giveaway. Lynn waved her pencil in the air vaguely, still not looking up. "For the best in nonconformity and subversion, buy British. They have to be experts because they don't have a written constitution or anything and the only rights they have are the ones the government hasn't taken away yet. Anarchy in the UK -- as sung by the Sex Pistols -- is alive and well. The punk movement started there, you know." Daria smirked. "And once it got to the States..." Lynn still didn't look up, but her smirk was a perfect match for Daria's. "Can you say `sell-out,' boys and girls? I knew that you could." Jane looked a bit uncomfortable at the words "sell-out," but she said nothing as Daria typed in the URL and looked at the page now loading. "If it wasn't so out of character for me," Daria droned after a moment's perusal, "I would laugh with delight and jump for joy at what I am reading off this list of books." Lynn gave a little smile. "Good, isn't it?" Something caught her eye. "Hey, they're having a three-for-the-price-of-two sale on the _1001 Ways to Manipulate..._ series. You might find something useful there." "Like I haven't got enough practice at that already," Daria smirked and read the options. "Working mothers...radical feminists... fashion victims -- ooh, I'll have to order that one...sensitive new-age men...airport security personnel?" she asked incredulously. "Select clientele," Lynn replied, sounding quite casual. Daria scrolled down another screen. "Yeah, but _1001 Ways to Manipulate World Leaders_?" Still casual: "*Very* select clientele." Throughout this discussion, Jane had been looking more guilty by the second. At this point, she finally looked up from her sketch. She surveyed her friends for a moment, and then, hesitantly, addressed them. "Um...guys?" "It speaks!" Lynn remarked, mocking but friendly. "And to impart a guilty secret, from the sound." Even more hesitantly: "Ms. Defoe asked me to design the junior class float for the homecoming parade." Daria gave a small smirk. "Shame I missed that." "Yeah, right," Lynn said flatly. "Homecoming. Testosterone- fueled propaganda-fest perpetuated by the school in the name of selling hot dogs at football games. Boola-boola for the home team. Rah-rah, sis boom blah." _I would have said "Sis boom bah-humbug," myself. In fact, I did once._ "So what sharp negation did you come up with to deter Defoe?" Thoughtfully: "I find that `when pigs fly' works, if you say it in *just* the right tone. Better than profanity by a wide margin, if you get the sarcasm levels right." Jane hung her head and sheepishly confessed, "I said yes." Silence. Daria & Lynn looked incredulously at Jane; it was obvious to her that they were desperately trying to think of something nice, or at least inoffensive, to say. At length, as one, they settled on a flat "Oh." "I know how twisted it sounds, okay?" she said defensively. "But I had no choice! Defoe found my Achilles Heel!" "An intense, almost obsessive desire," Lynn theorized, "to display your creative abilities and have your unique brand of talent praised by the masses, be they ever so unwashed and uneducated?" "A previously undeclared love of crepe paper in blue and yellow?" Daria suggested. Jane was angry. She'd known that this sort of thing would be the reaction, but it still stung like hell. "Knock it off!" Then, more quietly, "She said it would look good on any art school application if I did something creative for school. I mean, it's not like my `Student Life at the Dawn of a New Millennium' poster will get any credit. And Quinn got credit for the Jackson Pollock theme to the school dance, so..." Flatly: "Of course. I understand." "If it is your will that I do so," Lynn said in an identical monotone, "I shall cease my mockery." Cool with that, Jane sighed with relief. "Oh, hey, I've got to go. I promised Trent I'd wake him up this afternoon." Lynn went back to her book, with a fake-casual tone that made it clear she was at least a little interested in Jane's brother. "When did you last see Trent awake, out of interest?" Jane considered the question a moment. "Tuesday. I think." "If I don't mock you," Lynn smirked, "can I mock *him?*" "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Jane smirked back. "Daria has access to your computer and a clear line to reformat your hard drive if you mock her crush." Daria scowled at this, but did not look up from the screen. "Let her," Lynn replied casually. "It's just a few bits of software -- easily reinstalled. And anyway, I've backed up all my irreplaceable work onto zip disc. A team of narcs tearing up my room wouldn't turn it up." By way of explanation: "Subversion_is_we's book of the month selection for July was _Hideaway -- Places to Stash Incriminating Evidence that Even FBI Agents Wouldn't [address] Best five bucks I ever spent." Jane chuckled, sounding a lot like Trent doing his coughing-fit laugh. "See you later." She made her exit. A moment of silence descended. "Ouch," said Daria from where she was still absorbed with the computer screen. "Yeah," Lynn agreed, not coming up from her book.
* * *
The next day at Lawndale High, Ms. Janet Barch was ignoring her science class (which included two empty desks) in favor of pacing up and down at the front of the room, talking -- screeching, actually -- into a cell phone. "What do you *mean,* you're paying less alimony? If you'd paid *any* attention to me over our *twenty-two thankless years* of marriage, you'd *know* how little I make! Or is it just that you want more to spend on the little blonde *tramp* you call a *wife?*" The chicken-or- egg debate was still raging on which *really* came first, the bitterness or the divorce. "She is woman," Lynn remarked from her immersion in _Let's Get Pyromanic!: a Do-It-Yourself Guide to Home-Made [address], "hear her roar." "She is woman," Jane replied as she continued to doodle on the cover of her notebook with a bottle of white-out, "see the blood flow as she tears her victim's head off." "Humans spurt," Lynn corrected matter-of-factly. "In time to their dying heartbeat. It's an arterial thing. The carotid's a big one, too. If you get the carotid artery, blood spurts hard enough to hit the ceiling." After taking a moment to let that sink in, Jane just had to ask, "How can you know stuff like that -- and read about bomb-making -- and *still* have a C average in science?" "I only know science as it relates to torture," Lynn replied casually. "No school in the country will specialise in pain. Believe me," she said disappointedly, "I've looked *everywhere.*" Kevin Thompson, the Lawndale Lions' quarterback, a young man who'd played a few too many games without a helmet, looked around and noticed one of the empty desks. "Hey, where's Mack Daddy? We're supposed to be talking about the game now!"
* * *
As it happened, the man under discussion, Lions captain Michael Jordan MacKenzie (who had been born Michael James, whose friends called him Mack, and who had repeatedly told Kevin *not* to call him "Mack Daddy"), was driving down one of Carter County's highways at a speed of about ninety-to-nothing, with a frightened look on his face. Sitting beside him and looking no less panicked was his girlfriend, the other important African-American teen at Lawndale High, superstudent Jodie Abigail Landon. "Why'd you have to spend so much time at the library anyway?" Mack demanded. "Trying to decide between books on politics, to get Dad off my back, or books on economics, to get Mom off my back. -- Can't this heap go any faster?" "And the mall. We just *had* to stop at the mall, didn't we?" "New SAT study guides are in. Had to get them." "During lunch? They wouldn't still be there after school?" "Look, just drive!" Under her breath, she muttered, "If I'm late for Barch's class, my reputation will be ruined." "You're lucky! If *I'm* late for Barch's class, she'll eat me alive!" He swerved into the fast lane, narrowly missing clipping a bright yellow VW Beetle. "Watch out!" Mack laid on the horn. HONK! HONK! "Get off the road!"
* * *
"Look, you despicable *male,*" Ms. Barch "roared" on, "I don't know what you and that male chauvinist *pig* you call a *divorce lawyer* have cooked up, but you're *not* going to get away with it! Now get *off* the line! *I* have responsibilities that I can't *run* from...not that *you'd* understand the concept!" She switched off her cell phone. All the boys in the class were wearing expressions that showed their clear awareness that "we're in for it now."
* * *
Jodie and Mack ran through the corridors of Lawndale High.
* * *
"All right, class," Ms. Barch said as the class stared at her, "we're going to have a little test. All those who fail it fail the semester as well. Let's start with the girls..." "Excuse me?" Lynn raised her hand. "What is it, dear?" "The bell hasn't rung yet."
* * *
Jodie sprinted for the door of Ms. Barch's class, with Mack hot on her heels. The instant before the bell started ringing, Jodie burst through the door. Before the bell had stopped, Barch shut the door, hitting Mack in the nose. "*You fail!*" she yelled through the door, then turned back to the class with a placid expression. "All right, now...Lynn..." Lynn sighs. She knew she wouldn't get the right answer to any question Barch was likely to ask. "...give me three ways to permanently injure a man, with complete and graphic physiological detail." Lynn was pleasantly surprised.
* * *
That afternoon at Pizza King, Jane looked a bit glum as she and Lynn summarized the situation for Daria. The look-alikes wore their usual stoic expressions as they picked at a plain cheese pizza. "So Barch locks him out of the room and flunks him," Jane summed up morosely. "He's lost his sports eligibility two weeks before homecoming." "Then she asks me to give her three ways to permanently hurt a man," Lynn added. "In graphic detail. She took notes all the way through." "So the Lawndale Lions have lost their captain," Daria shrugged. "Who's taking his place?" As if on cue, Kevin entered the pizza parlor, accompanied by his main squeeze, head cheerleader Brittany "My boobs are bigger and more important than my brain" Taylor. Kevin looked proud and extremely pleased. "All right!" he shouted. "I'm the QB! *And* I'm the captain too!" Brittany didn't look like her usual bubbly self, but she managed to say, if a little insincerely, "I'm proud of you, Kevvie." Okay, maybe not a little. It must have been quite a lot, if Kevin actually noticed. "Hey, what's wrong, babe? I mean, I know Mack Daddy can't play and that's pretty sad, but you're going out with the captain *and* the QB! And no one can get jealous!" "I *am* glad, babe! It's just ... are you *sure* you're up to being captain *and* QB? I mean, they're both *such* big jobs and..." "Aw, babe, I know what you're thinking." Brittany was genuinely surprised. "You do?" "Sure, and don't worry. I'll have *plenty* of time for you!" Brittany sighed. "That's great, Kevvie. I...um...I just have to talk to Daria for a minute. She *promised* to give me more art tips." "Sure, babe. Cheeseless?" "You know me *so* well, Kevvie!" Kevin sauntered away to place their order, and Brittany approached the misfits' table. "Living pudding alert," Lynn warned them. "Wonder what she wants," Daria reflected. "I never promised her art lessons." _One demonstration of one-point perspective, and that was supposed to be it._ "Beats me," Jane shrugged. By now, Brittany had reached their table. "Um...you three are, like, good at fooling people and stuff, right?" "We are well-known," Lynn confirmed, "for our prowess at the art of manipulation, subversion and deviation from the path of veracity. It is our raison d'etre." Brittany twirled her hair around her little finger and looked vacant. "Huh?" "Yes," Daria took pity on her. "Oh, good. I was just wondering if you could...um...try to talk to Ms. Barch and get Mack back as captain." "Why would *you* want Kevin to give up his position as quarterback *and* captain?" "Yeah," Jane smirked evilly. "I thought you'd be pleased that your boyfriend's gone up in the world." "That makes you even more popular, after all," Lynn pointed out. "There's nothing sadder than a cheerleader cheering for a losing team," Brittany clarified for them. "We'd be bigger losers than the football team if we lost! And...um...Kevvie's not really all that good at planning things." "And I thought no one but her family doctor would ever hear her say that." If Brittany had understood what Lynn meant, there would have been teeth, or maybe noses, loosened, and possibly blood spilled. As it was, she simply twirled her hair and said "Huh?" "Never mind," Daria intervened. If they explained it, things *would* get ugly, guaranteed. "Why should we help you?" "Um...I could pay you!" "We do have *some* standards." After letting her sweat a moment, Daria added, "When it suits us." "How much?" said a voice from across the table. "Jane?" Lynn boggled. "Well, I don't want Lawndale to lose either. If I support the damn team with my float design, I want them to win." "Point taken," Daria conceded. "How much?" "Um..." Brittany pondered. "I don't know...I'll tell you at lunch tomorrow if you promise you'll do it." "We'll consider it," Lynn counter-offered, "and get back to you when you've put a price on this bit of work." "Deal!" With that, Brittany bounced away. "I didn't realize--" Daria started to say. "What," Jane interrupted, "that she had so little faith in Kevin?" "No, that she knows how manipulative we are." Jodie entered, looking glum, and headed over to their table. "Hey, guys." "Hi, Jodie," Lynn greeted her. "Hey, where's Mack? Usually you two are joined at the hip when you're in here." "He won't come out. He's never failed anything before and it's really getting to him. That's why I'm here. I was hoping you two could help him get his sports eligibility back." "I'm feeling a strong sense of deja vu here," Daria remarked to Lynn and Jane. "Why are you taking such an interest in this?" Lynn wondered. "Because it's my fault," Jodie replied. "I talked him into taking me to the library and the mall at lunchtime. If I hadn't told him that I wanted to spend some more time with him, he *never* would have been late for Barch's class." "He wasn't," Jane pointed out. "Barch shut the door before the bell stopped." "Like that matters to her," Jodie snarled bitterly. "The system sucks." "That's the spirit," Daria encouraged her. "So will you help him?" "What's it worth to you?" Lynn asked matter-of-factly. "Money?" "We have ways of getting money," Daria replied. "It's a last- resort option; what else have you got?" "Money...and for you, Daria, a promise. No attempts to get you involved for extracurricular activities for the rest of the semester." "For the rest of my time at Lawndale High." "Until the end of spring break." "For the rest of my junior year. And no acceptance without negotiation of the cash fee." "Deal. I'll get what cash I can together and talk to you about it tomorrow at lunch." "We have a prior engagement during lunch," Lynn interjected smoothly. "How about after school, same time and place?" "All right. And thank you for at least considering doing this for me." She left. "I think we've painted ourselves into a corner here, ladies."
* * *
Jane was sitting cross-legged on the floor of her room. Daria had a notepad and a pen. "Any ideas?" Lynn consulted her copy of _1001 Ways to Manipulate the Radical Feminist_. "Well, it says here: `In situations where you are negotiating for a third party, blackmail never hurts. That way, even if there is a male somehow involved in the situation, the radical feminist has incentive to see things your way.'" "But how can we blackmail Barch?" Jane wondered. "There's an entire section on `Hot and Heavy -- The Feminist Libido.' Seems to indicate that a feminist's sex drive is her weakest point." "Who would have Barch, though?"
* * *
That night, Janet was sitting at her desk, opening a bottle of champagne and pouring it into two coffee mugs. Skinny came in, looking nervous. "Are you sure we should be doing this?" Tim O'Neill asked. "I mean..." "Of course we should. After all, we're supposed to enjoy our jobs." Under her breath, she added, "Although how they can expect us to with all those testosterone-driven monsters is beyond me..." Turning back to the subject at hand, "And if our jobs don't fulfill us...at least when we look at our desks, we'll have the memories to make us smile." She handed Skinny his mug of wine. "To us." "To us," he smiled. They drank. Janet tossed her mug to the floor, where it shattered. "That's enough of that. Come to mama, big boy..." As she'd done at Jim's Paintballing Jungle, the first time they did it, and again at the medieval fair when he came to her for comfort after the play went to pieces, Janet grabbed Tim and pulled him to the floor. Almost at once, they shot back to their feet when a flashbulb went off in their faces. "What the hell..." The Lane girl was standing in the doorway with her Polaroid camera. Daria and Lynn flanked her like a pair of bookends. They all wore identical smirks. "What did I tell you?" said the Cullen girl. "You *can* believe everything you read." "We got what we came for," Daria confirmed. Jane got the last word. "Bye. Carry on." With that, they all three exited. The lovers looked after them for a moment, then Skinny began to cry.
* * *
Lynn entered Ms. Barch's class after hours and dropped her book bag onto Barch's desk. She pulled out a small roll of what looked like black leather, unrolling it to reveal a set of tools. She took one, eyed it critically for a moment, then proceeded to use it to pick the lock on Barch's desk.
* * *
In her room, Daria laid the Polaroid of Barch & O'Neill on a flatbed scanner and pushed a button.
* * *
In front of Casa Lane, Jane looked critically for a moment at a sketch in her notebook. Then she looked at the Tank, upon which she'd already built a wooden platform. Trent, Jesse, Nick and Max were standing behind her, awaiting their orders. Max Tyler looked distressed at what had been done to his van, probably worrying about how it would affect his _criminale_ reputation if it ever got out.
* * *
Lynn sat at Barch's desk amid a litter of papers. In front of her were her laptop computer and a small scanner. She selected a paper at random, puts it into her scanner and pushed a button.
* * *
The glare from Daria's computer reflected off her glasses, along with the image (very vague in the reflection) of O'Neill & Barch's faces, kissing. Daria stared at the screen and smirked.
* * *
Jane strewed a gold streamer over a bright blue tarp and looked at it for a moment, struggling to hang it. Suddenly, she realized what was missing -- someone to hold the other end. She looked over her shoulder and saw Trent asleep on the curb. She picked up a Nerf football, one of several dozen or so she'd been hanging all over the float like Christmas tree ornaments, and pegged it at her brother, who fell over and looked at her scathingly.
* * *
Lynn packed her bag, surveyed Ms. Barch's desk -- as clear as when she'd entered -- tested the drawers, smirked and walked out.
* * *
In the faculty lounge, Ms. Barch was indulging, with grim silence, in her favorite hobby -- ripping the heads off male action figures -- when there came a knock on the door. "If you're female, come in!" she called to the new arrival. "If not, stay out if you value your life at all!" It was Daria and her separated-at-birth. "Well, well. What do *you* two want? And where's your camera-happy little friend?" Daria ignored the second question. "We'd like you to reconsider failing Michael J. Mackenzie and revoking his sports eligibility." "Why should I do *anything* for that...that..." Words failed Janet. "...that *man?* "Out of the goodness of your heart?" Lynn suggested. "Because you know that what you did was unfair and you would like to correct a grievous wrong?" her partner chimed in. "Or maybe because we have enough evidence against you to have you brought before a school board tribunal." _Send us fifteen pounds, please, Mrs Teal, and your husband Trevor and your three darling children need never know the name of your lover in Bolton._ "Oh, you mean that little snapshot," Barch replied dismissively. "I think you're bluffing. Polaroid pictures are notorious for giving bad likenesses -- I bet I'm not even recognizable on it." Daria held up the shot, remarking, "It's amazing how far technology has come since you were a girl." "And you've all but admitted you were on it," Lynn pointed out. "Your word against mine, girls," Ms. Barch smirked. "Not anymore." She held up a Dictaphone and rewound the tape. It made that ghastly rewinding noise for a few moments, then she pressed Play. "Oh," Janet heard herself saying, "you mean that little snapshot..." "Those things can be faked," the live Ms. Barch pointed out. "True...but computer scans are a little bit harder." Lynn pulled out a stack of papers and tossed them nonchalantly on Barch's desk. "These are your grade sheets for the semester. Note the distinct imbalance. All the girls are pulling really high marks, while the boys are barely passing...if that." "Men are known for their stupidity." "True," Daria allowed as, "but Lynn's had a C average for years." "It's kind of a badge of honor for me now," Lynn confirmed. "How's she doing in *your* science class, Ms. Barch?" There was a moment's silence. Ms. Barch's face went through a variety of emotions -- embarrassment, fear, anger...and then, finally, grudging acceptance and a little admiration. "You girls know your stuff. What do you want out of me?" "Mack's sports eligibility returned to him." "Give him the test you locked him out of last week," Lynn added. "I'm pretty sure he'll pass it -- if you're fair this time." "Then he'll pass the semester and get his sports eligibility back." "We're doing you a favor, you know." "If you let Mack fail, Kevin captains the Lawndale Lions in the homecoming game." "Imagine Ms. Li's reaction to her school team being led by someone who could probably be outsmarted by his own shoulder pads." "Point taken," Ms. Barch conceded. "Now get out of here." The look-alikes shrugged at each other and left.
* * *
Mack was about to leave science class, behind the others, when Ms. Barch stopped him at the door. "Michael!" Mack sighed. _This is going to hurt._ With dismal resignation, he answered, "Yeah?" "You want to pass the semester?" _Huh?_ "Yeah..." he replied warily. "Come by after school and I'll give you a make-up test for the one you missed last week." He was still confused, but now he was pleased as well. He had no idea who this woman was or what she'd done with the real Janet Barch, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Um...I'll be there! Thanks!" "And you'd better take it fast! You wouldn't want to miss another day of practice, now would you?" He shrugged. "Guess not." His curiosity got the better of him. "What made you--" Barch cut him off with a snap that let him know this was the real Janet Barch after all. "Ask me questions and I reconsider the whole thing. I'm doing this against my better judgement!" He smiled and left. Ms. Barch put a hand to her head and groaned.
* * *
"So how's the float coming?" Daria asked Jane as the three of them looked at the remnants of pizza crust on their plates. "Pretty good, I think. I'm going for a more abstract approach than the others. The seniors have a big lion, the sophomores made a really big papier-mache football, and the freshmen made a replica of the football field." "And you?" Lynn pressed for details. "I just put things representative of Lawndale's football experience. Footballs, shoulder pads, pom-poms, cheerleader underwear..." "Tommy Sherman being crushed by a collapsible goal post?" Daria suggested. Jane smirked evilly. "You know me too well. -- So how did `Operation Bag-a-Hag' go?" "We're about to find out," Lynn replied as Ponytail Barbie and Lobotomy Ken entered Pizza King. Kevin looked as dejected as he sounded. "But it would have been *perfect!* I mean QB *and* captain! Aw, man!" "Oh, poor Kevvie," Brittany replied, hiding a smile; "I still love you!" As they passed the misfits, Brittany slipped two envelopes onto the table between Daria & Lynn and whispered, "Thanks!" "What did we decide on, price-wise?" Lynn checked. "Fifty dollars," Daria replied. "Each." "Whoa!" Jane was impressed. "Does this mean that the Montana Cabin Fund is back on track?" "Looks like...if I don't spend it all at Subversion_is_we first." "It's addictive, isn't it?" Lynn smirked. Mack and Jodie approached their table, both wearing relieved smiles. "Hey, Daria," Jodie led off. "Hey, Lynn." "I wanted to thank you for sticking up for me with Ms. Barch," Mack added. "How was your test?" Daria wondered. "Not as hard as some of the others, actually. I think she's getting soft." Each of them produced two envelopes. "Jodie said she was going to pay you, but I wanted to do my part as well. I don't know what you two did, but it must have been something." Lynn took her portion of the envelopes with a Mona Lisa smile. "Happy to be of service. Oh, here's something for you." She took a 3.5" disc out of her pocket and handed it over. "In case she ever gives you trouble again. Or, in the case of the jpegs, just for laughs." Mack was obviously confused, but he took the disc anyway. "Cool." "Thanks again, you two," said Jodie as the happy couple made their exit. "You two are beyond help, aren't you?" Jane mused. "And proud of it," Lynn smirked evilly. "Was that copies of all the blackmail material we had on Ms. Barch?" Daria checked. "And one ace in the hole." Lynn pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Daria. Daria stared at the new picture, wide-eyed. "Where did *this* come from?" "I installed a camera on a timer in Ms. Barch's classroom before we arrived. Obviously things heated up after we left." "Where was the camera?" Jane wondered. "Hidden in the chalk gutter of the blackboard. You can tell by the angle." "How come they didn't notice?" Daria boggled. Lynn produced a *very* small camera from her pocket. "*This* is how come." "This is professional!" Jane was impressed. "Where'd you get it?" "Would you believe...MI6_Factory_Rejects.co.uk?" Daria and Jane stared at her. "Come on, you *had* to expect it."
* * *
In his room, Mack sat at his computer, inserted the disc and clicked on the icon for "Bmail3.jpg". You could hear him laughing all the way down the street.
ADAPTOR'S NOTES "Sis-boom-bah-humbug" courtesy of _The Daria Diaries_. The remark about blood getting spilled in the scene where Lynn makes that comment that goes over Brittany's (bubble) head refers to the alternate take of that scene that appears in Canadibrit's own "Behind the Glasses II." "Mrs Teal" (Betty Teal, of Bristol if my memory serves) is the Python reference for this time; the sketch, "Blackmail," was in the episode John Cleese hosted "live from the Grillomat Snack Bar, Paignton." Michael Palin, as the host of "Blackmail," actually rattled off the names of those three darling children, but I couldn't remember them, so Lynn couldn't either. Sosumi. 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 character of Lynn Cullen is copyright 1999 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