_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Season 2, episode 4: "Quinn-tessence" prose adaptation by Austin Loomis
"I feel like a newborn (Kicking and screaming) 'Cause you wanna take my picture 'Cause I don't wanna remember..." -- Filter, "Take a Picture"
ACT I: MEDIATE, ALLEVIATE...
Brooke had been out of the Lawndale High gossip loop for a while -- going into the hospital to have yet another nasal relapse propped up will do that. So, to get caught up, she'd gone to the source, and now, she was sitting at the same cafeteria table with Tori Jericho, LHS' one-stop gossip shop and popularity gauge on legs. "So tell me again," Brooke asked, "what happened to the Fashion Club?" Tori was in her element with questions like that. "Well, like, the first thing you've gotta remember is that there was that vendetta. President versus vice-president, all for the title of Teen Queen Most Popular. And then all of a sudden...*Quinn* fell in *love.*" She pointed to a table nearby, where Quinn Morgendorffer, former FC vice- president, and her bespectacled blond boyfriend Ted DeWitt-Clinton were laughing over some private joke. Brooke was appalled. This was the kid who'd actually managed, for a week or two anyway, to get sports and clubs squeezed out of the yearbook in favor of a bunch of brain stuff. "But isn't he a *geek?*" "Not *that* much of a geek. He's actually kind of cool, in a weird sort of way. And when he hooked up with Quinn, his popularity skyrocketed. Not like that girl who lives with her, or whatever, who hooked up with *that.*" Tori pointed to another nearby table, where "that girl who lives with [Quinn]" -- Daria, the brainy older sister it would have been as much as Quinn's popularity was worth to admit being related to -- and "*that*" -- Daria's more-or-less-now boyfriend, A.P. McIntyre -- were sitting with the rest of their crowd -- namely, Lynn Cullen, Daria's look-alike and A.P.'s long-time partner in crime, and Jane Lane, the artist of the group. The four outcasts noticed the attention and began reacting. "We are being scanned, Captain," Lynn observed in the boldly, coldly logical tones of Leonard Nimoy. "Any...life signs?" A.P. shatnered. "None intelligent, Captain." "Then they cannot be reasoned with." "What are you two doing?" Daria wondered. A.P. ignored her. "Arm phasers..." Back at the popular table, Brooke was aghast by the latest piece of news. "*Cheerleading?*" "Well, I guess it was *something* to do once the Fashion Club broke up," Tori shrugged. "Stacy always reminded me of Brittany anyway, so I guess that's okay, and she's maintained her popularity." At the outcasts' table, Lynn had a rubber band poised on her thumb and forefinger, ready to fire. "Phasers armed, Captain," she spocked. "Steady as she goes..." A.P. replied. Daria was moderately appalled. "You two aren't going to..." For reply, A.P. grinned mischievously, and Lynn gave them all a Mona Lisa smirk that accentuated her eerie resemblance to Daria. Tori was scornful. "Sandi was going to, like, dictate herself into an early *grave* without Quinn, anyway." "Worry lines..." Brooke shuddered. "But isn't she still..." "Still holding onto Tiffany with, like, an iron evening glove, or whatever." "Locked on target, Captain," Lynn reported. "On my mark..." A.P. kirked. "This is juvenile..." Daria mumbled. "Not to mention a waste of a rubber band..." Jane spoke up. "FIRE!" On A.P.'s orders, Lynn released the rubber band, which hit Tori in the ear. Tori screamed and turned to Daria, Jane, Lynn and A.P., who had contrived to look up in fake alarm at Tori's scream. Then they shrugged, the picture of casual innocence, and turned back to their so- called food. "That was a pointless waste of time," Daria pointed out. "Not pointless," Lynn insisted. "I like to consider it a blow against the remaining fashion airheads of the school." "And anyway," A.P. grinned wickedly, "*that* was a facial expression Art-Smart Scarlet couldn't resist painting. So not pointless at all!" "He has a point," Jane confessed. She and Lynn smirked. A.P. grinned. Daria looked at them all for a moment, then sighed. "I hate being seventeen going on thirty."
* * *
After lunch, Quinn was at her locker, collecting her books, when Ted walked up a little nervously. "Hi, Quinn..." "Oh, *hi,* Ted!" Quinn bounced. "How's everything?" "Pretty good. I...I..." "Yes...?" "I..." He took refuge in antiquity. "I come bearing a message of great import!" He bowed, taking off an imaginary hat. Quinn giggled, and he went on. "My esteemed parents request an audience with your divine self! I hereby beseech your presence at a feast held in your honor this Saturday." Quinn was instantly ecstatic. "Of *course!* Wow, I've never *met* a guy's *parents* before! That's, like, a *really* big step and stuff!" "Dinner at eight," he grinned. Then the grin died, and he became nervous. "Um...Quinn...I don't know how to say this..." His nerves were making Quinn nervous. "What?" "I don't know how well my parents would take to..." He gestured at Quinn's crop-top and bell-bottoms. Quinn was aghast. "But what's *wrong* with me?" "Nothing!" Ted hastily insisted. "Nothing! It's just...um... my parents are kind of...old-fashioned. I mean, *I* know that you're really nice and not really shallow but my parents..." He didn't say any more, but he didn't have to. Turning their backs on "a profit-driven world gone horribly wrong," Grant Clinton and Leslie DeWitt had home-schooled their son until he was seventeen, keeping him safely away from such "dangerous consumerist influences" as chewing gum and Beatles tapes. They still had yet to allow a television into the house -- *that* scared Quinn all by itself. "They'll hate me because of my *clothes?*" she panicked. "Oh, my *God!* I...I...I'll see you later." She dashed away. Ted looked after her in a hangdog way for a moment, then shut her locker for her and walked off.
* * *
In the Chamber of Dark Mysteriousness that was Lynn's room, Daria and Jane were looking over Lynn's shoulder as she typed away on IRC, and muttered what she was typing. "`/me groans in utter disgust...'" "Um...I really don't think I want to know," Daria confessed. Jane was puzzled. "Who's aitrent?" "A 'bot," Lynn replied. "Jan explained this to me. Basically virtual parrots." "Why's he eating puppies?" Daria wondered. "Never mind. She's not in anyway. I just went on to train aitrent to detail what Mi-Go would like to do with the nearest zoo's orangutan." She noticed their confused looks. "He gave Jan a hard time last weekend." Daria and Jane nodded in understanding. They'd met Jan -- Lynn's Canadian-born cousin and other, much closer look-alike -- briefly at the New Year's party in London. From what they'd heard, then and later, Jan -- like Lynn herself -- was a very nice person as long as you didn't put her back to the wall. Lynn logged off. "So your sister *really* wants lessons in how to maximize her extortion skills?" "Evidently," Daria shrugged. "She kind of yelled at me to bring you over to the house. I'd normally keep her hanging, but this actually sounded important for once." "What makes you think *that?*" Jane wondered. "She said `please.'" The three shared a look. "That *is* serious," Lynn decided.
* * *
At Morgendorffer Home Base, Daria, Jane and Lynn approached Quinn's room, but stopped in the hallway outside the Chamber of Cute when they heard despairing wails from inside. "Too short...too low...too tight...oh, *God,* what was I *thinking?*...Ewww..." "This is a *wardrobe* emergency?" Lynn scoffed. "I feel cheapened." "If she asks me for more makeup tips," Jane gave fair warning, "I'm out the door, Daria." "Fair enough," Daria allowed as. She opened the door and was immediately hit in the face with a deep pink dress. "*Argh!*" Quinn arghed helpfully. "My whole *wardrobe* is wrong!" "Rove-colored lenvev are one fing," Daria said as best she could around the dress, "but I balk at this."
* * *
Once they got inside, Quinn's room looked like a Karan bomb had hit it. Clothes were strewn everywhere. Quinn was sitting on the floor in a pile of fashion must-haves, looking miserable. Lynn sat on the bed, and the other two stood there warily. "Teach her I cannot," Lynn yoda'ed to Daria and Jane. "The girl has no backbone." "You *have* to help me!" Quinn pleaded desperately. "I have *got* to go shopping! It's life and *death!*" "So much for the leopard changing its spots..." Daria shrugged. "*Daria!* Spots are so last year! *Stripes* are the thing now!" "Look...and I know I'll regret asking this, but...what's wrong with the clothes you already have?" "They're too...too..." She sniffled. "...outdated?" "...much like something you saw Sandi in last week?" Jane counter- offered. "...cheap, tawdry and revealing?" Lynn snarked. "*That* one!" Quinn sobbed. "What *she* said!" She pointed at Lynn. Daria, Jane and Lynn shared an _Oh, my *God*..._ look. Daria was genuinely concerned as she asked, "Quinn...are you feeling all right?" "Maybe you should open a window or something next time you do your hair," Jane suggested, ever thoughtful. Lynn had a sudden revelation. "You're going to meet his parents, aren't you?" "How did you *know?*" a flabbergasted Quinn wondered. "Just because I'm anti-fashion, brainy and somewhat vicious doesn't mean I've never been out with anyone. To this day," she mused, "I still wonder if I drove A.P.'s mother to the Valium bottle..." Daria, Jane and Quinn looked at her strangely. Then she dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. "No, it was probably A.P. and I'm being paranoid. So, to the business at hand. You want money." A sniffle. "Yes..." "Rule number one -- crying rarely gets you anywhere in the extortion game. Save it for emotional blackmail, which is a last resort to say the least. Never give them the least cause to question your emotional strength, and *never* cry wolf." Quinn seemed confused. "But why would I want to do *that?* Fur is *over* now..." Lynn sighed. "Rule number two -- go with your strengths. In Daria's case and mine, it would be raw intelligence. Jane...well, all Jane has to do is write out one of her parents' blank checks." "It's an easy life," Jane noted cheerfully. "But what do *I* do?" Quinn begged. "Use charm," Daria replied. "That's what you're good at." "She's right," Lynn confirmed. "Hit your father first -- his self-esteem could use a boost anyway. But *don't* try that on your mother." "As a lawyer, she can sense butt-kissing for personal gain *very* clearly." "With her, try shading the truth. Tell her you've seen that you need to dress differently because you don't want to distract yourself from your schoolwork. That should soften her up nicely." "Remember what you pulled that night I came home late. She wants us to be more like each other. If she thinks you're trying to emulate me intellectually..." "What's `emulate'?" Quinn interrupted. Now it was Daria's turn to sigh. "Never mind. Just try it." "Both of you let me know how it goes," Lynn requested. "I might start doing infomercials." She got up, and the three of them headed for the door. Quinn stood as well. "*Wait!* One more thing..." The three turned back reluctantly. "I...I mean...I *can't* be about to do this..." Daria, Jane and Lynn looked at her with mounting impatience. "You three are, like, good at dressing dowdy." Daria, Jane and Lynn each raised an eyebrow. "Gee, thanks," Daria ironicized for all of them. "But I've, like, got too much *style* to figure this out. So... what do I *buy* when I get this money?" The trio shared a look. Then they shared a shrug. Then, without another word, they shared a pivot on their respective heels and a walk out of the room. "Well, *that* was, like, really helpful and stuff!" Quinn called after them sarcastically. "How rude can you *get?*"
ACT 2: I'M FREE TO DECIDE
Down in the living room of Morgendorffer Home Base, the TV was droning away in background. Jake Morgendorffer was drinking a beer and reading the _Lawndale Times-Herald_. Quinn stepped up to her father and sat down beside him, looking nervous. She heard Daria in her head, which didn't help. _Use charm. That's what you're good at._ She sighed and looked sidelong at the nominal master of the house. _Calm down, Quinn. I mean, it's just *dad!* -- But he chased that A.P. guy with a *golf club!* What if... No. Gotta do this._ "Dad?" Jake noticed he wasn't alone. "Hey, there, Kiddo!" "Um...don't you usually call *Daria* `Kiddo'?" He realized it was Quinn talking to him. _That's odd -- it *is* usually Daria that starts a conversation with her old man._ He managed to cover the reflex nicely, not admitting his attention had been at its usual negligible level. "Um...I *do,* don't I? Well, do you mind?" "Not really," Quinn gritted through clenched teeth. "Dad? You know, I really like your tie." "Really? I thought you hated my taste in ties!" _Good one, Quinn._ "I..." She sighed. "Well, you can't admit that your parents are *cool,* Dad. I mean, that's kind of not allowed for teenagers." "Oh, *I* hear you." He started in on one of his usual rants about his childhood. "*My* father--" "Daddy..." Quinn hastily interrupted, "blood pressure! No stress, remember?" Instant mood swing away from heart-attack territory. "Right! So...you like the tie?" Quinn struggled in the pit she'd dug for herself. "Yeah...it's very...um..." Words failed her. "...you!" Jake ruffled his daughter's hair. "Gee, thanks, Kiddo!" She smoothed her hair down, eyes narrow. Then she sighed. "Daddy...you know I haven't asked this in a really long time..." He beamed. "I know what you're going to say, Quinn...and sure!" She beamed right back. "Really?" "Of *course* you can have a hug!" He grabbed her in a bear hug, the kind he'd hit Daria with after the tornado when he'd been so relieved to see her alive. Quinn still didn't know where, or exactly what, a solar plexus was, but she could feel hers being crushed anyway. "What kind of father would I be if I denied a young, fragile soul a little affection?" He let her go and addressed the (hopefully) unquiet shade of Mad Dog Morgendorffer. "YOU HEAR THAT, OLD MAN? I'M *BETTER* AT THIS PARENTING CRAP THAN YOU!" "Daddy! Blood pressure!" With a sigh, she gave up on the goal of this encounter. "Thanks for the hug, though." "Anytime, Kiddo! Anytime at all!" She got up, shoulders slumped, and was walking away when Jake called out. "Hey, Quinn...I notice you haven't gone shopping for awhile. Money a little tight?" "You could say that, yeah." She thought a moment on how to put the next bit, then decided something semi-honest would work. "I've kind of been studying and I don't want to be distracted by babysitting jobs or whatever and..." "I'm really proud of the effort you're putting in lately, Kiddo." He hauled out his wallet and handed over a few bills. "Why don't you pick yourself up something nice?" Quinn was astonished it'd worked so well. "Oh...thank you, Dad!" She took the bills, hesitated a moment -- then kissed him on the cheek. "You're the best!" She bounded away with her father beaming after her. She stopped outside the door. "*Yes!*" she exultantly whispered. Then she counted the bills. "No..." she breathed, disappointed. Out in the kitchen, Helen Barksdale Morgendorffer was working on her laptop. Quinn stepped up nervously, that Lynn girl's words playing in her head. _With her, try shading the truth. Tell her you've seen that you need to dress differently because you don't want to distract yourself from your schoolwork._ "Mom?" she began. Her mother didn't look up. "Hmm?" "I...just looked in my closet and..." Still no face time. "We've had this conversation, Quinn. I think that you and Daria should learn the value of a dollar. You either make up the shortfall yourself or plan your outgoings more carefully in the future." Quinn remembered that conversation -- it had ended up with Daria getting a cut of her babysitting fees. That was part of why she'd been hoping her mom had forgotten it. "But I *can't!*" she despaired. I..." _Rule number one -- crying rarely gets you anywhere in the extortion game._ At the sound of Lynn's voice, Quinn collected herself. As calmly as she could, and then some, she went on. "But Mom, I don't always have time to baby-sit or whatever. I'm really behind in my studies and I'm doing everything I can to catch up...which is why I want to go shopping anyway -- I wanted to get an outfit or two that wouldn't...um...call so much attention to my appearance." She did her best to sound mildly exasperated. "Maybe then I'll stop getting all those guys interfering with my studying by asking me to two-time my boyfriend." Helen had looked up by this point. "It sounds like you've really thought this out, Quinn," she coolly replied. She looked impressed with the effort her younger daughter had put into this story, even if she obviously didn't buy it. "Well..." "Let's make a deal, Quinn. I let you have my gold card once every three months on the condition that you get a total of three new outfits, two accessories." "That sounds fair. Do we...I don't know...shake on it or something?" Helen raised an eyebrow. "Maybe a hug. We're family, after all." She got up. Quinn reluctantly hugged her. "Thanks, Mom." "I assume you want it today?" "If you wouldn't mind or anything..." "Remember, not another word about this for another three months." Helen rummaged through her handbag and handed over the card. Quinn took it gladly. "Thank you." "You're welcome. And the stores close in..." she checked her watch. "...about two hours, so you'd probably better hurry if you want to use that thing tonight." Something occurred to her, and she warily added, "You *are* going to be home for dinner, right?" "Probably. Thanks." She turned to the door. "Bye!" And she was out. Helen shook her head, but smiled a little. _They grow up eventually..._
* * *
At Cranberry Commons, Quinn was ambling through the racks of Cashman's, a bit depressed, when Theresa the salesgirl approached. "Quinn, how nice to see you again! We got a new shipment of baby T-shirts in and--" "Not today, thanks, Theresa," Quinn cut her off. "I'm looking for something a little more... um...demure?" Theresa looked shocked, but Quinn hardly noticed. "Let's see..." she mused, mostly to herself. "Let's see...what would a Daria with more style wear...?" Then an idea hit. "Have you got a pencil and paper? Maybe I can draw you what I'm looking for..."
* * *
The next day in the halls, the Four Musketeers of adolescent cynicism were all standing by Jane's locker. "Did you get any inkling as to how my reprogramming Narcissa worked?" Lynn led off. "Well," Daria replied, "she went shopping last night, if that tells you anything." A.P.'s interest was piqued. "What's this now?" "She wanted some extortion lessons," Lynn explained. "They seem to have been fruitful." "This town is never going to be the same." A wicked grin. "Isn't it *great* to be evil?" A raised eyebrow. "Indeed...So anyway, what did she decide on in the end?" Jane was curious too. "Yeah -- did she find a fashionable alternative to streetwalker chic?" "She wouldn't show anyone," Daria confessed. "I think she's a little nervous about making her debut in the new clothes." "Well, just as long as she passes this way." Jane whipped out a camera, then noticed the odd stares of the others. "What? I've *got* to get *this* for posterity..." And, as if on cue, Quinn walked past them, wearing an outfit that Daria or Lynn would have been quite comfortable in -- rose pink cardigan, cream turtleneck, knee-length denim skirt and flats. She didn't even look at them until Jane raised her camera and snapped a picture. Then she stopped in her tracks a moment, glared specifically at Jane, and walked on. "Hmm," Daria mused. "Right," Jane confirmed. "Yeah," A.P. added. Lynn sighed. "We are the Flack-Jacket Mafia, and we corrupt the fashion-dependent." Daria shot her near-double an evil look. "I do *not* want that name used for us ever again." _Not after the Jackboot poisoned it._ "Fine -- but it's not something you can escape from." She looked after Quinn. "We have disrupted the natural order today." "This didn't bother you when we did it to Jodie..." Jane reminded her. "Yeah, but that was different. She *needed* out of that mindset. Quinn, on the other hand, was happy being shallow as a mud puddle after a three-day drought." "Well, how bad could it be?" Daria shrugged.
* * *
Later, Lynn had painted a target on the wall padding in Daria's room and was firing at it with the small crossbow A.P. had made for her. Daria carried a stopwatch, which she was using to time the reloads. Quinn burst in, sobbing, her turtleneck stained with something orange. "I try *one* new thing and people *hate me!* " Daria and Lynn looked at each other, and each raised an eyebrow. "Sandi Griffin," Daria identified the culprit at once. "Janus," Lynn agreed. The former fashion dictator's codename went over Quinn's head much as it had gone over Sandi's own. "No, I don't know anyone called Janice..." Lynn sighed. "Janus is...for your purposes, another word for two-faced." "Oh. -- Yeah," she added angrily. That was Sandi, all right. Then Quinn remembered something she'd been a little bit curious about ever since that A.P. guy had called her something on his first day at Lawndale High. "So what does Narcissa mean?" Daria and Lynn looked at each other dubiously, and both decided that while it might be very hard not to compliment Quinn, it wasn't in fact impossible, and she obviously didn't need grief from *them* at the moment. With one accord, they declared, "You don't want to know." "Anyway, Ted *really* liked the outfit and said how, like, mature it made me look and stuff and then *Sandi* walked by with some orange juice and dumped it all *over* me...And anyway, I don't *like* these stupid clothes!" "I take it this wasn't voluntary, then," Lynn observed. "If you don't like it," Daria wondered, "why are you *wearing* it?" "I...I..." Quinn hesitated. "...I don't want to make anybody hate me?" "Right..." "And his parents will hate me if they think I'm...cheap and silly." She slumped at the desk in a moment of melancholy. "Ugh. Sometimes I feel so...so...God, what's the word?" "I've been wondering that for years." "It's like...I really knew who I *was* in the Fashion Club." "A poseur?" "A flake?" Lynn added. "A clothes horse?" "A `Heather'?" "Seriously, though," Quinn interrupted their sticomythia, "*you* must know what it's like -- being in a club or group or whatever...what *are* you guys anyway?" "We're an anarcho-syndicalist commune. We take it in turns to act as a sort of supreme executive officer of the week." Quinn got Monty Python references about as well as she got Greek mythology references. "What's *that* supposed to mean?" "No," Daria replied. "We're not a club. We've had this conversation." "But...but you dress alike and talk alike and *think* alike..." "Do we?" Daria & Lynn asked in unison. They looked at each other, a little dubiously, then turned back to their guest. "Quinn," Daria assured her, "you don't *need* anyone else to like or hate you. Not if they're only doing it because of what you look like or who you hang out with." "We don't dress alike because we feel obliged to," Lynn added. "Daria and I just have similar taste in clothes. It's more of a coincidence than an outward statement of solidarity." "What she means is, we're just friends because we like each other. Not because we each conform to what the other wants. Just a thought." Quinn, with an unusually thoughtful look on her face, nodded and walked out. Daria and Lynn looked at each other. Lynn smirked slightly, semi-evilly. "Who says I *like* you?" They had a good smirk at each other. "Incidentally," Daria pointed out, "you shaved point-one-eight seconds off your last time." "Is that *all?* Damn; I should have stuck with blow-darts..."
ACT 3: SHOVE ME IN THE SHALLOW WATER BEFORE I GET TOO DEEP
"What I am is what I am Are you what you are or what?" -- Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians, "What I Am"
In the hall the next day, Quinn, back in her smiley-face baby-T and blue jeans, stormed up to Ted, who was a little stunned at the abrupt nature of her approach. "Hi, Quinn; I--" He got no further, as she began to steamroll. "Now you just listen to me, Ted DeWitt-Clinton! I happen to *like* my clothes just the way they are -- I'm young enough for them not to look cheap on me and it's not like I'm showing *cleavage* or anything! Your parents can just put up with the fact that I like to dress casual and I don't give a *damn* what they think of me -- they're just *parents,* for crying out loud, and not even *mine! They* can't tell me what to do, and neither can *you!* So I'm going back to what I normally wear and *maybe* I'll wear the new stuff to dinner on Saturday because it's a special occasion and I wouldn't want to be underdressed but I *like* myself and I'm *not going to change for you!*" There was a short pause. "Okay," Ted replied casually. "WHAT?" "That's fine. I like you however you're dressed." "Really?" "Really. I mean, I first fell for you when you wore that sort of thing -- I'd be kind of silly to mind now, wouldn't I?" Quinn was now blushing like nobody's business. "Oh. Right." She added, quite meekly, "i'm sorry for yelling at you." "Hey, that's okay! Mr. O'Neill says venting is healthy!" "Ted? Do me one favor..." "Sure!" "Don't quote the Human Marshmallow at me, okay?" Ted seemed bemused. "Okay..." Quinn smiled at him, and he smiled back.
* * *
Later, in the cafeteria, Tori was post-morteming the incident. "So, like, *then* Quinn sort of smiled at him in that gooey way and boom -- end of spat." "Wow..." Brooke breathed, "it's just like a soap opera, isn't it?" "Yeah...well, I'm still waiting for the first blow-out over in the freak sector before I make up my mind about *that.*" (Over at the outcasts' table, Daria, Jane, Lynn and A.P. looked at each other, and each quirked an eyebrow.) "I mean, everyone *knows* that red-headed freak's some kind of psycho. I bet if they ever had a spat, he'd, like, pull a Klebold and Harris with that girl who looks like that girl he's dating." "Or Mickey and Mallory..." "Yeah. Ick, that was *such* an awful unfashionable movie. I mean, they made the press out to be *so* bad..." (Now *all* the eyebrows at the Flack-Jacket Mafia table went up.) "I remember something they were saying around school -- like, he could make bombs or something." _So much for the popular kids having the attention span of a goldfish,_ Lynn sighed inwardly at Brooke's words. "They know too much. They must be silenced." "Oh, come *on,* Erudite Emerald!" A.P. pleaded. "I mean, you *can* see how necessary this is, can't you?" Daria sighed. "All right. But if Lynn takes out her crossbow, I'm calling the authorities." "I wouldn't run the risk of getting it confiscated," the Purple Peril assured her. "Not for *them.*" She produced a rubber band. "Bravo!" the Psycho-Maverick exclaimed, then went back into Kirk mode. "Lock phasers on target." "Establishing lock, Captain," Lynn vulcanized. "Do they *have* to do the playacting?" Jane half-whimpered. "Oh, let them have their fun," Daria dismissed it. "I have a lock, Captain." "On my mark...FIRE!" SNAP! "AAAOW!"
ADAPTOR'S NOTES Personally, I keep thinking the character referred to in Martin Pollard's "The Invitation" adaptation (and a number of fics) as "Tori Jericho" was actually an early appearance of Ashley-Amber Taylor. Jay Osako may agree with me, since in his unpublished sequel to "Blood and Irony" he says Brittany's parents were actually in town when she threw the party. (Then again, that's in his Sick Sad World of Darkness, which is even more tangential to canon than most fics.) Thanks to Martin, for happening to put Ted's parents' names up front in the listing for this story on Outpost Daria. Comment on Quinn's new outfit follows the copyright notice, as it contains a spoiler for Season 4. My American Heritage dictionary is silent on "sticomythia," but Ethan Mordden's _Fireside Companion to the Theatre_ defines it as "a form of repartee in which two speakers echo the patterns of each other's lines in conflicting observations." For examples, watch any good episode of _Moonlighting_ (which is most of them). 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 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
Welcome to the spoiler space.
There, that ought to do it. Amazing, isn't it? CB comes up with this new outfit for Quinn, and MTV has her switching to a longer-sleeved shirt.