[continued from part 1]
Chapter 3: Debut
Outside the flat, Trent, Jesse, Nick, Max and A.P. were loading up the van, and Daria, Jane and Lynn were watching. "So who *is* going to drive?" Daria wondered. "I mean, they drive on the other side of the road here." "I'll take the wheel," Lynn volunteered, "and any corresponding blame if we wreck the van. Fret not. How bad can it be?" "Famous last words," Jane warned. "The rest of you will have to take taxis -- tell them the Camden Barfly. -- Who wants shotgun?" Jane and A.P. looked expectantly at Daria, who sighed and gave a little half-shrug half-nod of apathetic assent.
* * *
Later, with her eyes tightly shut as Lynn swerved the car around, she would regret the hell out of that decision. The Purple Peril was doing some regretting of her own. "I should have paid more attention to Lorna when she drove on roundabouts..." "We're going to die..." Daria whimpered. "We're *not* going to die. -- It's a well-made van. In a crash, it dies before we do." Daria groaned at that and tried to curl up into a fetal ball on the seat. Lynn bit her lower lip, then honked the horn, rolled down the window and leaned out. "GET OUT OF THE ROAD, YOU LIMEY GITS! -- AND IF YOU'RE GIVING ME THE PEACE SIGN, YOUR HAND GOES THE OTHER WAY!" "What's a git?" She seemed to remember encountering the term in a half-remembered Monty Python skit -- either the short plump guy or the skinny singing guy as someone whose legal name was A. Snivelling Little Ratfaced Git -- but that sort of in-depth knowledge of Pythonia was more up Lynn's alley. "Best you don't know. -- TAILGATE ME AGAIN AND I'LL MAKE YOU *EAT* THAT FREAKING STEERING WHEEL!"
* * *
Mystik Spiral, Jane and A.P. stood in front of the Camden Barfly pub, which was rapidly filling. They were starting to get impatient. "Do you think there was an accident?" Jane worried. "I mean, how does *she* know how to drive on the right?" "That's *not* the kind of accident I'd be worried about," A.P. mused. Before Jane could ask him what he meant by that, the van pulled up in front of them. Daria staggered out before the engine died, panting desperately. "Roundabouts...tailgating lunatics...shouting...profanity...road rage..." "I thought so." The Psycho-Maverick turned to Lynn, who was already out and walking around the van. "Did it again, right?" "Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same," Lynn calmly replied. "You see how they drive here." "Worse than Boston?" She had to think about that. "Hmm...tough call. -- *Definitely* worse than Turkey." "Oh man..." A.P. breathed, stunned. "Never mind that for now. I'm feeling better." "Given the amount of tension you let off," Daria muttered, "I'm not surprised." Lynn shrugged that off. "Come on, let's unload. These guys have a gig."
* * *
Inside the Barfly, Mystik Spiral took the stage and started playing a hard and fast lead-in, then Trent began to sing. "o/~ Binary brainwashed Worshipping the penguin You can lock it all down But somehow they can get in They invade you They're a virus Clawing at us all From the world of C-double-plus! o/~" Jesse joined in on the chorus. "*Death*...to the techno-weasels *Death*...to the techno-weasels *Death*...to the techno-weasels Or who knows what they'll do... They may make a techno-weasel out of *you!* o/~" This led into an instrumental break with hammering drums, over- blown guitar work, and slightly off-key bass riffs. Backstage, Daria, Jane and A.P. looked bemused, while Lynn, for some reason, looked deeply mortified. "This is better than his usual stuff," Jane commented, looking at Daria as she said it. "Hey, I've barely talked to him!" With one accord, they all turned and looked at Lynn, who just shrugged. "He asked." "He knows about C++," A.P. remarked. "I should be impressed, but..." Lynn went defensive. "Hey, he asked." "I'm actually surprised he used the Linux penguin reference," Daria confessed. Now Lynn seemed downright embarrassed. "Like I said, he asked." "And you do *everything* he asks?" Jane smirked evilly. "I hate you." The band finished taking it to the bridge, and Trent leaned toward the mike again. "o/~ Surf the Internet / Fry your head / The virus wouldn't spread if the weasels all were dead! o/~" He and Jesse repeated the chorus, calling for the death of the techno-weasels before they could infect the audience, and Max ended the song with a nice overblown drum solo. There was very slight, polite applause when they were done. "Thanks. We're Mystik Spiral...but we're thinking of changing that name. This next song's called `Mr. Normal.'" As they ripped into that minor classic out front, the situation backstage continued to develop. Daria had wandered off someplace. Jane and A.P. were looking at Lynn. "You *know* who that song was about, don't you?" the Psycho- Maverick asked his old partner-in-crime. "Shut up," Lynn jauntily replied. "And you helped with the lyrics anyway." "Shut *up.*" A little less jaunty that time. "You like him, don't you?" "Shut UP!" That one was downright peeved. Jane couldn't resist jumping in. "Following the trend, Daria- like?" For a moment, Lynn looked like she was going to hit Jane. Then, without a word, she turned on her heel and walked away. Jane was merely confused, but A.P. looked actively horrified. "Oh, man, *that* was stupid, Art-Smart Scarlet." "What?" "I can do that to Purple Peril because I know the limits. I've known her for years and I know *just* how far she can be pushed before those active volcanoes erupt. You hit one." "Well, why didn't *she* hit *me,* then?" "She's temperamental but she's not *stupid.* She tries really hard to keep from doing things she'll regret later." Jane was mildly pleased that Lynn cared that much about her. "Oh." "She'd *hate* to get kicked out of the country for decking one of her friends." That deflated Jane's hat size in a hurry. "oh." "o/~ Hey, Mr. Normal, it was *you!* o/~"
* * *
After the set, outside the Barfly, the gang was assembled around the van. Trent and the others looked happy. A.P. and Jane were looking warily at Lynn, who looked reckless. Daria was a bit nervous about all the punker/Rocker/Goth types milling around. "Now *that* was cool," Trent rejoiced. "Did you hear the response?" "They clapped for you," Lynn dryly replied. "How *very.*" Trent looked at her, wounded, and she turned away. "So," Jane wondered, "now what do we do?" "I kind of thought we'd go back..." Daria admitted. "On a Friday night?" Lynn scornfully dismissed the notion. "Well..." Jane raised a further question. "What's with the leather and hair-dye exodus?" "That would be the Electric Ballroom," Lynn explained. "Lorna told me they have some rock night called Full Tilt on Fridays. I say we go for it." "Will Lorna mind?" Daria worried. "Will Lorna notice? Will Lorna even be *in* tonight?" "Looks cool," Trent rasped. Lynn smiled. "Come on, Erudite Emerald!" A.P. pleaded. "Could be *great* writing material in this for you!" Daria sighed, resigned to either going with them or walking back to Soho. "All right." "Yeah!" Jane woohoo'ed. "We party until someone *dies!*" She looked pleadingly at Lynn, who gave her a cold, scornful look in reply. Jane's shoulders slumped in a penitent way. "Okay, people," Lynn exhorted the troops, "let's go."
* * *
The Camden Electric Ballroom was loud, darkly colorful and full of the most freakishly dressed people the high schoolers had ever seen. Daria and A.P. were a little overwhelmed, but Trent, Jesse, Nick and Max seemed to take it in stride, presumably having seen sufficient levels of weirdness on Dega Street to prepare them. Lynn and Jane wore identical expressions that silently said _whoa, [address] "Drinks?" Lynn asked. "I don't..." Daria started to reply, but trailed off, a vicious look suddenly appearing on her face as she said, "Fine." They shouldered their way to the bar. Lynn stared at Jane for a moment, looking irritated, then got a sly look on her face. _*This'll* show Jane we're not alike..._ she thought, looking at Daria with a challenge in her eyes. "Want to try a little competitive drinking?" "Excuse me?" "You heard me. Let's see who hits the floor first." Jane, knowing *exactly* what had prompted this, prayed neither of them would turn her way and see her looking as horribly guilty and wretched as she (rightly) imagined she must. The look got even worse when Daria looked at Lynn with an equal air of challenge and said, "Fine." Lynn leaned over the bar and hollered, "*Two double Bacardi and Coke!*" She turned back to Daria. "Whoever pukes or passes out first, loses." "What are we playing for?" Lynn raised an eyebrow, silently replying, _We both *know* what we're playing for. Or should I think `whom'?_ Aloud, she wondered, "Does it matter?" "No," came the firm answer. The drinks arrived, and Lynn paid for them. She took one and passed the other to Daria. "Here's to Misery Chicks." They looked at each other archly for a moment, then Daria said to herself, _If that's the way she wants to play it._ "To Misery Chicks." And they knocked back the drinks in one swallow. Daria coughed, sputtered and nearly gagged, not being used to strong drinks. Lynn, unaffected, simply smirked a Daria-esque Mona Lisa smirk.
* * *
Upstairs in the mosh pit, Trent, Jesse, Nick and Max were cheerfully throwing themselves around to the strains of Ministry's "New World Order" when A.P. elbowed his way through the shoving mob to Trent's side. "Hey ...Trent..." he panted, "where's...Jane? And...Daria? And...Purple Peril?" "Bug off, geek," Trent snapped. "I'm...*serious!* I can't find them! And I'd be worried if I were you..." Trent shot him a scathing look and followed him off the dance floor. Jesse, Nick and Max, who hadn't even noticed the discussion, kept on dancing.
* * *
Out in the hall, the music was still playing, but more softly, as Trent pinned A.P. to the nearest wall. "Where's Janey?" he helpfully demanded. "Look, let me explain. Jane's kind of...upset right now. All three of the girls are. God knows how it started, but they started a drinking contest. I was keeping an eye on them but..." He gestured at the gaudy crowd around them as if begging Sir Naps-a-Lot to understand. Trent seemed awfully calm as he summed up the situation. "So Daria...and Lynn...and Janey...are somewhere in here. On their own. Getting bombed." Then he exploded with a fury that would have made Anthony DeMartino flinch. "And you *let them out of your sight?*" A.P. nodded miserably. "Worthless geek punk!" "Hey, shut up! At least I knew something was wrong!" "You little..." "Hey, look, do we really have the time for this? -- There's a chill-out room upstairs."
* * *
The Japanese have a wonderful saying: "First the man takes a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes the man." In that second floor chill-out room, Daria, Jane and Lynn had been pretty well taken. They were all seated at a table, with a great manyempty glasses on the table before them. Daria and Lynn were at about the same state of inebriation, but Jane looked much worse. Daria turned to her first-ever friend. "Hey," she hiccuped, then continued, "Jane. Who's winning here?" "There wazza *contess?*" Jane slurred. "Oh...shoot..." A dark-haired guy in a Cradle of Filth T-shirt, knowing when he was onto a good thing, stepped up to Jane and took a seat *very* close to her. "Hi. Buy you a drink?" "She's had too much--" Lynn hiccuped. "--already. Damn hiccups." "Yeah," Daria chimed in. "Geddoudahere." "Hey," he snapped, "I'm talking to the Goth here, not you speccy birds." "We are not *birds!*" Lynn dudgeoned. "Yeah," Daria chuckled. "We can't sing worth a hill o' beans." The guy put a hand on Jane's shoulder. "Come on. Let's leave these twits and get to know each other better." Jane shoved his hand away. "Get lost, creep." He put his hand back, on her knee this time. "And if I say no?" A sudden shadow loomed over him. Lynn seemed amused in a drunken sort of way. "*That's* when her big mean brother kicks your hindquarters into next year. And he's wearing steel-toed boots, too..." "Get away from my little sister, you..." The guy got up, making as if to turn away, then rounded on Trent and punched him in the face. Trent recoiled a little at the blow, but quickly recovered, grabbed his assailant and tackled him to the floor. A couple of guys at a table across the little room jumped on Trent and tried to drag him off his target, but A.P. got between them and Trent, punching one of them in the stomach while moving a chair in front of the other one to trip him up. Lynn grabbed one of Jane's arms, Daria grabs the other, and they made a break for it. "But *I* wanted to be the one to beat the crap out of him..." Jane whined. "Another time," Daria assured her. "Will it help if I get Jesse to beat them up too? "Only a little," Jane sulked. Daria smirked. "Can you handle her while I find the guys?" "She ain't heavy..." Lynn shrugged, "and she's not my brother either." General drunken giggles ensued at this.
* * *
Outside the Ballroom, Lynn and Jane were standing -- or rather leaning -- against the wall. "D'ya think Daria's okay in there?" Jane wondered. "She's with the guys," Lynn reminded her; "she'll be fine. Probably enjoying watching them beat those jerks up. And they'll come out soon." "Ya should've *left* me. I could've *taken* that goon." "*Sure* you could. And his two friends." "Hey, a steel-toe in the family jewels, and he'd've lost interest." "I know. Only teasing." Her tone turned apologetic. "I get like that, you know." Jane seemed likewise apologetic. "Yah. Me too." Then she looked panicked. "I'm gonna be sick..." Lynn led her down the block a bit and found an alley, then held Jane upright while she rather noisily puked. Eventually, Lynn helps Jane get fully upright again. "Thanks." "Just don't pass out on me, okay? I'm not that sturdy on my feet myself." The two shared a small, conciliatory smirk at that. "They'll be looking for us. Let's get back." And they unsteadily made their way out of the alleyway, to make the trip back to Soho on the top level of a London double-decker bus, sprawled across various seats, in various stages of drunkenness.
Chapter 4: Crush
"Even flow, thoughts arise like butterflies Oh, she don't know, so she chases them away" -- Pearl Jam, "Evenflow"
When morning had broken, Lynn staggered into the flat's kitchen and started opening cupboards at random. Daria walked in, closely followed by Jane, both looking as much the worse for wear as Lynn did. "You'd think someone who drinks like Lorna claims to," Lynn muttered, "would have aspirin or something in the house." "My head hurts," Daria groaned. "I am never going to drink again," Jane whimpered. "Now that I've said that, how long before I drink again?" "You'll be back on it in about three seconds." Lynn pulled a bottle of whiskey out of a bottom cupboard. "Lorna used to tell me to take the hair of the dog that bit you. Now...are there any clean glasses?" A quick look around the kitchen answered that question. There were rogue mugs, dirty glasses and fossilized plates, but nothing clean in sight. Lynn sighed and took a swig straight out of the bottle, then passed it off to Jane, who looked at it dubiously. "If it helps my stomach stop feeling like someone went over it with a paint stripper..." Jane took a belt, swallowed, choked and nearly gagged. "Or maybe not..." she rasped. Lynn took the bottle and waved it in Daria's direction. Daria eyed it a moment, then reluctantly accepted it. "I'm going to hell anyway...might as well do it in style." She took her ritual swig and coughed vigorously. "That's the spirit," Lynn assured her. "So...anyone remember who won the drinking competition?" "It was a tie," Jane replied. Daria and Lynn looked at each other. Daria looked resigned, but Lynn looked livid.
* * *
The gang dragged themselves up the stairs of Oxford Circus tube station and out into the light, all looking rough. "Do we *have* to be out here?" Trent growled. "This sucks," Jesse confirmed. "*And* it's raining," Max snapped. "I thought it was supposed to *snow* in winter!" "It's too damn early in the morning..." Nick completed their litany, "and I think I bruised my hand on that one guy's face." "This is the last chance you're going to get to do any Christmas shopping without getting trampled," Lynn pointed out. "If you want to go back, be my guest." Trent looked rather tempted for a moment, but he shrugged. "Yeah. Right. Whatever." "Loath as I am to let you all wander the city freely, for this to work we're going to have to split up. Let's say we meet by that fountain in Leicester Square in three hours. That give everyone enough time?" This met with assorted grumbles of assent. "That's the kind of enthusiasm I like to hear. Later." She walked off purposefully. The others stared at each other for awhile, then the group reluctantly broke up and headed in separate directions.
* * *
Later, at Sister Ray Records in Soho, Lynn, bearing shopping bags, was just collecting yet another bag from the man behind the counter when she heard a familiar raspy voice say "Hey, Lynn." With a casualness she didn't really feel, she replied, "Hey. Should I go?" "Nah," Trent replied. "The present's not for you. But I could use your help." Lynn was torn between being miffed that he wasn't having to get a present for her and pleased that he wanted her help. "If I can." "I'm supposed to get a present for the punk...I mean, A.P. Sorry, Lynn." "Hey, compared to some of the things I call him, `punk' is a term of endearment." Trent did his coughing laugh. Lynn drew courage from this to go on. "In fact, you shouldn't mouth off about punks being a bad thing around here. This place is two blocks away from one of the most popular punk/rock bars in the area. You don't want the wrong ears to hear that kind of talk." "Why?" Trent smirked. "They'll beat me up?" "No...but you'd *really* hurt their feelings. Behind the Mohawks and the leather and the heavy boots and chains and spikes, they're just big marshmallows inside." Trent cough-laughed again, bringing a smile to Lynn's face. "Good one, Lynn. You're going to have to show me this place." "Okay," she blushed. "But first you said you needed my help with something?" "Oh, yeah," he scowled. "A.P.'s present. -- I don't know him. I can't decide on a present." Lynn thought a moment, pretty uffishly. "To be fair, you couldn't afford anything on his Christmas list. Not even his parents can. He asked for an ISDN line this year." Trent looked lost, and she recalled that technical matters were not his forte. "Just get him a CD. Expand his musical horizons." Trent took some thinking time of his own. "I'll get him the Chickasaw Mud Puppies. -- They *have* heard of them here, haven't they?" "If not, they order. No fear. Around this part of the city, people know that more came out of Athens than REM and the -- blech -- B-52s." Trent did one more laugh-cough, and Lynn blushed scarlet as she tried to hide a smile.
* * *
Presently, the entire gang had gathered by that fountain in Leicester Square and were looking around. "Chiquitos?" Trent suggested. "And we came *all* the way to England to eat Mexican food," A.P. snidely replied. "At least it's close. And out of the rain. -- Punk," he added under his breath. "Edinburgh Steak House?" Daria proposed. "I wouldn't," Lynn warned. "Overpriced tourist garbage and badly served to boot. -- How about Chinatown? That's a London sight *and* someplace to eat lunch, and it's not far away." "Cool by me," Jane allowed as. "Yeah," Jesse agreed. "Food." "Sure," Nick nodded. "Just don't serve me shrimp," Max warned. "I'll get hives." "Yeah," Trent made it official. "All right. Cool idea, Lynn." Lynn blushed. Jane noticed and looked at her strangely. Lynn carefully arranged her face into a blank slate. Jane, after looking carefully at her, turned away. As soon as Jane'd turned her back, Lynn's eyes rolled in a "God help me" expression. _I can't wait until the Y2K bug. Kill me now._
Chapter 5: Review
["I don't know why you're messed up I don't know why your whole life is a chore Just do me a favor And check your baggage at the door..." -- The Offspring, "She's Got Issues" (Americana)
Lynn wandered up to a newsstand and perused the magazines for a moment. She grabbed one off the shelf, leafed through it a moment, then smirked and handed the newsagent a coin. Then she walked off with her newest acquisition. _This should be interesting._ When she got back to the flat, the lounge area was deserted, but she didn't see that right away -- she just barged through the front door, waving the magazine aloft, and yelled, "*You got a review, guys!*" There was a thumping sound down the hall as several fair-sized male bodies tumbled out of bed, and some crashing noises as they made an attempt at speed dressing. Lynn smirked. Daria and Jane came out of their room, fully dressed and composed. "Sounds like wildebeests," Lynn observed. "Mating," Jane added. "Don't put images like that in my head." "Are they going to like this review or hate it?" Daria wondered. "Don't ask me. I haven't *read* it yet." "But..." Like charging rhinos, Trent, Jesse, Nick, and Max came hurtling out of the bedrooms and raced towards her. A.P. followed them at a sedate pace. Lynn climbs over, and behind, one of the sofas to keep them from knocking her over, and the four band members managed to crash into it. "Now...are you going to calm down, or do I have to break out the tear gas?" "What's it say?" Trent asked eagerly. "Are we criminales? We are, right?" "Just *read* it, Lynn!" Nick snapped. "Yeah," Jesse agreed calmly. "Okay, okay, okay," she muttered. "Just sit down, would you?" The boys sat. Lynn moved to a chair in front of the sofa, seated herself and opens the periodical. "This is [address] magazine." "_TWANG_?" Daria boggled. "Isn't that the sound a guitar string makes when it breaks?" "Yep. Anyway, they're one of the top rock magazines in the country, so it's a good omen that you were reviewed here. -- Unless Moray reviewed you." Now Trent was as concerned as he got. "Who's Moray?" "Ah, one of the magazine's most brutal reviewers. Moray like the moray eel." That only made Trent more nervous. "Did we..." "Yep," she sighed sympathetically. Now he was even more nervous. "*Damn!*" _May as well get this over with. "Okay, here goes. `You never know what to expect when a grunge band from the US make an appearance, but you can usually bet that it's not going to be something to write home about. As yet another crew of Yank wannabe Cobains with relationship problems, Mystik Spiral were no exception.'" "Moron," Max grumbled. "`Vocalist Trent Lane sounds as if he should really lay off the fags -- the 40-a-day vocals get lost in the instrumental section. And with the exception of ``Death To The Techno-Weasels'', a great parody of the new web-based, computer-centric way of life, and ``Mr Normal'', which at least spoke about some real angst, the lyrics were a singularly unfunny joke.' -- Are you sure you want me to go on?" "Yeah," Trent muttered morosely. "Whatever." "`Songs like ``Behind My Eyelids'', ``Ice Box Woman'' and ``Spite'' are laughable. And the instrumentalists, while showing some semblance of real talent, often break down into sheer cacophony. In short, they should return to the Nirvana-brainwashed land that spawned them and leave us alone.' -- Oh, Trent, I'm sorry." "They just don't know real talent when they hear it!" "Come off it, Max," Trent shrugged. "Hey, look," Daria tried to rally them. "You guys have two choices in the face of something like this. You can let it get to you. Or you can take some of the comments on board, use the whole experience constructively, and come back all the stronger." "She's right, you know," Lynn confirmed. "I mean, you've had worse reviews than this. I saw that one in _Muck and Rage_ -- at least Moray acknowledged you have some talent." _Hell, Moray acknowledged there was a *stage*, with a *band* on it, something Mike Z. could hardly be bothered to do._ "Yeah," Trent mused. "I guess."
[concluded in part 3]