_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Episode 11: "Love Him or Leave Him" (Shoot That Poison Arrow, Part Two) prose adaptation by Austin Loomis
"I thought you loved me, but it seems you don't care." "I care enough to know I can never love you." -- ABC, "Poison Arrow"
WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE (A-Z affectionately, 1-10 alphabetically): Lawndale High had almost recovered from the shock to its system dealt by the arrival of conniving brain LYNN CULLEN, a near-double for resident brain DARIA MORGENDORFFER, and her becoming friends with Daria and her artsy fellow outcast JANE LANE. The trio have weathered the usual slings and arrows, most notably Principal ANGELA LI's increasing paranoia, and have even done some good (ending science teacher JANET BARCH's vendetta against football captain MICHAEL JORDAN MACKENZIE, for instance, and helping Mack's girlfriend, superstudent JODIE ABIGAIL LANDON, avoid her burnout by teaching her how not to give a damn what other people think). Now, Li's guiding principle of "High Security for High Performance" has been struck a second hammer blow by the arrival of A.P. McINTYRE, Lynn's old partner in crime from Oakwood High. To pay for more metal detectors and bomb-sniffing dogs, Ms. Li announced that "Lawndale High will be having another school dance a week from Saturday!" Lynn told Jane's musician older brother TRENT LANE about it, having extra-good reasons, since at a Halloween party at Casa Lane, Trent had mistaken Lynn for Daria and confessed to her his love for Janey's friend. "Daria will be at this dance," Lynn said, "because all of Lawndale High is being forced into it. If you happened to write a song about how you feel for her, she's bound to hear it, right?" "Yeah," Trent agreed. Then he got angry, remembering what he'd seen of Daria's obvious growing feelings for the Psycho-Maverick. "But what about that little redheaded punk friend of yours? I mean..." "A.P.? You mean to tell me that you feel threatened by a seventeen-year-old lunatic?" Talking it over with Lynn, Daria was stunned to realize, "I have a crush on two guys." QUINN MORGENDORFFER, Daria's attractive and popular younger sister, gushed to her friends in the FASHION CLUB about the Phantom Admirer she'd acquired at the Lawndale High Halloween Haunt. "He left another note! He's going to tell me who he is at the dance next Saturday!" At the dance, things did not go according to plan. A.P. kissed Daria on the lips, just as Trent was coming out of the DJ booth to play his new song with his band MYSTIK SPIRAL. Trent slammed his guitar through MAX TYLER's bass drum, then smashed it on an amp and ran out. Outside, Trent and Lynn were sitting side by side when Daria and A.P. came around the corner. Trent saw them together and, thinking to make Daria jealous, grabbed Lynn (who had her back to them) by the shoulders and kissed her. Quinn approached, sobbing from some discovery about her Phantom. "Daria, I...I want to go *home!* Please take me home! I...he...I..." She trailed off into incoherent blubbering and dragged Daria away. A.P. also made a hasty exit, leaving the Lane siblings alone. "*What the HELL did you do THAT for?*" Jane demanded of her big brother. Trent could only answer miserably, "Oh, man..."
* * *
The next day in English class, A.P. tried to pass a note to Daria. Erudite Emerald refused to look at him as she *very* deliberately tore up, unread, the piece of paper he'd slipped onto her desk.
* * *
In science class, Lynn looked up at Jane with a tentative smile. Jane narrowed her eyes. Lynn turned away quickly, then her shoulders slumped and she sighed.
* * *
Daria was standing at her locker. Lynn was at *her* locker, about twenty feet away. They looked at each other nervously, then quickly looked away. In unison, they slammed their lockers shut, turned, and hurried away in opposite directions.
* * *
Jane was in her room, watching TV, when Trent appeared in the doorway. Carefully not looking at him, Jane got up, crossed the room and slammed the door in his face.
* * *
In the parking lot, Lynn was headed for her mom's Mercedes at a near- run, with A.P. at her heels. When the Purple Peril jumped into the car, A.P. jumped in front of it and stood there, arms akimbo. She revved the motor threateningly and hit the accelerator, forcing him to either jump out of the way or get run over as she roared out of the parking lot.
* * *
In the cafeteria, each of the four sat at a separate table; they all looked miserable.
* * *
In another English class, Lynn's desk was empty this time. Daria looked at the empty desk, feeling sad and almost guilty. A moment after she turned back to her desk, A.P. looked at Lynn's desk with much the same emotions almost showing on his face.
* * *
Jane passed Daria's locker, stopped in her tracks, took a breath, then sighed. "Hey," she began. "Hey," Daria replied morosely. "Um...wanna come over? The new season of _Sick, Sad World_ is..." She trailed off as Daria glared at her, making her realize what she'd said, but before she could take it back, Daria slammed her locker and walked off. Jane sighed and moved on to her own locker. Jodie had seen all of this and just about decided enough was enough. She didn't really feel right meddling in the internal politics of what Lynn called "the Flack-Jacket Mafia," but she owed them a debt. If it weren't for Daria and Lynn, after all, she'd still be pushing herself to the brink trying to be Miss Perfect. With a frown, she caught up with the artist. "Hey, Jane." As morosely as Daria had said it, Jane replied, "Hey. " Jodie wasn't sure how best to begin. "Um..." She opted to try and brazen it out. "Sorry if I'm prying, but...I've got to ask." "What?" The old Jodie would probably have danced around the issue a bit longer, but this new Jodie was getting exasperated. "What is *wrong* with you guys?" Jane went from morose to lost. "Huh?" A frustrated sigh. "Up until last week, you, Daria, Lynn and that A.P. guy were tight. You were wacky, Daria was sarcastic, Lynn was whimsically subversive and A.P. wouldn't shut up. But since Monday, you've been looking miserable. Daria has missed seventeen opportunities to crack wise to DeMartino -- I've counted. Lynn's been...*tentative.* And that A.P. guy hasn't said ten words this week. And not one member of your group is talking to any *other* member. No one's even *asked* why Lynn's not in today." Jane shrugged. "I assumed she was sick." Then, a bit worried, "She *is* just sick, isn't she?" "I don't know. She sure *looks* sick. I took her home yesterday afternoon, and from the looks of the house, she's given up sleep and nutrition in favor of coffee the last few days. I asked her what was wrong, but..." In spite of herself, Jane was starting to get curious about Lynn's side of the situation. "But what?" "Well," Jodie began thoughtfully, "first she cursed musicians. Then hackers. Then guys in general. Then she called herself the Anti- Cupid and locked herself in that big wardrobe in her room." In a tone of voice that showed her suspicions, she asked, "You know what this is about, don't you?" Jane was a bit ashamed. "I...plead the Fifth." Jodie, fed up with the BS, sighed. "Fine. But...would you talk to her? She's really not well and I don't know what to do about it." Jane looked away guiltily. Jodie sighed and walked off. Jane closed her locker and banged her head against the door a few times, because it felt so good when she stopped.
* * *
In the cafeteria, Quinn was sitting at a table with the other three members of the Fashion Club. She looked *very* troubled about something, but the other Clubbers just looked interested. "So come *on,* Quinn," Sandi Griffin tried to coax some information out of her vice-president. "Who was this *mystery* guy?" "Not right now," Quinn replied, as morosely as Jane had spoken to Jodie. "I'll tell you another time, okay?" With an anger she may or may not have really felt, Sandi pressed for information. "So we're not *good* enough to hear about this guy, is *that* it, Quinn?" Much more calmly than she felt, Quinn replied, "No, that is *not* it, Sandi." The president of the Fashion Club turned cruel as only teenage girls can. "Or did he just stand you up, and you don't want to talk about it?" Any other time, this would have caused Quinn to explode, but right now, it just wasn't getting to her; after all, she had worse things to worry about. "It's not that either, Sandi. Just drop it, okay? I'll talk about it when I'm ready." The calm statement surprised Sandi, who'd been expecting Quinn's usual histrionics. She was impressed with the genuineness of whatever was going on. "Okay, Quinn," she said as kindly as she knew how. "Let us know when you're willing to fill us in." Quinn went back to her pondering. Sandi looked at her other officers, Tiffany Blum-Deckler and Stacy Rowe, who both wore the same confused, hurt and worried expressions.
* * *
In the kitchen of Morgendorffer Home Base, Daria and Quinn were both poking at their food, looking unhappy to be alive. Their father, Jake, was hidden behind the paper as usual. Helen Barksdale Morgendorffer looked at her two daughters with a worried expression. Needing to vent her frustrations and take her mind off her worry for her progeny, she pounced on her husband. "Jake, will you put the paper *down* for once!" She waved a hand at their offspring. "Look, the *girls* aren't reading anything. -- For a change," she muttered to herself. "Aw, but *Helen,*" he whined, "there's a new *comic strip* in this one!" Helen grabbed the _Times-Herald_ away from him. "Now we can *finally* have a nice, relaxing family dinner and talk to each other like normal people!" At the exact same moment, Daria and Quinn morosely announced, "I'm not hungry. Excuse me." They looked at each other, momentarily curious; then, still in unison, they shrugged, stood up and left the table. "Damn..." Helen muttered, cheated of a shot at family bonding. She looked to Jake for conversation, but he'd taken advantage of the distraction to retrieve his paper and ensconce himself behind it. Helen sighed.
* * *
Daria had discovered by empirical experimentation that if you lie on your back on the floor of her room, the ceiling doesn't seem quite as close as when you stare at it from the bed. That's one of the reasons she'd forsaken Ceiling-Staring Central for the comforts of the carpet. There was a knock at the door. Daria tried to be sarcastically deadpan, but her heart wasn't really in it. "Earth is full. Go home." The door opened anyway. It was Quinn, entering glumly and closing the door behind her. Daria was quite surprised. "You're entering the padded room voluntarily. The end must be nigh." Quinn seemed resigned to her older sister's flatly delivered taunts. "I need your advice." Daria made one last listless attempt at sarcasm. "And that's the sound a squadron of pigs makes as it flies formation over Lawndale." "I'm *serious!*" Quinn snapped, then added, in softer tones, "You're the only one who can help me on this." Daria finally relented. "I'd take this opportunity to torment you further, but it becomes clear to me that you're doing a better job than I am. What do you need, Quinn?" "You know about my Phantom Admirer, right?" "The one whose Q's mean his hands are cute. Right." "His hands *are* cute. That's not the problem. It's what was under his mask when those hands took it off at the dance. He promised me one last dance before unmasking, and when the mask came off, it was... it was..." She swallowed hard, then finished the sentence. "Ted." Daria stared at Quinn, wide-eyed. "Ted, as in Ted Dewitt-Clinton the home-schooled polymath? The guy whose parents have a cornfield for a front yard?" "And who hadn't tried gum until age 17, yeah. But I *like* him... He's nice and smart and funny, but..." "But the Fashion Club wouldn't stand for it." "He wears button-down shirts and chinos! I mean, that's fashion *suicide!* Oh, *God,*" Quinn moaned, "Sandi will kick me out of the Fashion Club for liking this guy; she's been *waiting* for an excuse this good for *months*..." "Ever consider the unparalleled satisfaction of telling the little back-stabber to go to hell?" "I've *tried!*" Quinn insisted frantically. "I open my mouth, but what comes out is `Let's go shopping!'" In her most matter-of-fact tones, Daria replied, "Then I cannot help you." "But, Daria, you've *got* to! You're my last *hope!*" "You wanted my advice, so here it is: you have to do what *you* want, Quinn. And if you want to give up a guy you genuinely care for in favor of a group of `friends' who, by your own admission, are waiting for chances to hurt you...well, that's your choice, but I feel sorry for you." Quinn considered this, then nodded. "Um...thanks, Daria," she hesitated. "No charge...this time, anyway," Daria added wryly. "And we *don't* hug. That would be too much like cheesy TV sitcoms." Quinn nodded. "I know." And she walked out, leaving Daria to the quiet contemplation of her *own* problems.
* * *
In a dark, mysterious room she'd visited twice before, once when she got her first lesson in Introductory Attitude and again when she tried to extract some information from her teacher, Jodie was sitting in front of Lynn's large ornate wardrobe, having decided that none of the (former, it seemed) friends were going to take action on their own. _You created a monster, Cullen...and she's just come back to the castle._ Around her was a large gathering of coffee mugs and some wadded-up tissues. "How long have you been in there, anyway?" Lynn's voice issued from the wardrobe. "Twenty-eight hours, at last count. Does it matter?" "Um...well, there's school." "Everything I needed to know I learned in kindergarten." "Health?" "Twenty million Red Chinese don't give a crap. Why should I?" "Friends?" "*Hah!*" At the back of Jodie's skull, an idea formed. "Revenge?" A long silence from the wardrobe. She could almost *feel* Lynn considering this prospect. "I say my piece," Lynn announced at length, "and then I resume my place in the hidey-hole. Maybe if I'm lucky, the door to Narnia will open up in here and I will be free." Jodie sighed, but least she'd gotten through to Lynn somehow. _It's a start, anyway._
* * *
Too Much Coffee Girl, in her secret identity as mild-mannered high school student Lynn Cullen, though looking noticeably paler than usual and also slightly jittery, approached the front door of Casa Lane. _*This* is going to be fun..._ She rang the doorbell. The only answer was a loud twanging of guitar chords from somewhere around basement level. Lynn sighed and took the lock-picking equipment out of her book bag. _Don't leave home without it..._ she thought as she started in on the door. Down in the basement, Trent was angrily thrashing on his new guitar. He didn't seem to notice Lynn...until, that is, she pulled the cord connecting his axe to the amp, uncovering the music that had been playing in the background. "o/~ I want you to notice When I'm not around You're so very special I wish I was special But I'm a creep I'm a weirdo... o/~" Realizing that he could once again hear Thom e. Yorke's soulful plea, Trent looked at the guitar, then looked up and saw Lynn. Just to complete the cliche, she was swinging the end of the cable like a pendulum. "You know, I've always wanted to do that." "Um..." he began, "hey?" Lynn raised her eyebrows. "Is that *it?*" Of all the responses he wasn't expecting, that was about six all by itself. While trying to figure out what to say next, he let his mouth stall for time. What it came out with was "Um..." "Perhaps I can help you think up some more appropriate lines. Like, `Oh, sorry about kissing you against your will on Saturday night.' Or maybe, `Whoops, I *really* screwed it up for myself this time, didn't I?' Or maybe even, `Is Daria even *talking* to me?' To that, my potentially-erstwhile friend, the answer is a resounding `no.'" "Um..." "In fact, she's not talking to you...or me...or Jane...or even A.P., no matter how strongly he is pursuing her at the moment. Come to think of it, *I'm* not talking to any of them either. Neither is Jane. Or maybe you haven't noticed." "I..." _He's slid back to one letter. This is bad. Very bad._ "Let's see...because of one rash jealous act on Saturday, you have..." She counted off his sins on her fingers, hoping that concentrating on that would keep her from just swearing like a sailor at him the way she wanted to. "...trashed your guitar and Max's bass drum...wrecked the school dance -- which I wouldn't care about if it hadn't meant that *I* got in trouble...embarrassed Daria...humiliated me...pretty much blown your best chance of getting together with Daria at all...and wrecked..." She had to think. "...six pretty strong friendships. And your response to that is..." "Um..." "You said that." "Damn." "Better. We're moving into the realm of four letters and up. Can we try for a complete sentence?" "Damn," Trent realized miserably, "I have messed this up." "Eureka!" Lynn announced sarcastically. "We have comprehension!" "Can you help me?" "Oh, get bent. Helping you has only got me into trouble so far. If you want Daria, tell her that. -- Although I can't say I blame her if she never wants to talk to you again after this. My suggestion to you would be to apologize your freaking head off and hope to God that she at least decides she wants to be friends. Comprende?" "Yeah," he acknowledged, still miserable. After a moment's thought, he wondered, "Are *we* still friends?" Lynn raised an eyebrow again. "I don't bother giving advice to people I don't give a damn about." She dropped the amp cord and started walking back up the basement steps. "Lynn?" She stopped in her tracks. "What?" "When I..." he began shyly. "Did you..." Lynn narrowed her eyes dangerously. "Think *very* hard before asking that question. If you *really* want to know, get back to me when you're *not* being an idiot." And she walked out of the Dungeon, slamming the door behind her. Then she leaned on that door for a second, worried. _*Please* let him *not* want the answer to that question..._
* * *
The next day in the hall, Daria was standing at her locker, looking a bit lost, as Lynn approached her own locker. She looked at Daria and decided sooner was better than later. "Hey," she began tentatively. Daria extended an olive branch. "Hey." "Don't get me wrong, but...I think we need to talk." Daria turned suspicious. "Why?" Lynn sighed. She really didn't want it to have to come to this. "I have information you need. You have information I need. Together, we might be able to come out of this mess with our sanity. Or do you *want* to do the teen angst thing for much longer?" Daria nodded, acknowledging her look-alike's point. "Pizza King?" "No, neutral territory. How about Wan Foo Mai Tai out on the highway?" "Who drives?" "Not you. I've heard stories." They shared a tentative smirk at that.
* * *
The interior of Wan Foo Mai Tai looked much like every other Chinese restaurant in the Western world: good-luck dragons, red lacquer panels on the walls, and all the other vaguely Asiatic chochkes. Daria and Lynn were sitting across from each other, wielding chopsticks and looking at each other nervously. Lynn sighed. "Well, it's been twenty-five minutes, the starters have arrived, and you show no sign of talking, so I guess it's up to me." She had to think a moment about how to begin. "Trent likes you. A lot. He used the L-word. Reaction." Daria was stunned. "Whoa." "A.P. kissed you on Saturday night. Reaction." "Whoa," she repeated, slightly dreamy this time, then snapped out of her reverie with a realization of what she'd said. "I mean..." "I know," Lynn assured her, kindly. "Trent saw that, got *really* jealous. Hence his trashing of the stage, his prized guitar, his friend's drum and his best-paying gig for months." Carefully, so as not to tear the psychic scabs with her probing, she continued, "Also hence his kissing me to get back at you. Reaction." "I was upset at first...but..." "I need to know. How do you feel about Trent?" "He's cool. And -- God, I hate this word -- cute." "Try `attractive.' We're practically adults now." "I find him attractive. Physically. But I should know by now that he's not my type. I mean, I guess I want someone a bit more... motivated, a bit more interesting, a bit..." "A bit like a computer-obsessed psychopath known as A.P. McIntyre?" Daria sighed. "Maybe. I don't know." "But a part of you still..." "Don't make me say it." Another sigh. "I've had this crush on him for a long time. It's hard to let go." "He'll probably try to talk to you...the same way A.P. is trying to talk to you. You can't run forever. Believe me," she regretfully warned, "I tried." "So...any advice?" Lynn had to think again. "Not really. Do what you think is best for *you.*" _God, I should take my own advice._ She hesitated a moment, then asked, "Lynn?" "Yeah?" "When Trent kissed you...what was it like? I've always wondered," she shyly confessed. Another sigh. "Now that's something I'm not talking about. I'm not going to risk influencing your decision in any way. If you ever come to a conclusion about this, I'll talk about it then." Daria looked at Lynn curiously. Lynn stared at her plate.
* * *
The next day, the look-alikes were standing by Lynn's locker. Jane approached cautiously. "Hey..." she began meekly. "Hey," Daria replied, equally meekly. "Hey," Lynn completed the meek rondeau. Jane turned to Daria. "I shouldn't have suggested my house." "I shouldn't have gotten wound up about it," Daria replied. "All right then..." "All right then. -- Does this process strike you as eerily easy?" Jane shrugged and turned to Lynn. "*He* kissed *me,*" Lynn informed Jane. "It wasn't any of my business," Jane admitted. "All right then." "All right then. -- It *is* eerily easy, isn't it?" They all shrugged, then smiled meekly at each other. "Pizza?" "Cool. But I've *got* to check my e-mail first. If neglected, it mounts up." "And..." Daria wondered where this was going. "And I run out of space. What with the anti-terrorist movement people hounding me and the people asking for more private advice than my website can give, my mail volume can get intimidating." Daria and Jane looked at each other.
* * *
In her room, Lynn was simultaneously online and on the phone, as Daria and Jane looked through the wire-and-glass bookshelf. "Yes, we're speaking to you," she told the phone, then paused for a reply. "I haven't been checking my mail. -- Yes, I now see all 53 of your stupid e-mails. Most are titled, `why the hell isn't anyone talking to me?' interspersed with `answer me damn you'. -- Deliver your own messages, peon. You've got me into enough trouble this week. -- So long as we can throw cows at you. -- Later." She hung up. Jane was bemused. "Cows?" "Are you familiar with Monty Python?" "No." _Not in any great detail, anyway._ "I suggest becoming so as soon as possible. Otherwise you won't understand half of what A.P. and I say to each other. Anyway, he's coming over with a message for you, Daria. Do you want to hear what he has to say...or do we throw cows at him?" Daria hoped she didn't look as trapped as she felt, but she knew she probably did.
* * *
A.P. came walking up to Chez Cullen with a small inflatable palm tree in his hand. "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!" he called out. A small plastic object was launched out of Lynn's open window and hit him on the head. He picked it up off the ground and looked at it: it was a small plastic cow. "Is that a no?" Another small object was launched out the window. This one turned out to be a plastic chicken. "But I brought flowers! -- Okay, so I brought a blow-up palm tree, but it was the best I could *do* on short notice!" A battered little blue car pulled up and Trent got out. He glared at "the punk" for a moment, then turned his attention to the open window. "Hey...is Daria up there?" The only response was the launching of a small plastic pig, which hit Trent in the chest. "Don't bother," A.P. advised him. "We're being attacked." "You don' frighten us, English pig-dogs!" Lynn called down from the "battlements" in a bad French accent. "Go and boil your bottoms, you sons of a silly person! I blow my nose at you, so-called-Arthur- King, you and all your silly English k-nnnnniggets." She began to blow raspberries at the guys. "What the..." Trent boggled, then yelled up, "*Hey, Lynn!*" "I don' wanna talk to you no more, you empty-headed animal-food- trough wiper! I fart in your general direction! Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!" "I told you," A.P. repeated, "there's no point. When she's quoting Monty Python, there's no stopping her." A hydrospectic photo of Trent would have revealed that he was steaming slightly. "Look, Mr. Know-It-All, I..." "I'm not getting into this with you, man." "I'm warning you..." Daria spoke then from on high. "The Misery Chick you are trying to reach is not in the mood to talk to you at the moment. At the sound of the water balloon, please scream your message and vacate the premises, and she'll get back to you when you're not about to kill each other. Thank you." Trent and A.P. looked at each other. Each of them could just *see* the little cartoon thought-bubble over the other's head with the words "Water balloon?" in it. "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" Lynn shouted, without the outrageuse accente this time. A water balloon sailed through the air and splashed to earth between the two guys. Their eyes widened, and they ran like hell. "Later, Sir Naps-a-Lot!" A.P. called over his shoulder. "Yeah, right," Trent grumbled as he got into his car and drove away. Up in Lynn's room, Jane was laughing till her eyeballs threatened to bleed. Daria was looking out the window, a little dazed, as Lynn disassembled a large slingshot. "I *knew* this thing would come in handy someday." "Maybe I should have talked to them," Daria confessed. "Did you know what you were going to say?" "No." "Then what would be the point?" She realized how that sounded. "I'm not advocating running forever. But I'd enjoy the peace while you can. At some point, you're going to *have* to tell them *something.*" "True. -- I can't go out with Trent. -- Can I?" "Sure you can!" Jane begged. "I mean, I've been waiting for this for *years!*" Lynn shrugged. "Up to you. After all, it's your life. -- On the other hand, I'd take into account the age gap, the slacker factor and the as-yet-not-an-issue groupie thing...for consideration if he ever makes it in the music industry. Not to mention your admission that the whole thing's mainly physical at the moment." Daria sighed. "All right. It's make-your-mind-up time." Jane was finally paying full attention. "Before you make up your mind...can we go for that pizza?"
* * *
So they did, the look-alikes sitting on one side of the booth while Jane occupied the other. "So come on," she insisted. "What are you going to do?" "I can't go out with Trent," Daria confessed, just to get that out of the way right off. "I can't go by physical attraction alone, and that whole mess with our multimedia project makes me realize that it wouldn't work out. We've got different priorities. And anyway, I don't think I really want to start a relationship with someone who thinks it's a good idea to make someone they care about jealous by kissing one of their best friends." "So what about A.P.?" Lynn asked. "Can I kill him?" Jane wondered. "You may *not.* He may prove instrumental in one of my plots." _No, not may. *Will.* If and when I decide to enact that plot._ "Now if you suggest a maiming..." "Nah. I prefer permanence." Daria noticed something at a nearby table. "Speaking of permanence..." The Fashion Club were sitting at that table, and Quinn seemed to be looking anxiously around for someone. "What are we *doing* here, Quinn?" Sandi gritted. "I mean, this is where the *losers* go to eat pizza." "They have good taste in pizza, though," the club's secretary pointed out. "There's just enough sauce for the crust and..." "Shut *up,* Stacy," Sandi warned her secretary. Stacy looked at her plate in despair. "I'm meeting someone," Quinn confessed hesitantly. "It's your *admirer,* isn't it?" Stacy gushed. Quinn nodded, somehow agitatedly. Stacy was excited. "Oh, *finally!* I can't *wait!* So who *is* he?" "Yyyeeeaaahh," Tiffany drawled. "I hope he's got, like, a car that complements your top. I always liked the way you look in Jaime's BMW." "You have our blessing, Quinn," Sandi decreed magnanimously. "Being in love has really brought out the *glow* in you." For a moment, Quinn saw real hope that she could salvage this. "Really, Sandi?" "Of course. -- As long as he's not *crawling* with fashion don'ts." Quinn looked miserably down at the floor. Ted, a blond boy with horn-rimmed glasses and the aforesaid button-down and chinos, entered Pizza King as if on cue. Quinn looked up and waved madly at him, drawing his attention to the Fashion Club table. Sandi was oblivious to the implications. "Why are you waving at that semi-geek, Quinn?" Ted approached the table. "Hey, Quinn! I was worried," he added shyly. "You were so upset at the dance...I thought it was over." Dawn broke over Marblehead. "*Wait* a minute. You're telling me that *this* is your Phantom?" Sandi began to sputter. "I mean, never mind crawling -- he *is* a fashion don't!" Quinn decided to give la Griffin one last chance to compromise. "I don't think it matters so much with guys, Sandi. I mean..." "Dump this loser *immediately,* Quinn. You are on fashion sabbatical if you don't." "He's *not* a loser! He's talented and romantic...and I quit anyway! I mean, I won't have *time* for your little makeover party; I have a *boyfriend* now. I've wanted to say this for years...go to Hell, Sandi. -- Come on, Ted. We have getting-to-know-each-other to do." "I'd like that," Ted allowed as how. Quinn got up, and she and Ted linked arms and walked away together. Sandi began to turn a decidedly unhealthy shade of maroon. "I should be glad we got that troublemaker out of our hair, but...she was *so* rude!" "She's running away with a *geek?* That is *so* wrong..." They looked at Stacy for confirmation, but Stacy began to grin like a lunatic. "*Finally!*" she announced, elated. "*Someone* broke the trail! I can go *too!* Bye, Sandi, Tiffany -- hope your miserable, pathetic, shallow little lives make you happy! I'm going to...to...join cheerleading or...or Glee Club!" She stood up so quickly that she knocked her chair over, then ran out the door, shouting for joy. "FREE AT LAST, FREE AT LAST! THANK GOD ALMIGHTY, I'M FREE AT LAST!" The remnants of the Fashion Club looked after her, stunned. "The end has come," Sandi solemnly decreed. "Buuuut...there are others to take their places." "Shut *up,* Tiffany." "Um...yyyeeeaaahh." With matching smirks on faces, Daria, Jane and Lynn watched the duo walk away. "Success!" Lynn announced. "We *are* the Flack-Jacket Mafia, and the school *will* be free of poseurs by the end of our senior year!" Jane was pleased but confused. "What brought *that* on?" Daria gave one of her Mona Lisa smirks. "A little sisterly advice, would you believe?" Jane and Lynn raised eyebrows at her, then shrugged. "So, where were we? Ah, yes, A.P., who Lynn won't let me kill." "I don't know. I don't know him all that well. Maybe if I got to know him a little better..." "Is he a good kisser?" Jane asked slyly. Daria turned shy. "Um..." Jane turned smug. "That's a yes. -- This sucks," she added disappointedly. "I've been trying to set you two up for years, and he finally admits that he likes you, and now you don't want him." Neither of the two writers pointed out the change of antecedents for the pronoun "him," because they were among friends and understood her meaning well enough. Daria blushed again. "I didn't *say* that. It would just be a physical thing, is all." "So..." Lynn wondered. "How are you going to tell them this?" "I'll think of something. -- So, now that I've made the decision ...you said you'd tell me what it was like. You know...kissing Trent." A sigh, then resigned tones. "I'll tell you this. It would be one *hell* of a physical thing." Daria looked a little bit wistful at that. Jane looked, and felt, slightly sick.
* * *
"So how'd Trent take it?" Lynn asked the next day, when all three of them had converged on Daria's locker. "Not sure," Daria confessed. "He said we could still be friends, but..." Jane finished the tale. "But then he locked himself in the basement and started playing mournful songs." "Whoops," Lynn observed. "You might want to watch that. -- Have you talked to A.P.?" "No," Daria admitted, "but..." But, as it happened, he was coming toward them, carrying a rather large ornate shield and waving a white handkerchief on a stick. "Can I call a cease-fire?" The three girls smirked. "For now," Lynn replied. A.P. lowered the shield. "Cool. This thing is heavy." He turned to Daria. "Hey," he said shyly. "Hey," she replied, equally shy. Lynn and Jane exchanged quick "Here we go again" looks.
"o/~ Who broke my heart? You did, you did Bolt to the target -- blaaame Cupid You think you're smart -- yeah, stupid Right from the start when you knew we would part Shoot that poison arrow through my heart Shoot that poison arrow... o/~" -- "Poison Arrow"
ADAPTOR'S NOTES Calling Lynn "Too Much Coffee Girl" is an homage to alternative comics character Too Much Coffee Man. The "hydrospectic photo" line is an homage to another interest it should come as no surprise to find that CB and I have in common -- Douglas Adams' _Hitchhiker's Trilogy_, specifically volume three, _Life, the Universe and Everything_. That "Buuuut..." in Tiffany's next-to-last line is because I wanted to include at least one appearance by that signature element of the Blum-Deckler speech pattern. 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 from "Poison Arrow" are copyright 1983 ABC's music publisher. Lyrics from "Creep" are copyright 1990 or so Radiohead's publisher. They are here used, without the permission of their creators or owners, in the not-for-profit context of fan-fiction. The characters of Lynn Cullen and A.P. McIntyre are copyright 1999, 2000 Janet "Canadibrit" Neilson, as is this storyline, which was adapted by Austin Loomis (to whom the prose format version is copyright 2000) with permission. All other characters, locations and incidents (of which I don't think there are any, actually) are either imaginary or used fictitiously. Any coincidence of names is regretted, and any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or wandering the night in ghostly torment is either purely satirical or not my fault. As a "substantially transformative" derivative work, this story is protected by the Supreme Court's decision in re Campbell v. Acuff Rose Music. It may be freely redistributed as long as this copyright notice is maintained intact, but may not be in any way redistributed for profit without the permission of the legal owners of all concepts involved. The present author hereby gives permission for any and all keepers of Daria fanfic pages to archive this work (as if I could stop them). Any publication of this story for profit without the express written permission of Austin Loomis, Janet Neilson and MTV Networks (like any of that'll happen, especially the last) is strictly prohibited, and violators, if I ever decide to track them down, will be strung up by the thumbs, beaten about the head and shoulders with a free-range carrot, and then handed over to corporate lawyers who will do terrible things to them. On purpose.
Austin, and good day. Al D T0 W- Q Fw^Fr O+ Ow+OH+Of m c- MV+ F:111,208,313 BB+ FCT -DT+ q fJ^fj^fD