_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Episode 9: "And Then There Were Four..." prose adaptation by Austin Loomis
"I *like* fashion -- and Porsches, and Rolexes -- all that stuff! How nice of the morons and drones to wear uniforms, so one can avoid them..." -- Philip "Long-Drink" McGonnigle, quoted by Spider Robinson in _Off the Wall at Callahan's_
Daria Morgendorffer, America's bitter sweetheart, was in her padded room, lying on her bed, staring at a fascinating crack in the ceiling. Her co-best friend Lynn Cullen's boots were sticking out of the closet. "Man," said Lynn, "this poetry is twisted!" She emerged from the closet with notebook, pen and camera, brushing dust out of her hair. As happened every so often, Daria was struck by how much they looked alike. "Did you ever show these to Trent? As lyrics, they'd be a lot better than some of the stuff they're coming out with. I mean, God, `Ow, my nose'?" Daria blushed. "Um...no." Lynn raised an eyebrow. "Don't want to be their Yoko Ono, huh?" Another blush, with a glare this time. "Don't you start. I mean, it's not like I even think it would work with Trent." Another eyebrow. "No? Yet you still blush every time his name is mentioned." "I have no problem with using the inspiration of that poetry in my closet to off you if necessary, Lynn." Lynn looked down at the notebook into which she'd copied the said violent poetry (scratched into the closet walls with a key by the schizophrenic shut-in who'd had this room before Daria), swallowed, and looked up again. Meekly, she conceded, "'Nuff said."
* * *
The next day at Lawndale High, Daria, Lynn and their artsy friend Jane Lane were gathered by Lynn's locker. "What *did* you do for Barch's science paper anyway?" Jane wondered. "I thought I'd use my copy of _1001 Ways To Manipulate The Radical Feminist_ to best advantage," Lynn replied, "so I based the entire thing on the superiority of the female in the wild." "How'd you manage that?" Daria had to know. "It was all pretty obvious stuff, actually; how the lioness hunts and provides for the lazy male as he sleeps in the sun all day, how most female birds blend in effortlessly with their surroundings while the brightly-colored male spreads his genes around any female who'll have him...I had some real fun with the fact that praying mantis males can't copulate unless their head's been ripped from the body." "I'll bet," Jane smirked semi-evilly. The voice of Principal Angela "Die Fuehrerin" Li came over the PA. "Will Miz Lynn Cullen please report to the principal's office immediately!" Daria and Jane looked at Lynn, wondering what it was now. "Don't give me that look," she insisted. "This time, I've done absolutely nothing wrong!" * * *
Nonetheless, she reported to Ms. Li's office, where she sat down in a chair across from Li and stared at her with that "go to hell" look. "I suppose you're wondering why I called you here," Li led off. "Either you think I've done something wrong, you feel a sudden urge to blame things on me, or you need my help. What's to wonder?" Li decided to let that slide. "We've recently received application for admission from a former classmate of yours. The gentleman was expelled after an...unfortunate incident involving one of his teachers. While his disciplinary records are rather spotty, I assumed that it was merely boredom; his IQ alone would bring honor and glory unto...Laaawndale Hiiigh. And, since you attended classes with him, I thought it would be wisest to inquire as to his character and suitability." Something didn't quite add up about that. "Wait a minute. *You* want a character reference on some guy you're considering taking into your beloved school even though he's been kicked out of his own. And you want that character reference from *me,* whom you've already kicked out once." "You're perhaps not," Li grudgingly admitted, "the best character reference I could have chosen, but..." She sniffed a little. "...you're the only one available to me at the moment." "Okay, tell me his name and I'll break out the dossier." Ms. Li sighed, shook her head and named the name. _This may be too easy,_ Lynn thought when she was done, as she rushed into the computer lab and logged onto an IRC channel, from which a rough transcript follows.
* * *
* PurplePeril has joined #DV8s [PurplePeril] Purple Peril here; looking for Psycho-Maverick. He out in cyberspace? [Psycho-Maverick] Hey, Purple Peril! Long time no hear from! Have I got news! [PurplePeril] Let me guess. Oakwood finally wised up. [Psycho-Maverick] Yep; used method 23 on Mr. Latour and he went semi- postal. I'm expelled but, on the up-side, he's institutionalized! [PurplePeril] What's that, two now in the last three months? [Psycho-Maverick] Thereabouts. So how'd you find out? [PurplePeril] At the request of the Nazi Jackboot, I character-referenced you. Lying through my teeth, of course. [Psycho-Maverick] So the Nazi Jackboot thinks I'm some upstanding citizen? [PurplePeril] Until Monday, anyway. Then she learns the painful truth, I suppose.
* * *
In her room at Casa Lane, Jane was painting a picture of Lynn in prison stripes, sitting on a stool by a barred window, patiently chipping at the concrete around the bars. Daria was reading _Naked Lunch_, because it's good to laugh every once in a while. Lynn was sitting by the window, posing for Jane's painting. "Is this gonna take long? I can't feel anything below the waist anymore." "Relax!" Jane assured her. "The initial work is done. I'll work from imagination now." "So what did Ms. Li want?" Daria wondered. "A character reference," Lynn replied, "on my old partner in crime at Oakwood. He's starting at Lawndale High on Monday." "Why would he want to do that?" "No choice. He got expelled, and practically nowhere else would take him. And so the Flack-Jacket Mafia gains another member." "I wish you'd stop calling us that," Jane objected. "I don't wear a flack jacket." Lynn feigned offense. "Well, pardon me for making us sound a bit more exclusive and evil." Jane thought that over a moment. "Well, in *that* case..." Daria intervened. "So who is this partner in crime, anyway?" Lynn dug a book out of the book bag on the floor by her feet and threw it to Daria. "This guy." Daria read the title. "_25 Sure-Fire Ways to Drive Any Teacher into Early Retirement_, by A.P. McIntyre." She opened the book and read the dedication. "`For the Purple Peril, whose warped and twisted mind gave me methods 2, 8 through 12, 17 and 25.'" She looked rather oddly at Lynn and her purple field-jacket. A proud smile. "Read the inscription." "`Tried method 11. Withers now at the Pineland Rest Home. Brilliant. -A.P.'" Daria's curiosity got the better of her. "A.P.?" "His name's Andrew Philip McIntyre. He thinks Andrew or Andy is boring and Philip or Phil is worse, so he says it stands for All-Purpose. He's the Swiss Army Knife of mischief, the prince of the practical jokers..." "Self-proclaimed?" Jane wondered. "No...well, originally. See, every year Oakwood High holds a kind of mock awards ceremony...you know, Most Popular, Most Likely to Succeed, Most Desperate..." "That," Daria summed up the standings for Lawndale, "would be Quinn, Jodie and Upchuck respectively, God help us all." "Well, A.P. got three...or two and a half. Biggest Practical Joker, Scariest Guy, and half of Couple Most Likely to Incite a Riot." Jane smirked again. "And the other half was..." "The Purple Peril herself. On top of that, I got Scariest Girl, Biggest Brain, Worst Dresser and Most Likely to Be Expelled before Her Senior Year." "What notoriety," Daria was genuinely impressed. "I try not to let it go to my head," came the deadpan reply. "Loved by none, respected by none, feared by all." An evil little smirk not unlike Jane's. Speaking of whom: "So are you two..." A snicker at the implied notion. "A couple? Hell, no! Once, maybe, when we were about ten. We're more partners in crime than anything else and I want to keep it that way. If you're interested, *you* can have him." A shrug. "Nah. I don't think he's my type. I prefer..." "Muscular narcoleptics with a phobia of shirts but an affinity for black leather?" A blush. "Well..." A smirk. "Hey, you do it to Daria..." Speaking, in turn, of whom: "So he's at school on Monday?" "Yep. But he's dropping by my house on Saturday morning to hang out and meet all the people he's heard so much about. You guys want to come along?" "Why not? It's either that or listen to Quinn squeak about her admirer until the eleventh hour." "Can't," Jane confessed. "Saturday morning detention. I kind of missed a math test on Thursday. Apparently I used the `I got stuck in my locker' excuse last week." "Thus showing the benefits of keeping an excuse log." Daria and her sister had both discovered those benefits for different purposes, respectively avoiding human contact and breaking dates. "We could meet up at Pizza King in the afternoon," Lynn proposed, "around five?" "Sure," Jane agreed. "I've got to meet the guy who drove two teachers insane!"
* * *
A short, thin young man with shaggy red hair, freckles, green eyes and a narrow face ambled up the Cullens' front walk. He wore a blue flack jacket much like the ones worn by Daria and Lynn, with a black T-shirt underneath, black jeans, and Docs. He rang the bell, and Lynn and Daria leaned out an upstairs window. "Who goes there?" Lynn demanded. The new arrival fell to his knees. "I am but a lowly teen wandering the Soulless Desert of Suburbia! I come to worship at the Temple of Subversive Literature!" He did a double-take between Lynn and Daria. "Wa-hey, it's the Bobbsey Twins!" "Who is this lunatic?" Daria asked Lynn. "You have to ask?" "Yeah, well, if he calls us the Bobbsey Twins again, he'll be up for a new award: Most Likely to Become a Damp Squeak on the Sidewalk." A.P., for it was indeed he, had been listening to this while he got back to his feet. "Hey, looks like you found a kindred spirit there, Purple Peril!" He seemed to realize something. "You must be Erudite Emerald! All hail to the evil one who caused an anti-Communist riot and drove a teacher into the land of the heebie-jeebies! I salute you!" He fell to his knees again and began to salaam like a pilgrim at Mecca bowing down to the Black Stone. "Erudite Emerald?" Daria asked suspiciously. Lynn blushed and shrugged. "Compliment." Now Daria was embarrassed. "Oh." She turned to AP. "Um...you can get up now. I don't want a sycophant." _Oh, don't grovel,_ Lynn thought. _I can't stand groveling._ An older couple had been standing on the corner watching this exchange. A.P., realizing he was being watched, stood up and addressed the girls. "Hey, babes, let's break out the nose candy and drive around shooting at the small and helpless." Lynn, used to this sort of behavior, played along. "Sure...as long as we can start with those two. I'll bet this week's profits they're narcs." A.P. turned around slowly and treated the older folks to a long, measured stare. And stared. And stared. And yelled, "WHAT DO YOU PEOPLE WANT?" The startled oldsters hobbled for their lives. AP turned back to the girls with a grin. "I should market that. Narcs-Be-Gone." Then the look-alikes went down to the front door and opened it. A.P. was standing there with a little grin on his face. "Hey," he said meekly. _Oh, God, not again..._ Daria thought. _I am going to speak now or shoot myself..._ After a pause to gather her courage, such as it was, she meekly said, "Hey." Lynn watched this exchange with all due nervousness, knowing what she knew about Daria's feelings for Trent and Trent's for Daria.
* * *
At Pizza King, Daria and Lynn were sitting across from A.P. "This is the best Lawndale has to offer," Daria informed him. "Pizza King scored top marks in Jane's gourmet guide. Perfect cheese-to-crust-to-sauce ratio and just the right amount of unidentifiable burned things." "Cool," he allowed as. "Gourmet rocks. -- So where is Art-Smart Scarlet anyway?" Lynn checked her watch. "Making final descent in five...four ...three...two... one..." Jane burst through the door. "So where's the lunatic?" "The eagle has landed." "DON'T MOVE!" A.P. yelled. Jane jumped a little, then stood perfectly still as he walked around her in a circle, a thoughtful expression on his face until he came to a decision. "Yep...you're an artist, all right." "However could you tell?" Jane wondered indignantly. "Turpentine smell...callused hands...smock-like shirt with yellow paint on the hem...assessing look in the eye. It's all there if you know to look for the clues." Jane raised an eyebrow and turned to Lynn. "I thought you were exaggerating. Forgive me." She and A.P. sat down facing the look-alikes. "Speaking of exaggerating, what about these people I keep hearing about from Purple Peril here? I mean, come on, Hefner's Folly?" "Hefner's Folly?" "Better known to the Lawndale constituency as Upchuck," Lynn clarified. "What has she said?" Daria wondered. "Redheaded, freckle-faced bozo with bad taste in shirts and worse taste in come-ons," A.P. began the summary of his info. "Collects fast food promotion items and uses the worst pick-up lines this side of the local singles bar. Gets slapped on a daily basis." "That's all true." _Now that I think about it, except for the differences in dress code and hair style, and the fact that you've got a sly half-smirk on your face while Charles Ruttheimer III usually has an oily grin, the two of you could be twins. The question is, which one's the "evil" twin? That probably depends on what your definition of "evil" is._ "Actually, I think she was being a bit kind," Jane added. "Oh," A.P. boggled. "What about Neo-Grunge Earache?" "That would be Mystik Spiral. My brother's band. Whatever she said, it's probably true." He had to think a moment. "Well, she can't have been serious about Ponytail Barbie and Lobotomy Ken..." "Brittany and Kevin," Daria identified them at once. "And yes." "A writer's job is to tell it like it is," Lynn assured him, "no matter how sick or depressing. I don't exaggerate." A.P. turned to Daria. "So your room really is..." "Padded," she confirmed. Then Jane. "And your family really is..." "Scattered to the four winds. Except for my brother the narcoleptic." "And your principal..." "To use Lynn's phrase," Daria agreed, "The Nazi Jackboot." "Wow." An evil grin came onto his face. "This is gonna be *fun!*"
* * *
Monday at Lawndale High, the four of them had congregated by Daria's locker. The four members of Lawndale High's Fashion Club passed by, then stopped in their tracks, appalled. "Oh...my...God..." coordinating officer Tiffany Blum-Deckler rasped as slowly as usual. "The fashion don'ts seem to be..." Sandi Griffin, president- for-life, struggled with the inadequacies of language. "God, what's the word...?" Stacy Rowe, her secretary, piped up. "Multiplying? Amassing? Beginning a hostile take-over?" Sandi, irritated, rounded on her ancillary sycophant. "Did I *ask* you to be smart?" Stacy's usual timidity returned in the face of her dictator's onslaught. "Eep...I mean, no..." "One of those girls is your cousin or something, Quinn. As President of the Fashion Club, I hereby order you to go up to those girls and...talk to them. Tell them...tell them *anything* that will get them to stop walking around like flood victims. They are a big ink stain on the silken fabric of our reputations." Quinn Morgendorffer didn't want to have to do this. If she spent too much time leaning on Daria and her geeky friends, they might decide to take the ultimate revenge: telling the world that Daria was in fact Quinn's sister, with documentary proof this time so as to put Quinn's popularity beyond salvage. "But, Sandi, I..." "Unless you think you're too *special* for that sort of thing. The Fashion Club needs *doers,* Quinn." This was serious business and stuff. The Club's mission statement quite clearly charges its members "to maintain standards of dress in school hallways and classrooms using the time-honored tools of philosophical enlightenment: logic, gentle persuasion, and vicious, relentless ridicule." Quinn sighed and walked over to the gang. "The pool's been maintained for years," Daria was telling the new guy in the blue field jacket. "We're trying to decide who the first member of the Lawndale High faculty to go will be. That's any way -- getting fired, getting promoted, going postal..." "A few are already taken," Lynn interjected. "Bitter Pill sometime around Thanksgiving next year, Cyclops just before summer vacation, the Nazi Jackboot before Easter and Wimp-in-the-Willows sometime in the spring quarter." "I haven't had a chance to see them yet," he said. "Can I get back to you in a week?" Quinn decided it was now or never. Trembling, she came within speaking distance. "Um...listen, you guys, I..." The new guy gave an evil grin. "All hail to Narcissa!" "I'm sorry," she replied distractedly, "but you can't flirt your way out of this." The gang shared a look as, once again, Quinn showed the world how hard it is not to compliment her. "Listen, on behalf of the Fashion Club, I'm going to have to ask you to do something about your wardrobes. *All* of you. We just can't take it anymore." "All right," he said casually. Quinn was stunned. "You *will?*" Daria, Jane and Lynn were equally stunned. "We *will?*" they chorused. "But, if we do that," he continued innocently, "someone will *have* to take our places. After all, the fashion-deficient are so necessary to making you little airheads look good. Let's see...there's four of *us*..." Lynn caught on. "And four of you over in Fashion-Victims-R-Us..." Quinn also caught on. "*Eww!* Not on your life, you...you..." "Purveyors of truth and individuality?" Daria suggested. "Oh...!" Quinn stomped her foot and marched off. "Don't go!" Jane shouted after her. "I have a shirt that's a perfect fit for you!" As Quinn vanished, all four gave an evil little smirk. Daria and A.P. stared at each other for a minute, then looked away, obviously embarrassed. Jane elbowed Lynn, who rolled her eyes and sighed. Ms. Li, watching them covertly from an open doorway, was visibly shaken. "More deviants," she muttered. "What is happening to my school?" She took a long swallow from her hip flask. "That Oakwood principal and Miz Cullen will pay *dearly* for this..." She walked into the room and slammed the door, only to fall out of it again a moment later, followed by a couple of brooms and mops. To complete the cliche, a bucket was stuck on her foot. "Whose bright idea was it to put a broom closet there?"
* * *
Daria was seated between Lynn and AP in the front row of English class. Timothy O'Neill, aka "Wimp-in-the-Willows," was eyeing them nervously. "Okay, class, we have a new student with us today...um..." Mr. O'Neill trailed off, demonstrating the truth of Daria's (and Lynn's) observation that he "never forgets a face...just the name that goes with it." "A.P. will do. Only two letters, so *really* easy to remember." O'Neill was visibly embarrassed. "Oh, right. So, how about telling us a little bit about yourself?" A.P. sighed and stood up. In deadpan tones, he said, "My name is AP...and I'm an..." He "caught" himself. "Oh, sorry, wrong group." This elicited snickers from the class. O'Neill looked horrified. A.P. breezed on. "Right. My name is AP...and my ultimate goal in life is to lie, steal and cheat my way into the upper spectrum of the computing world. My role model is Bill Gates because, despite his reputation as one of the world's top businessmen, he hasn't sold a decent working product since he started. My ambition is to slaughter him in the messiest Satanic ritual I can find and usurp him." He turned to Andrea Thorne, the vaguely creepy Goth chick. "Any suggestions?" Nervous laughter from the class, like they weren't sure whether he was kidding (and, in fact, they weren't). Andrea nodded once -- while she didn't usually encourage her diabolical reputation this directly, an opportunity like this was just too good to pass up. O'Neill looked about ready to cry. "That...that's good, D.T. Everyone should have a goal...I think. Perhaps I'll be seeing you in my Self-Esteem Workshop?" "Nope. One of your students was kind enough to give me the answers to your asinine little test and -- lying through my teeth, of course -- I passed." That did it for O'Neill. He put his head in his hands and began to weep openly. "Now that was impressive," Daria had to admit. A.P. grinned like a shark, or (again) like Upchuck's evil twin (unless you think Upchuck *is* the evil twin). "Glad I've impressed you. Sarcasm is just one more service we offer." "Don't get cocky, my friend," Lynn advised her co-conspirator. "After all, Daria and I did that to him just by walking into the room together." A.P. nodded, conceding the point. "I haven't been able to manage that yet." He stared wistfully into space. "But one day..."
* * *
In the teachers' lounge, it was even more depressing to be an adult than usual -- not even corn chips could have helped the faculty relax at the end of that day. Anthony "Cyclops" DeMartino, his left eye about to bulge the way his right usually did, was at the dartboard, ripping down the photo of Kevin, *and* the picture of Ms. Li it covered, and putting up a head shot of A.P. Coach Morris was sitting on the Salvation Army sofa with her head in her hands. O'Neill was sobbing at his desk, and his significant uh-oh, science teacher and vocal divorcee Janet "Bitter Pill" Barch, was at *her* desk, ripping the heads off male action figures with a vehemence that made even DeMartino wince. "This isn't a school anymore," Ms. Li announced as she entered the lounge. "It's hell with fluorescent lighting." O'Neill blubbered some more. Barch threw an action figure across the room; DeMartino threw a dart, which embedded itself neatly in the eye of the photographic A.P. Li took out her hip flask and shook it -- empty. DeMartino handed her his own flask without a word. Daria, Jane, Lynn and A.P., peeking through the barred window, saw it all. Daria and Jane looked at each other and smirked. Lynn and A.P. looked at each other and smirked. Then the foursome exchanged congratulatory smirks all around. "Chaos, panic and disorder," A.P. summed it up. "My work here is done."
* * *
Daria was lying on a sleeping bag on the floor of Lynn's room, reading _25 Sure-Fire Ways to Drive Any Teacher into Early Retirement_. Lynn was online. A.P. was sitting on the bed, reading his work over Daria's shoulder. "I ought to write an appendix to that," he observed. "I came up with three just today." Daria, who hadn't realized he was there until he spoke, looked up at his words, then went back to the book, blushing. A.P. blushed as well, then moved to sit on the desk next to Lynn's computer. Lynn, exasperated at this scene, wondered, "Why don't you just take out some space at Subversion_is_we and get it over with?" "I prefer to teach by example, and close-up. Much as I like computers, I find the written word format takes away the raw edge of the message." "So..." Daria began, then trailed off, tongue-tied. Lynn intervened. "I think what my eloquent little friend here is trying to ask is, how was your first day at our little slice of the Netherworld?" "Well," A.P. allowed as, "it's nice to know you tell no lies. They were all just as you described them. Except for the Overachiever." "Jodie's undergone a cynic-related attitude adjustment lately," Daria explained. Teaching her how not to give a damn what other people think had probably saved her sanity. "Well, anyway, I can see myself fitting right in here...just before I rip the place apart." "In that case," Lynn replied, "join us. We are the Flack-Jacket Mafia and we're just *nuts* about driving teachers nuts." Daria felt an It's a Nutty Nutty Nutty World flashback coming on. To forestall it, she distracted herself by warning the other two, "Mention nuts again and I swear there will be blood." "In-joke?" AP asked Lynn. The Purple Peril sighed. "Ask Jane. She's the only one that understands them." She glanced at the window and saw Art-Smart Scarlet and her brother clambering out of Trent's beat-up little car. "Speaking of Jane...we have company." She got up and leaned out the window. "Who goes and why?" "Hey, Lynn," Jane called up. "Trent wanted to see if you had any books on manipulating bouncers, club managers or agents." A pause for thought. "I think I might." So the Lane sibs came up to the Chamber of Dark Mysteriousness and looked over Lynn's shoulder as she rummaged through her wire bookcase with the smoked glass shelves. "Hmm...let's see. _1001 Ways To Manipulate_ series, right. We've got _The Radical Feminist_..._The Working Mother_... _Airport Security Personnel_..." Daria's eyes went wide. "You *bought* that one?" A shrug. "Customs and immigration -- hell on earth. Um..." She turned back to the Temple of Subversive Literature. "Here's what you might want: _1001 Ways To Manipulate Nightclub Staff_. I think there's a section on both owners *and* bouncers in here." "Cool," Trent replied. "Thanks, Lynn." A beat, then he turned to Erudite Emerald, rather shyly. "Hey, Daria." "Hey, Trent," Daria replied casually. "How did the gig at 15 to Life go?" Jane looked surprised that she'd asked. Trent looked pleased that she'd remembered that was where Mystik Spiral had their next gig. Lynn shook her head sadly and went back to the computer. "It was cool." He paused again, then continued, even more shyly. "We missed our subversive teenage roadies, though." "Why," Daria asked, curious and oblivious, "the Tank break down again?" Jane looked shocked that her friend had missed this obvious hint. Lynn sighed again. Trent looked downcast. "Nah," he said disappointedly. A.P. turned to Daria, equally oblivious to the charge in the air. "So, Erudite Emerald, when do I get to see the padded cell?" Daria blushed, answering hesitantly. "Um...I..." Lynn decided to come to the rescue. "Hey, why don't we drop by Daria's? I'm not through copying the violent poetry from her closet walls yet. It's a heavy task, let me tell you." Trent seemed depressed, but managed to keep the scraps of his equanimity as he begged off. "Gotta be getting back. Need to practice." "Have a pleasant coma, in that case." Daria chuckled. Trent did one of his coughing laughs, but a bit more darkly than usual. He wanted *Daria* to deliver the teasing. "Good one, Lynn. See ya. Coming, Janey?" His little sister looked suspiciously at Daria. "No, I'll go over to Daria's." _And find out what's going on with this A.P. guy if it kills me._ Trent looked even more downcast. "Later." And he left. "So that was Sir Naps-a-Lot," A.P. invoked his codename. "Awfully depressed for a stoic." "He's a grunge musician," Daria explained, still oblivious to what had just happened. "He's supposed to be depressed." Jane and Lynn *both* stared at her for so casually mentioning Trent and, more damning yet, not even having noticed the hints he'd been dropping.
* * *
Trent was looking morosely out at the road as he drove away from that Lynn girl's house just a *little* bit too fast. "Damn," he observed in a dead tone. There was a bump as he drove onto the curb. With a little more emotion, he continued, "Damn!" There was a clatter as a banana peel, two tin cans and a chicken bone hit the windshield from the garbage cans he'd just driven into. Quite angrily this time, he added, "*Damn!*" There was a yowling screech from the cat he'd just come quite close to depriving of one of its nine lives. "Who *is* that little punk, anyway?" he snarled. There was a crunch and a hissing noise from under the hood as he ran into a stop sign. Just plain miserably, he summed it up. "Damn..."
* * *
Lynn's boots were protruding from Daria's closet again. Jane first scrutinized Daria closely, then put the back of her hand to Daria's forehead. "Unhand me," Daria requested, with no more emotion than usual. "What are you doing?" "I thought sure you were sick," Jane replied, "but you don't feel warm." "What is your problem?" Lynn, who'd been listening in, decided to head this off. "Jane, come here a sec! Human mutilation scene!" Lynn was sprawled out on the floor of Daria's closet with a flashlight, looking at the violent poetry. Jane dove in to join her, then looked around. With a hurt expression, she chided, "There's no human mutilation scene in here!" _Keep talking,_ Lynn thought, _and there could be._ Aloud she said, in her most matter-of-fact tone, "Shut up about Trent, you moron." Jane was wounded. "But..." "I warn you. She'll take your head off. And so will Trent." "But they're *so close* to getting it together!" Jane mourned. "Jane..." came the sorrowful reply, "I don't think she wants him anymore. I can't tell you what to do, but I think it would be best for all concerned if we leave it to sort itself out." Jane got suspicious. "But what about AP?" A shrug. "That too. None of our business. So stop the Yenta act or someone is going to get hurt. Probably you." Jane nodded, and they shrugged at each other.
* * *
Jane sat alone in her room, sifting through some of her older sketches, all on the theme of Daria and Trent getting it together. Then she heard Trent from the basement. He was playing his guitar, badly but with great feeling, and singing "Icebox Woman," the first original Lane composition Daria had ever heard him play, right before she and Jane had decided to tag along with him and Jesse to Alternapalooza. "o/~ You're an angel in black/You sure have the knack/For putting my heart on the shelf in the back... o/~" Jane looked pityingly in the direction of the howling. "Waited too long, Trent. Man, that sucks." She moved to throw the sketches in the wastebasket, then stopped. "Ah, well, you never know...If all else fails, they'll be great for blackmail." With that, she tucked them under her bed, in between all the evil and unopened paint-by-numbers kits Grandpa Lane had sent to "my granddaughter the artist." "o/~ I'm waitin' my turn/Oh, when will I learn?/My poor heart, you're givin' it freezer burn... o/~"
ADAPTOR'S NOTES "Oh, don't grovel, I can't stand groveling" are of course the words of God to King Arthur. If you've seen the illustrations for "World Geek Show" and "The Flack-Jacket Mafia" on Janet's homepage (www.geocities.com/canadibrit), A.P. *does* look quite a bit like the Chuckster. If I'd known that when I was adapting "A Meeting of the Brains," I'd have made reference to it. Someday I may remaster that adaptation to include CB's explanation (sent to me in private email) of why Lynn didn't notice the resemblance. The Fashion Club mission statement is from their web page at daria.mtv.com, as Jane's review of Pizza King is from hers. If you don't understand the "not even corn chips" reference, count yourself lucky. 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, 1975, 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 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