Uranium
in the
Drinking
Water
©2006 The Angst Guy (theangstguy@yahoo.com)
Feedback (good, bad, indifferent, just want to bother me,
whatever) is appreciated. Please write to: theangstguy@yahoo.com
Synopsis: There really was
uranium in Highland’s water supply—and a new kind of Daria Morgendorffer is the
result! Meet Daria the Faerie, the counterpart to Tinker-Jane of “Jane
Unchained,” in this delayed
response to an Iron Chef fantasy challenge.
Author’s Notes: Prince Charon posted an
Iron Chef challenge in September 2005 asking for stories using ideas from a
list of fantasy clichés posted online (by Amethyst Angel) at:
http://amethyst-angel.com/cliche.html
I read down the list and
noticed the following under “Overused Characterizations.”
Fantasy
Cliché #29: Fairies (the 6 inch tall
kind) are usually:
—scantily dressed and female
—cute beyond all reason,
—extremely hot-tempered
—jealously attracted to the Hero. (The fact that he’s 300 times bigger than
she is and that the two of them have no hope of engaging in normal intimate
relations does not appear to shake her resolve to love him one bit.)
In the first episode of Daria, Daria is told by her mother not to
judge people so quickly. “You’re in a brand-new school in a brand-new town. You
don’t want it to be Highland all over again.” Daria replies, “Not much chance
of that happening, unless there’s uranium in the drinking water here, too.”
And then I remembered a
marvelous work of fan art by Katie Cook from the year 2000, of Daria as a
faerie being. The art appears on Katie Cook’s page in Fanart,
on the Glitter Berries website (http://www.glitterberries.com/); it’s the
top-center picture of that page.
That was all I needed. This
story originally appeared on PPMB and SFMB from late May to early June 2006.
Acknowledgements: I have to blame Angelboy
for this, mainly, because he asked for a story about either Jane or Daria as a
faerie (per “Jane Unchained”), and I liked the idea. Thanks go to Prince Charon
for a great challenge, too, and to Angelboy and Scissors
MacGillicutty for figuring out Daria’s speech patterns (see “Author’s Notes II”
at end).
*
Part
the First
(Jake
Morgendorffer drives his navy-blue Lexus along a suburban street. His youngest
daughter Quinn sits in the passenger seat beside him. We cannot see who is in
the back seat.)
JAKE: Girls, I just want you
to know your mother and I realize it’s not easy moving to a whole new town—especially
for you, Daria, right?
DARIA: (voice coming from the back seat)
We moved? I wondered why my
room looked strange
When I awoke. I thought
perhaps a flashback
From that LSD responsible,
Or else in tortured nightmare
I was lodged.
QUINN: (rolls her eyes, turns radio up) What-ever.
JAKE: (laughs uncomfortably, raises voice over radio music) Daria,
I’m just saying you might not make friends as easily as, you know, some people.
(turns radio down)
DARIA:
Thou speakest of my sister,
Quinn? The fiery
Scarlet of her hair outshines
the glowing
Mandrill’s rear, attracting
suitors near
And far. She shall not lack
for worshipers.
JAKE: Uh . . . say, what’s a
mandrill?
QUINN: Daddy, just ignore her.
(turns radio up again)
JAKE: Look, Daria— (turns radio off) The point
is, the first day at a new school is bound to be difficult for anyone, even
people of, um, uh, people who are, uh—
(We switch to a view of the rear seat of the car. Sitting in the middle
of the seat is a tiny feminine figure with dragonfly wings, long auburn hair, and
miniature glasses, almost hidden behind the huge seat belt buckled over her.)
DARIA:
Elfish? Sprite-ly? Of faerie semblance cast
When parents of the Highland
water drank,
Contaminated by atomic waste
From leaky nuke plant? Speakest
thou of moi?
(Irritated,
Quinn turns on the radio again and cranks up the volume.)
DARIA:
(angrily
shouts over music)
Think not that I am bitter o’er
it! Nay,
Not I! No outcast I, Miss
Tinkerbell!
JAKE: Wait a second! (turns off radio) Now, what
was I saying? Oh, yeah.
(The
car arrives at school and pulls up to the front entrance. Quinn immediately
prepares to get out as tiny Daria struggles to undo the seat belt buckle.)
JAKE: (turns around in his seat to Daria) All I’m saying, kiddo, is don’t
get upset if it takes the other kids a little while to warm up to you. Oh, let
me get that. (reaches back and frees
Daria from the seat belt) I mean, Quinn might have problems fitting in,
too. Anything’s possible.
(Quinn
exits the car and is immediately noticed by the other students.)
STACY: Hi! You’re cool. What’s
your name?
QUINN: Quinn Morgendorffer.
SANDI: Cool name.
BOY: Will you go out with me?
DARIA:
She cries for rescue, sister
mine, her yacht
Adrift in typhoon winds,
beset by sharks—
Oh, treach’rous
fate! But though the odds be stacked
Against us, her I’ll guide to
safety’s shore.
(flies
out of an open car window)
JAKE: Uh . . . whatever you
said, I guess!
DARIA: (waving goodbye with grim look)
Farewell, my father, till the
final bell
Has tolled and homeward then
I fly, unless
For pest I am mistaken,
sprayed or swatted
By my peers, or caught for
science lab!
JAKE: That’s great, kiddo! (drives away)
(A
morose Daria flies off over the heads of the crowd. Some students watch her in
mild surprise as she passes, then shrug and carry on with their daily school
routine. The rest ignore her.)
STACY: (looking after Daria) Oh, I saw her on TV! (turns to Quinn) You’re the girl who kept her sister in a Mason jar
for a week!
TIFFANY: Coool.
SANDI: Tell me how you did
it. I was thinking of trying that on my little brothers.
Part
the Second
(In a Lawndale High School
hallway, Ms. Li, the principal, is giving the new students a tour of the school.)
MS. LI: As you can see, our
Lawndale High students take great pride in their school. That’s why you’ll each
be taking a small psychological exam to spot any little clouds on the horizon
as you sail the student seas of Lawndaaale H— (stops in mild surprise when she sees Daria hovering
over the heads of the other students; mutters under her breath) Oh, boy. (normal volume) Moving right along, I’ll
choose one of you at random to be the first one tested, and that’s Daria
Morgendorffer. We’ll schedule exams for the rest of you later during your lunch
periods.
(Daria frowns and crosses her arms; Quinn smiles.)
MS. LI: (to Quinn) Excuse me, didn’t I see you on 60 Minutes? Something about a Mason jar .
. .
(Later, in the school psychologist’s office, Ms. Manson is seated at a
table. Daria sits alone on a dictionary on the other side of the table, in a
bad mood.)
MS. MANSON: Now, Dharma, what
do you see here? (holds up a picture of
two people, a man and a woman in silhouette)
DARIA:
Within that image, running
free across
The plains, a herd of ponies,
wild as thy
Imagination when it comes to
my
First name, which by the way
is Dar-i-a.
MS. MANSON: Uh . . . Daria. All
right. (looks at picture) There aren’t
any ponies here, Daria, so try again.
DARIA:
When last I took an inkblot
test, the shrink
Said clouds those coffee
stains might be, or else
What e’er
I wish, so if I say that ponies
Run, they run, and none
gainsay my word!
MS. MANSON: (irked but patient) This isn’t an inkblot
test, dear. In this test, the figures are people, and you have to tell me what
they’re talking about or doing.
DARIA:
Lo, comes the dawn! The error
of my ways
Is clear. Then hark, for
there within the art
Thou holdest . . . O! The
couple sees the ponies
Wild stampede their way—and
trampled are!
(Ms. Manson scowls and lowers the picture. Daria gives her a triumphant smirk.)
MS. MANSON: You have issues.
DARIA:
As might a fellow student
interject
At thy self-evident
remark—well, duh!
(bell rings)
Part
the Third
(Daria
sits on her desktop in the front row of Mr. DeMartino’s American History class.
Several nearby students eye her in curiosity.)
MR. DEMARTINO: Class, a new STUDENT
is joining us today. Please welcome Daria Morgendorffer. (most students look around in confusion) She’s on top of the desk THERE.
(points at her)
NUMEROUS STUDENTS: (upon seeing Daria) Oh! There she is! Weird!
MR. DEMARTINO: (under his breath) Not my day to climb
back on the WAGON. (normal voice) Daria,
as long as you have our undivided ATTENTION— (evil chuckle) Last week, this
class began a unit on westward expansion. Perhaps you feel it’s UNFAIR to be
asked a question on your first day of class, but here it IS: Can you concisely
and unemotionally sum up for us the doctrine of Manifest DESTINY?
DARIA: (clears throat)
Jacksonians all thought it
plain that westward
Must Caucasians go, that God
had willed
Our bound’ries
touch Pacific shores without
Consulting Indians,
Hispanics, or
Canucks who blocked the way.
Thus was the War
With Mexico excused, and
Texas gained,
The stage set for the Civil
War, and guns
And railroads flung from sea
to shining sea.
MR. DEMARTINO: (surprised) Very GOOD, Daria—theatric, yes,
and bordering on the sarcastic, but it had a BEAT! All right, who can tell me
which President oversaw the War with MEXICO that Miss Morgendorffer mentioned?
Kevin, how about YOU?
KEVIN: (points at Daria) Hey! I saw you on television! Aren’t you the chick
who married Bigfoot?
MR. DEMARTINO: Stick to the
topic, Kevin! Pretend it’s a football, like the air-filled sac I suspect
occupies your SKULL!
BRITTANY: That wasn’t
Bigfoot, Kevvy! She married Elvis!
KEVIN: Oh, right! I remember!
(to Daria) But wasn’t Bigfoot like
your kid or something?
DARIA: (angrily shouts)
Accurséd show! Not married I
to elves,
Nor pregnant by a sasquatch, ghost,
or Elvis
Clone, not dating Loch Ness
beast—and not
Of Sick, Sad World’s prevarications speak!
BRITTANY: No, I’m sure I
heard about the Elvis thing on Oprah.
MR. DEMARTINO: That’s ENOUGH!
Miss Morgendorffer is NOT the TOPIC! Either someone tells me the name of the
President when the War with Mexico was fought, or EVERYONE gets a pop quiz
immediately, plus triple homework TONIGHT!
NUMEROUS STUDENTS: (collective gasp) Oh, no! Please! No!
JODIE: (energetically waving her hand in the air) James K. Polk! It was
James K. Polk!
MR. DEMARTINO: (calming down) Thank you, Miss Landon.
Once again, your classmates are in your debt. And Miss Morgendorffer—while I
realize this will be challenging for you, given the intellectual level of most
of your peers, please refrain from emotional outbursts in the classroom. That’s
MY job!
(Daria is still angry but nods agreement, lowering her head from
embarrassment. In the back of the classroom, a black-haired girl with blue eyes
and a red jacket looks at Daria with a sad expression.)
Part
the Fourth
(The Morgendorffers are having dinner around the table in their new
kitchen. Daria is in her usual spot, but she’s sitting on a tiny chair at a
dollhouse table, placed where a plate would normally go on top of the family
table. Wings drooping, Daria picks at her tiny piece of lasagna and looks unhappy.)
QUINN: And then they asked me
to join the pep squad, the French Club, the debate team, and the Young
Optimists Society of Lawndale. They said I didn’t have to try out for anything
because they’d all seen me on TV before, but I said, “Look, I’m new here. Give
me a chance to get used to things.” So, for now, I’m vice president of the
Fashion Club and the French Club, and I’ll have my own section in the next
yearbook.
JAKE: Wow! But, isn’t that a
lot of responsibility?
QUINN: Oh, no. I’ve got three
assistants to do all the hard stuff, like writing and math and carrying my
books and getting me drinks—Jeffy, Joey, and someone else, I forget who.
HELEN: I’m so proud of you!
We never know how much we can handle till we try!
QUINN: Thanks! (turns to father) Can I have a raise in
my allowance?
JAKE: Sure thing! (turns to Daria) What about you, kiddo?
How was your first day?
DARIA: (glares at her food, speaks with increasing strength and anger)
Pariah, outcast, Quasimodo
scorned
And mocked, forsaken heir to
atom’s curse,
Baroque mutation hounded near
and far
By japing mobs and
tabloids—ever damned!
(Jake and Helen stare at Daria for a moment with blank expressions, then
both look at Quinn.)
QUINN: (points her fork at Daria) She said it’s like being back in Highland.
JAKE: (to Daria) That’s great, kiddo!
HELEN: No, Jake! (to Daria) Sweetie, don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s only your first day here.
DARIA: (black mood)
In Lawndale’s doubtful favor,
I’ll admit
No lack-brained miscreants
have sought me out
For pick-up games of frog
baseball—unknowing
Me the substitute amphibian.
QUINN: Hey! Can we not talk
about that during dinner?
HELEN: Quinn, please. (to Daria) Now, dear, that whole ugly
incident is behind us, and those two dreadful boys won’t be out of boot camp
until they’re eighteen. You shouldn’t judge people in Lawndale as if you were
still in Highland. Let everyone here get the chance to know you for the special
and intriguing young lady you are.
DARIA:
Thy prescience amazes me. ‘Twas in
That vein that I was offered
money by
The quarterback, to doff my rags
and prove
My figure anatomic’ly
correct.
HELEN: (frowns, trying to follow this) Wait, you’re saying that—
(The phone rings at this
moment. Distracted, Helen gets up to answer it.)
QUINN: Gawd,
I hope that’s not the Babysitters’ Club again.
I should never have told them about the Mason jar.
(Daria looks up and gives her sister a lethal glare.)
HELEN: (to phone) Hello? Yes. Uh, yes, she’s my daughter. No, I’m not
kidding. Yes, I could hardly believe it, too! You should have heard what I said
when the doctors told me. They said it was something in the water. Mmm-hmm. No,
I switched to bottled water before Quinn was born, cleared everything right up.
Yes, she is beautiful, isn’t she! Oh, yes, she’s perfectly norm— (Helen notices Daria glaring at her.) Oh,
uh, listen, was there some reason you called? Oh. Oh. I see. Okay, will this
require any parent-teacher conferences, or can you send me an e-mail about her once
a week to keep me updated? Okay, great. Thanks. Bye! (hangs up) You
girls took a psychological test at school today?
QUINN: Daria did. Mine was
postponed until next year.
HELEN: (to Daria) Dear, they want you to take a special class for a few
weeks, then they’ll test you again.
QUINN: (to Daria) You flunked a test?
HELEN: She didn’t flunk
anything, Quinn. The principal said she has low self-esteem.
QUINN: (under her breath) Well, duh.
JAKE: What? That really
stinks, Daria! What did you do wrong now?
HELEN: Jake! (to Daria) We tell you over and over and
over again that you’re wonderful, but you’re still having problems
understanding it. What part are you having trouble with, sweetie?
QUINN: “Wonderful” is kind of
a big word for a little brain.
HELEN: Quinn, stop it.
DARIA: (with a narrow-eyed look at Quinn)
Low self-esteem is not my
burden; torment
Not thy souls for my sake.
Rather, I
Have low—
(The phone rings once more.
Helen again gets up to answer it. Interrupted, Daria hesitates—then subsides
and looks at her plate again.)
HELEN: Morgendorffers. Oh,
hi, Eric! No, nothing, just having dinner with the family. Do I have a few
minutes? Well, I guess. . . . (Helen leaves the kitchen, phone in hand.)
JAKE: (checks watch)
Hey, gotta turn on the tube! Big game tonight! See you girls at halftime! (Jake
leaves the kitchen.)
(Silence reigns. Daria
still stares at her food. Quinn finishes her milk and looks at Daria with mild interest.)
QUINN: Were you saying
something, or what?
(Daria makes a face at her
plate and shakes her head, but won’t look up.)
QUINN: Whatever. (pushes
back her chair and stands) I’m going over to Sandi’s for a while, then we’re
going by the mall later. Tell Mom I’ll be back by nine. No, make it ten—we
might meet some boys at the food court.
DARIA: (looks up at last
with a hopeful expression)
Dear sister . . . might thou passest by a bookstore
While thou makest merry with thy friend?
QUINN: (gives Daria a
pained look) Gawd, Daria, you can’t expect me to
go out and buy books for you all the time! Someone might see me in a bookstore,
and—eww! (shivers) Can’t you just sneak one of Dad’s credit cards and order
stuff on Mom’s PDA like you usually do? (turns
to leave)
DARIA:
O hold! (sees Quinn stop
and look back) My subterfuge is known, alas;
Well hid the credit cards and
PDA.
Perchance, if happy fate
allows, a tome
Of Angelou, Bukowski, Frost, or e’en—
QUINN: Daria, look—
DARIA: (swallowing her pride)
Rememb’rest thou our game? Wouldst thou enjoy
Tonight a willing doll . . . for
makeovers?
QUINN: (after a surprised pause) You’re kidding me.
(Daria shakes her head no.)
QUINN: You must be really
desperate for a new book.
(Daria lowers her head and nods yes.)
QUINN: (groans) Oh, all right, fine. What book did you want? Never mind, I
know what you want: one paperback full of poetry, not heavy enough to mash you,
easy-to-turn pages, tiny packed type. (points
at Daria) Makeover with my old Barbie fashion set tonight at ten-thirty
sharp, or I’ll never get a book for you again.
(Daria nods rapid agreement.)
QUINN: I wish Mom would get
you your own Internet account and a palmtop. This is so embarrassing. Me in a
bookstore, gawd. . . . (leaves the kitchen)
(The sound of a TV football game drifts in from the family room. Daria
sits down again at her place at the tiny table on the family table, looks at
her plate, pushes it away, and sighs, staring sadly into space.)
Part
the Fifth
(It is mid-afternoon the following day, at the start of another cycle in
Mr. O’Neill’s after-school self-esteem
class. Mr. O’Neill sits backward on a chair at the front of the classroom,
facing seven or eight students in various attitudes of interest or boredom.
Daria, tense and irritable, is perched on the back of a seat. She bears traces
of lipstick, eye shadow, and rouge on her face, and her nails have been painted.
Behind her, quietly sketching her image on a piece of notepaper, is a teenager
with black bangs, blue eyes, dark clothing, and a red jacket—the girl from Mr.
DeMartino’s class.)
MR. O’NEILL: Esteem . . . a
teen. They don’t really rhyme, do they? The sounds don’t quite mesh. And that,
in fact, is often the case when it comes to a teen and esteem. The two just don’t
seem to go together, but we are here to begin realizing your actuality, and
when we do, each and every one of you will be able to stand proudly and
proclaim, “I am.” Now, before we—
DARIA: (loud and sharp)
Thy pardon, sir, but clear as
static be
The outline of our goals.
Mayhap thou wouldst
Elaborate in phrases more
like English,
Less like New Age psychobabbly tripe.
(Everyone looks at Daria in surprise, particularly the teacher.)
MR. O’NEILL: What?
DARIA: (equally loud and sharp)
To “realize my actuality” —
Pray, what unholy guru
birthed that phrase?
What misbegotten wretch did
curse our ears
And damn our brains with such
pretentious raff?
MR. O’NEILL: (shocked) Why . . . why you . . .
(Everyone in class holds their breath, waiting for the expected explosion.)
MR. O’NEILL: . . . you’re
speaking in blank verse! How marvelous!
(Daria starts to snap off a retort, but stops with a confused look.)
MR. O’NEILL: Unrhymed iambic
pentameter, every phrase and sentence! That’s wonderful! The rhythm is quite good—a
bit rough in places, but a superb effort! You have money in your self-esteem bank
already, Darien!
DARIA: (volcanic yell)
It’s Daria, thou artless hedge-born lout!
MR. O’NEILL: (delighted) Shakespearean invective! Incredible!
Perfect! (stands and applauds) Bravo,
Miss Mortengarden! You’ll be a natural when we read A Midsummer Night’s Dream in our
literature class next spring! Congratulations!
(Stunned, Daria stares back with open mouth—then her shoulders slump, her
head droops, and her eyes squeeze shut as she rubs her forehead.)
MR. O’NEILL: (excited) I’d like to talk with you later
about the possibility of having you in our school play, Darien, but we’ll have plenty
of time for that! Let me finish the introduction, and then we’ll play a video.
Now, um, where was I . . . oh! (to entire class) As I was saying, before
we unlock your potential, we must first—
(As
Mr. O’Neill carries on, the girl behind Daria leans forward and speaks to the
diminutive faerie creature.)
JANE: (whispers) You cannot win a duel of wits with the witless. They’re
immune to it. Save your breath.
DARIA: (looks wearily back at Jane)
If silence be my watchword,
what recourse
Have I to penetrate this labyrinth
Of catchwords spouted willy-nilly?
Dare
I hope for seeds of wisdom in
such chaff?
JANE: (whispers) I doubt it. He’s memorized the speech, but he doesn’t
know what it means. His English classes are like this, too. I don’t think his
condition is curable.
DARIA: (depressed)
Then all is darkness? Nothing
sane survives?
JANE: (whispers) Do you like pizza?
DARIA: (not so depressed)
Do bears in woodlands wild
relieve themselves?
JANE: We have some pepperoni pizza
at my house that you’re welcome to, as long as you don’t mind that it’s left over
from my brother and his friends.
(Daria’s face brightens; her dragonfly wings lift and begin to buzz in
rapid motion.)
JANE: I’ll take that as a
yes. Just don’t eat anything else out of our refrigerator unless I okay it
first. We don’t have a stomach pump. Not one that would fit you, anyway.
Part
the Sixth
(Later: Jane walks home from school with Daria flitting along beside
her. As they talk, Daria stays near Jane’s face, on one side or the other,
wings whirring away.)
DARIA:
. . . and that is how to
Lawndale’s green and pleasant
Malls we came, and left fair
Highland, Texas,
To the schmoes
and armadillo herds.
I fear the move did not improvement
make.
JANE: I’m going to admit
something to you that you’re probably not going to like.
DARIA: (sighs)
A perfect end to perfect day.
Say on.
JANE: I’ve seen you on Sick, Sad World, every time they’ve
featured you.
DARIA: (nods, expecting this)
I’ll not escape my legend, though
I try.
JANE: I must say, you look
taller in real life.
DARIA:
Thou thinkest
so? Must be the ballet shoes.
JANE: Look, for whatever it’s worth, I’m not going to sell any stories about you back
to the show, no matter how much money they offer me. I wouldn’t do it for a
billion dollars. But if they offer me a date with a male porn star, no strings
attached, you’re history.
DARIA:
Agreeable, though Sick, Sad World will not
Another show about me air—my
mom
A court injunction gained,
and even reruns
Of my episodes are banned fore’er.
JANE: I was wondering why
they stopped showing them. (shrugs)
Guess I’ll have to find some other way to meet male porn stars.
DARIA: (hesitant)
I cannot stand that show, so
if thou wouldst
Still see it, pray hold off
until I leave.
JANE: Don’t worry, I quit
watching it weeks ago. Sick, Sad World
went downhill without you.
DARIA: (relieved)
Alas. (pause) Another show is coming: Poor
Pathetic Planet. Should we check it out?
JANE: Definitely. I heard it premiers
in October. Speaking of pathetic, we’re going to talk about body image with Ms.
Barch, the science teacher, in the next self-esteem class.
DARIA:
The one whom all the football
players fear?
JANE: The same. If you
mention anything having to do with castration, she’ll give you and all the
other girls in class an A, with no self-esteem homework. Works every time, if
you can stand the ranting.
DARIA:
How didst thou gain such
knowledge, yet six times
Didst fail to pass the test and
leave the course?
JANE: I could pass it, but I
like having low self-esteem. It makes me feel special.
DARIA:
Thou liest
like a rug beneath a dog.
JANE: Oh, all right. I’ve got
nothing else to do in the afternoons except sleep or draw.
DARIA:
We could hang out and share
our misery.
JANE: We could. There’s a
restaurant called Pizza Place two blocks from the school. We could stop there
on the way home next time and be miserable together.
DARIA:
So long as pizza is our bond,
agreed.
JANE: I was meaning to ask
you one other thing. How is it you can go through school without carrying or
using any books?
DARIA: (produces a tiny dark square from the pouch at her side and waves it)
The state’s required to meet
my special needs
By law, so all my books are
microfilmed.
JANE: And homework?
DARIA: (puts away microfilm)
We’ve yet to work that out. I
hope to get
A palmtop, if my parents will
relent.
JANE: Why haven’t they gotten
you one before now? (sees Daria roll her
eyes and sigh) Or did they?
DARIA: (coughs)
Too fond I was of online chat
rooms, bookstores,
Message boards, and hacking Sick, Sad World.
JANE: You’re a twisted little
pretzel, aren’t ya? That’s my home on the right. Ignore the thing in the front
yard that looks like a dead tree. It’s art. Mom made it out of scrap metal.
DARIA:
And what’s that work supposed
to represent?
JANE: A dead tree. Let’s get
some pizza and see if Trent’s awake.
Part
the Seventh
(Jane pulls a house key out of her red jacket and reaches for the handle
on the front door of her home—but finds the door is unlocked and ajar. Daria
hovers just behind her, about eye level with Jane.)
JANE: Hmmm. Trent was
supposed to keep the door locked in case . . . (pushes open door and walks inside into the living room; a staircase is
on her left) Trent? Hey, Trent! (goes
into another room)
DARIA: (buzzing in slowly after, talking to self)
May all be well, I pray, in
my friend’s world. . . .
JANE: (from another room) Trent! You were supposed to lock the front door
in case the bank came by to foreclose!
DARIA: (despondent)
And once again, no Higher
Power heard.
JANE: (walks back into the living room, looks up the staircase) He might
be upstairs asleep. Could you go up and see if he’s there? I need to get
everything down here locked up. My parents are in Africa somewhere—I think it’s
Africa—and they forgot to leave the mortgage payments again. The bank’s a
little irate about it, so we have to lock up the house and pretend we’re not
home in case they come by.
DARIA: (low voice)
If they come by, they might
foreclose, and then—?
JANE: We’ll lose the house
and be thrown into the street.
(Daria’s eyes grow large with shock.)
JANE: Hey, don’t worry, we’ll
be fine. The worst that could happen is that Trent and I will be homeless and the
county’s child protective services will put me in a foster care until I’m
eighteen, but that’s only a year and a half. And the worst that could happen then is that—
DARIA: (unnerved)
Enough, enough! Thy brother I
will seek!
(Daria flies off, heading upstairs. Jane watches her go, shakes her
head, then closes the front door and locks it. She looks out a window, sees no
one coming, and is heading for another room when she hears a startled shout
upstairs, followed by a crash like furniture being knocked over. A moment later,
Daria zips back downstairs at high speed. She is turning bright red in
embarrassment, both hands clasped over her mouth, and hovers in the air near
the front door, her back to Jane.)
JANE: (looking Daria over) Wow. Is that a rash?
(Mortified, Daria looks back upstairs.)
TRENT: (upstairs, out of sight) Hey, Janey!
(Daria gasps in horror and flies behind the sofa.)
JANE: (puzzled, she watches Daria hide, then calls back) What?
TRENT: (walks to the top of the stairs, dripping wet, holding a large bath
towel wrapped around his waist) I think there’s a bird in the house.
JANE: (looks at Trent, then at the sofa, then again at Trent—with a growing
smile) A bird?
TRENT: (looks around) Yeah. It flew in my room right after I got out of the
shower.
JANE: (looks at sofa with big smile) It did?
TRENT: Yeah. (pause) I think it was like a hummingbird.
(pause, uncertain) With glasses.
JANE: Hummingbirds don’t wear
glasses, Trent.
TRENT: Uh . . . right. (pause) Yeah. (pause) Forget it.
JANE: (huge grin) Okay.
TRENT: (looks around, confused) I’ll get dressed. (starts to leave) Sure looked like it had glasses. (out of sight) Kinda cute, though.
(Jane saunters over to the sofa, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.)
JANE: You can come out now,
little hummingbird. He’s gone.
DARIA: (behind the sofa)
If merciful thou wert, my
death thou wouldst
Effect without delay to end
my shame.
JANE: Oh, where’s the fun in
that? Come on out.
(A miserable Daria slowly flies out. She is bright scarlet from head to
toe.)
JANE: That’s better. Hey, you
look good in red.
DARIA:
I swear, I thought him fully
dressed, so in
The bedroom did I spy, and there
saw—Aiee!
JANE: (smirking) Yeah, those tattoos go all the way down. Or so I’ve
heard.
DARIA: (hides her face)
Perhaps I’d best be winging
homeward, ‘fore
Humiliation drags me to my
grave.
JANE: Nah, you haven’t had
any pizza yet. Oh! And I need to lock the kitchen door, too. Stick around,
okay? I’ll be right back.
(Jane leaves the living room. Daria looks after her, then looks at the
staircase and groans.)
DARIA: (softly)
So like a godling, tall and
dark and, oh,
So handsome, so magnificent,
so . . . bare!
I dare not stay! I’ll perish
if he sees
And knows it was no
hummingbird who gazed
Upon his unclothed form—and
felt the sting
As Cupid’s arrow pierced her
trembling heart!
(Daria quickly flies to the front door, unlocks it, and pulls it ajar
with all of her tiny might. She flits out through the narrow opening—and almost
flies straight into the faces of two men in pinstriped business suits who were
about to knock at the door. Daria gasps in horror, hands once again over her
mouth as she hovers in midair.)
(The two men stare at her, dumbfounded. They’re built like human
bulldozers and stand about six-foot-six. One has a broken nose and a five-o’clock
shadow; the other has a scar down his left cheek and is chewing on a toothpick.)
FIRST MAN: (with a New Jersey accent, points a finger at
Daria) Hey! Didn’ I see you on Oprah?
SECOND MAN: Yeah, you’re
married to Elvis, right? How’s he doin’?
DARIA: (panicked)
Oh, gods! What have I done?
What have I done?
FIRST MAN: Well, you went an’
proved somebody’s home, for starters. Look, I’d love to talk with you about
life with the King an’ all that, but we’re here on business. Is
Vincent and Amanda Lane around? We’re with the First Lawndale National Bank—
SECOND MAN: I’m Eddie. (points thumb at partner) He’s Bruno.
FIRST MAN: Yeah, and it’s real
important we see the owners as soon as possible.
SECOND MAN: (grins unpleasantly) The former owners.
FIRST MAN: We’re gettin’ to that. (to
Daria) Just tell the Lanes we need to see ‘em,
all of them, right now. They ain’t got no time to pack
or nothin’. Just tell ‘em
to hurry up and get out here, pronto. We’ll wait, but we ain’t got long.
(Daria looks over the two men, her panic fading. She looks back at the open
front door, then turns to face the men and draws herself up in sudden resolve.)
DARIA:
(to herself) My only friend and my true love shall not
Such evil fear! (loudly, to the two men) Begone! Thou
shalt not pass!
FIRST MAN: (surprised, then laughs briefly) Uh-huh.
Cute. I like that. Kinda like Shakespeare or somethin’.
(humor vanishes) Now, wake ‘em out and get ‘em out.
SECOND MAN: (flexing huge muscles) Or we will.
FIRST MAN: We’d like to avoid
that. Eddie here’s still on parole.
DARIA: (cold, venomous tone)
Tempt not my unforgiving
wrath. Thy mouths
Are writing checks not e’en thy bank can cash.
SECOND MAN: (balls up fists, takes a step toward her)
Are you threatening us, squirt?
FIRST MAN: (grasps companion by the arm) Hold it,
Eddie. Look, kid, we ain’t got all day to listen to you get butch on us. Outta
respect for the King, I won’t smash you this time, so beat it. We got work to
do. (attempts to brush Daria aside)
(Daria dodges the blow and flies back to block the doorway.)
DARIA: (darkly)
My secret shall thee learn,
to thy ill luck.
(Daria’s wings buzz at hyper-speed as she hovers. She stretches out her
arms and legs to form an X-shape, fingers extended, then closes
her eyes and begins speaking softly and slowly, building in volume and
intensity until her eyes open and she shouts the last few words. An unnatural
silence falls as she continues, until not even the wind is moving.)
DARIA:
Summoning,
Listening,
Gathering,
Bristling,
Chittering,
Whistling,
Sharpening,
Glistening,
Harkening,
Hurrying,
Onrushing,
Scurrying,
Hastening,
Hungering,
Targeting,
Thundering,
Ambushing,
Savaging,
Injuring,
Ravaging,
Harrying,
Harrowing,
Following,
Sorrowing,
TORTURING!
TORMENTING!
UNSPARING!
UNENDING!
(The two thugs stare at her.)
FIRST MAN: (claps hands several times) Impressive.
SECOND MAN: Yeah. I like
poetry.
FIRST MAN: Me, too. Here’s my poem. (pulls a pistol from inside his suit coat, calmly aims it at Daria’s
face) This is a gun, it’s time to r—
(Out of nowhere, a flying squirrel lands on the thug’s gun hand and
bites him. He yelps and drops the weapon, shaking his hand to dislodge the
screeching rodent—but more flying squirrels smack down on him and his partner,
digging their claws into their victim’s scalps, suits, and faces. The men dance
around in pain, hollering as they try to fight back, then hear a shrieking riot
approach and see a horde of gray squirrels descending from trees and leaping
from rooftops. Chipmunks jump onto their pants legs from hidden burrows in the
ground. Attacked on every side, the two men scream and bat their arms in a
futile effort to chase the rodents away, then flee to a car parked on the
street. There, however, they encounter several dozen large groundhogs that
attack and drive the men westward to the end of the street and into the woods
beyond—accompanied by uncountable numbers of angry chipmunks, gray squirrels,
and flying squirrels.)
DARIA: (sighing, watching them go)
If Dad finds out that I’m the
Faerie Queen
Of Squirrels, there’ll be
hell to pay indeed.
(A large obese marmot waddles by, puffing and panting, heading in the
direction all the other creatures went. Daria waves it goodbye, then flies back
inside the house.)
(On the other side of the door is Jane, apparently looking for Daria.)
JANE: Uh . . . oh! There you
are! Glad you could stay for pizza after all. It’s warming in the toaster oven.
Want some?
DARIA: (relieved)
A little pizza wouldn’t hurt.
My thanks!
JANE: Don’t mention it, amiga. By the way, Trent will be joining
us.
DARIA: (choking up)
-t-t-t-t-Trent?
JANE: Not to worry. He’s got
his clothes on, mostly. You can sit on his shoulder if you want.
(Daria turns red all over. Smirking, Jane motions her to follow, and
they head for the kitchen.)
Part
the Last
(A few days later, we look in on the Morgendorffer family members as
they have dinner together on Friday night. Everyone is present, including Daria
at her tiny table and chair, with the addition of Jane Lane, sitting between
Daria and her mother. Daria displays the aftereffects of another makeover
session with her sister’s Barbie set (painted nails and toes, eye shadow,
rouge, etc.). Helen Morgendorffer is pacing around the kitchen, the portable
phone pressed to her ear, while everyone else is eating beef lasagna and
various vegetable dishes. Jake is reading the morning newspaper, the Lawndale
Sun-Herald, oblivious to all.)
HELEN: (slightly frazzled, to phone) No, Rita, there’s been no word in the news
here about him. . . . Yes, I can imagine how upset you must be that your
boyfriend ran off like that without calling you first, but you said yourself
that he had a shady history, so . . . No, I haven’t the faintest idea where
Bruno might be. . . . Rita, I am not, repeat not, covering up for him. He’s not in a witness protection program,
so far as I know. . . . No, I am not going to check every prison on the east
coast just to . . . Rita . . . Rita, I have to go.
Jake’s choking on something. I have to go now! I’m not lying, Rita! He’s
choking, damn it! Goodbye! (hangs up,
puts the portable phone down, takes her seat at the table) I swear, the
things I put up with from that sister of mine.
DARIA: (with a glance at Quinn)
The feeling’s not unknown to
me as well.
QUINN: (without looking up from her meal) I was thinking the very same
thing.
HELEN: Girls, please. Jane’s
on her first sleepover here and we don’t want her to think you two do nothing
but argue.
DARIA:
We also eat and sleep, and
sometimes—
HELEN: Daria! Now, Quinn, how
was your day at school?
QUINN: (glares at Daria) Great, until Mosquito Brain over there gave a
speech during assembly and told everyone I pick my nose!
HELEN: What?
DARIA: (nonchalant)
We graduated self-esteem
class three
Weeks early, and were forced
to speak about
The hardships we had faced,
and doing so
I thought of Quinn, who triumphed
over—
QUINN: (outraged) I never picked
my nose!
HELEN: (to Quinn) Not since you were six, no. (to Daria) Dear, while I’m proud that you and Jane graduated from
your self-esteem class so early, it’s best not to use your sister when you give
personal examples, especially if they’re negative. That would be like me
talking about Rita, though I can hardly imagine how I could make her sound any
more spoiled and self-obsessed than she already . . . um, anyway, why did you
even mention Quinn to begin with?
DARIA:
My sister is my mentor,
benefactor,
Shining star, my inspiration
bright.
If Quinn can keep herself
from mucous mining,
I can conquer lowered
self-esteem.
QUINN: (gives Daria a glare that could maim a grizzly, then whispers) Remember
the Mason jar?
HELEN: Girls, please be nice!
See how your father and I are—
JAKE: (shakes newspaper) Gah damn
it! The city voted down a proposal to use dynamite against groundhog dens! They’re
not hogs, they’re giant rats with fur coats! And you can’t use automatic
shotguns to defend yourself against gray squirrels, either! (wads up newspaper and throws it on the floor)
It’s a dictatorship, I tell you! Down with The Man!
HELEN: (wearily) Jake, you’re going to pop another blood vessel in your
eye.
DARIA:
And me without a handy camera—
Not even one that I can
operate.
JAKE: It’s just not fair,
Helen! I work hard all day, then come home to overturned trash cans and nut
shells on the driveway and—
(The portable phone rings.)
HELEN: (picks up phone immediately, thumbs it on) Morgendorffers. Oh, Eric,
yes. I left the report on your . . . oh. They did? Can’t I do it tomorrow?
Well, all right, since you put it that way. Be there in fifteen minutes. (thumbs phone off) I can’t believe those
people won’t settle! How many limbs does a narcoleptic chainsaw operator have
to lose before—
QUINN: (grossed out) Muuuh-OOOM!
HELEN: Oh, sorry! (stands up, gets car keys from kitchen
counter) You girls behave while I’m gone. I won’t be more than twenty
minutes—unless we have a conference call, in which case midnight at the latest.
Bye, dear! (kisses Jake on the way out to
the garage)
JAKE: (calls after Helen) Don’t worry about us! Ole Jakey’s gonna have those
bushy-tailed predators on the run in no time! (turns to girls) I bought two dozen stink bombs from a fireworks store
on my way home tonight!
JANE: (to Daria) Help me out. Is this good or bad?
DARIA: (to Jane)
Dial nine one one the moment he’s
outside.
JAKE: Any of you girls want
to see how a real man handles a squirrel problem?
QUINN: (gets up from table) Sorry, I was due over at Sandi’s for an
emergency fashion-club meeting in ten minutes, but that was fifteen minutes ago,
so I’m late. Bye! (leaves kitchen through
sliding glass door and is gone)
JAKE: (to Daria) How about you, kiddo? Want to see your dad drive those flea-ridden
rodents back to the hills?
DARIA:
I cannot think of anything I’d
rather
Do than brave the heady
stink-bomb fumes,
Though asthma might seize
both my lungs, and to
Intensive care or worse then
carry me.
JAKE: Oh! Well, you two stay safely
inside, and I’ll send those weasels running! (gets up from table, heads for garage) If you hear anything screaming,
just ignore it! It’ll be those damn squirrels, begging for their lives! (goes into garage and shuts the door)
JANE: (turns to Daria) Aren’t you the least bit concerned about this?
DARIA:
He did this back in Highland
after tripping
On a gopher hole. The
neighbors will
Complain and make him stop,
though we had best
Not leave the house until the
air has cleared.
JANE: I mean, since you’re
the Faerie Queen of Squirrels and all, aren’t you worried about your subjects?
DARIA: (startled)
My deepest secret! Tell me
how thou know’st!
JANE: I was peeking out the front
door when you drove off those two thugs. And, in case I didn’t say it earlier,
thank you. I owe you everything, but I’ll have to pay you back in installments
until I win the lottery. For starters, I’ll buy your poetry books from now on,
so you won’t have to get those sisterly makeovers you’ve been complaining
about.
DARIA: (recovering)
‘Twas
nothing. Well, perhaps not nothing, but—
JANE: Shhh. You speakest way
too much. (kisses her fingertip, then
touches the fingertip to Daria’s cheek) That’s from Trent and me, both.
DARIA: (gasps and blushes)
From Trent? Thou mean’st he knows my secret, too?
JANE: No. I just wanted to
see you turn red again. So, you’re not worried about the squirrels getting
gassed by your dad?
DARIA:
If things work out as did in
Highland—
(Daria is interrupted by a loud whistle and bang from outside.)
JAKE: (outside in the backyard) DAMN IT, THAT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO— (loud gasps and coughing) GAAAH!!!
DARIA:
—no.
JAKE: (still outside) HELP!!! ANYONE!!! (coughing) MY EYES ARE WATERING SO MUCH I CAN’T SEE THROUGH THE
SMOKE!!! OW!!! DAMN ROSEBUSH!!! (more
coughing) OUCH!!!
JANE: Shouldn’t we do
something?
DARIA:
We were instructed to ignore
all screams,
And also to remain where it
was safe.
JANE: Your logic has won me
over. Shall we retire to the family room and watch the bad movie I brought over?
JAKE: (still outside) OW!!! (coughing)
DAMN IT, WHO LEFT THE GRILL RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF—OW!!! (coughing)
DARIA:
What foul delight hast thou
this evening brought?
JANE: (pulls a VHS tape from beneath her red overshirt) I have Boxing Helena.
DARIA:
My limbs are thine. The
family room awaits.
(The girls walk—and fly—toward the family room, and we fade out to the
sounds of Jake yelling and coughing in the backyard.)
*
Author’s Notes II: Events in this story parallel both those in “Esteemsters” and in Daria’s
diary, from The Daria Diaries. Bruno
was mentioned in “I Don’t.” Boxing Helena
was the source for the name of the last Daria
episode, “Boxing Daria,” and a reference to Quinn’s earlier use of the Mason
jar.
Because I believe faerie beings should speak in poetry, Daria’s
speech patterns are in Shakespearean blank verse (using enjambment), with the
use of “thee” and “thou” from the Early Modern English period, per these online
references from Wikipedia:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thou
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blank_verse
She breaks out of blank verse
only when casting her “summon squirrel” spell (mutant power, whatever). Scissors
MacGillicutty challenged me to create iambic pentameter as short as Thomas
Pynchon’s line from The Crying of Lot 49:
“-T-T-T-T-T!” I
used this as part of a somewhat longer line instead, since I am not on Pynchon’s
level, alas.
Original: 06/08/06, modified
06/18/06, 09/19/06, 09/23/06
FINIS