"The Look-Alike Series" Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Episode 1: "A Meeting of the Brains" prose adaptation (version 2.0) by Austin Loomis "Look upon yourself, imagine you are two..." -- Yngwie J. Malmsteen, "Magic Mirror" Jane Lane was sprawled on her bed, chin on her hands, looking at the blank canvas, trying to stare it down. Finally, she shook her head; inspiration was not about to happen. She turned down the stereo, turned to the phone and dialed her best friend's number from memory. "Hello?" Daria Morgendorffer asked once she'd picked up. "Yo! What's happening?" "Nothing much. Staring at the ceiling. Plotting my next move against Quinn. Wondering how I can make my parents pay for the latest torture they've inflicted upon me. That sort of thing." "What'd they do this time?" "Mini-vacation to the country." "Again? Why? Didn't they have enough after they got their stomachs pumped the last time?" "Mom only agreed to it if Dad promised to pack plenty of Kraft Dinner." "Yeah, that ought to keep them out of the glitter-berries, but how are they supposed to avoid food poisoning?" "You can't get food poisoning if what you're eating isn't food." "Good point. So, when do you guys leave?" "Ten minutes, actually." "No good-byes?" "You don't deserve any after what you did to me yesterday." "Look, Trent was asleep, he never heard a word, and for the millionth time, I'm sorry! You know he's so quiet you can't always tell when he's in the room." "Right. So, what were you calling me for?" "I'm blocked. The canvas is staring at me. I can hear it saying `I've finally beaten you, Lane' and laughing at me." "Promise me you won't open cans of turpentine with the windows closed anymore." "But that's how I get over blocks." "Whatever. Look, I'd better go. I'll see you when school starts next week, okay?" "Sure. -- Oh, Trent said he'd give me a lift to school that day. Want to come along for the ride?" "No. I'll just see you at school." "Suit yourself. I'm getting a ride, even if *you* can't look Trent in the face after I mentioned your dream about..." "Hanging up now. Please take it personally." The connection broke with a click. Jane put the phone down, then looked at the canvas. A wicked evil scheme came into her mind, visible on her face if you knew what to look for, and she got up, cranked the stereo up and started mixing paint. * * * One week later, Trent's car pulled up in front of Lawndale High, and Jane stepped out. She waved to her brother, then (after a moment) noticed he didn't seem to be driving off and hammered on the door. Sure enough, he'd fallen asleep at the wheel again. She grabbed a cup of coffee from the cup holder on the dashboard and poured it down his front. He yelled himself awake. She smirked as the car pulled away. With her brother on his way, Jane walked down the hallway, looking at her locker assignment. She spotted it, and a few feet away, she saw a familiar-looking head of brown hair from behind. The jacket was purple, and the skirt, while it was black, wasn't pleated, but apart from that, Daria looked the same as usual. Jane called out a greeting to her only friend. "Yo, Daria! Like the new jacket. You getting Fashion Club seasonal on me?" No response. She didn't even turn around. Jane was confused, but soldiered on. "So how was the trip? Everyone have to be airlifted out of the forest again?" Still no reply. _Oh, *I* get it._ "You're not still mad at me about the Trent thing, are you? Look, I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sor..." She trailed off and stepped back as the girl turned around, because on finally getting a look at her face, she could see that this girl was obviously not Daria. Her hair was somewhat longer and didn't have the bangs, her face was rounder, her glasses were smaller and more oval in shape, and the T-shirt under the jacket was grey with a high neck. Even her voice when she said "Excuse me?" wasn't quite like Daria's, though it was an almost exact match. "AUGH!" Jane screamed. "Who the hell are you?" "Who wants to know?" asked the new girl, instantly suspicious. "Jane Lane. Straight C math student and greatest artist this school has ever seen." "Lynn Cullen," the new girl introduced herself. "Straight C science student and this generation's answer to Tolkien. Nice to meet you." A pause. "So who's this Daria? You're the third person today who's called me that." "Well...it'd probably be easier if you met her yourself. Who have you got first?" "O'Neill. English." "Ooh. Well, if you won't answer to Daria, how about Lydia, Louise, and Lila? He's bound to call you all those names, plus a few no one's thought up yet." "I see. Never forgets a face...just the name that goes with it, huh?" Jane burst out laughing, remembering that Daria had once summed up Tim the Human Marshmallow's memory for names in just those terms. _Great minds really *do* think alike..._ "What's so funny?" Lynn demanded. Jane shook her head. "I can't wait until you meet Daria." Lawndale's most popular (and stupidest) couple, Kevin "I'm the QB!" Thompson and head cheerleader Brittany "Eep!" Taylor, walked past arm in arm. "Hey Jane!" Kevin called out. "Hey Daria!" Brittany was a *little* smarter than Kevin, but apparently not enough smarter to realize whom she was really looking at. "Oh, hi, Jane, Daria! Did you do anything nice this summer?" They walked away without actually waiting for a reply. "That's five," Lynn quirked an eyebrow . "Wonder when it'll go into double figures. -- Look, I'm going to do what I do best: question authority." "Question authority?" Jane boggled. "What?" "They usually know where the bathroom is. See you later." Jane looked at Lynn's retreating back for a moment. "Hey," said a familiar voice from behind her. "AAAAAAAAAA!" Jane must have jumped a foot in the air. Daria definitely jumped back, obviously taken aback by her best (and, again, only) friend's reaction. "What the hell was *that* for? I was just saying hello." "Sorry, I..." she decided it would take too long to explain. "Oh, never mind. Who do you have for first period?" "O'Neill. Oh joy. Wonder if he'll remember my name after a whole summer." "You're the only kid whose name he *can* remember." Under her breath, Jane muttered, "That's gonna change. Hoo boy, is it ever..." "What are you babbling about? Did you inhale whiteout again?" Jane started to explain, but was interrupted by Angela Li's voice from the PA system. "Will Daria Morgendorffer and Lynn Cullen please report to the principal's office immediately!" _On second thought, this surprise is too good to spoil._ "Never mind," she grinned gleefully. "You'll see for yourself soon enough." "Is it me," Daria wondered, "or does it feel weirder than usual at school this year?" "Go on," Jane snickered even more gleefully as she started shoving Daria along the corridor, "can't keep Ms. Nazi waiting!" "Take your hands off me, Lane," Daria deadpanned. * * * Daria's year was not starting well. People doing double-takes when they saw her in the halls; people asking why she was so standoffish all of a sudden (as if she'd been actively seeking human contact before); Jane acting twitchy; Ms. Li summoning her; Jane going from twitchy to actually mysterious...one last shove, and Daria was into the office. She looked back at the door and her friend's back. "To hell with you too, Lane," she grumbled. "Ms. Li will see you now," said the secretary. Daria walked into Ms. Li's inner sanctum, where she found herself confronted with Lawndale High's supreme spymastress and a seated figure that looked oddly familiar. "Please take a seat, Miz Morgendorffer," said the power behind the pantsuit. She did, sitting in front of Ms. Li's desk, side by side with... herself. The similarities were unmistakable. It was like looking into a mirror -- almost literally. The stranger was looking sidelong at her with an expression of deadpan assessment and half-masked curiosity. She knew her own face must be showing an identical jumble of emotions right now. _Excuse me?_ she thought, suspecting the stranger was thinking the same. "Miz Morgendorffer," Ms. Li's voice broke into her reverie, "I'd like you to meet our new student, Lynn Cullen." "Hi," said Lynn in a wary monotone. "Hey," Daria replied in an equally wary monotone. Ms. Li gushed on. "While Miz Cullen's science grades are only average--" "Just above average," Lynn interjected. "C+ last year." Daria looked at Lynn with mixed admiration and trepidation. _This girl is actively correcting Ms. Li? To her face? Where should I send the flowers?_ Ms. Li looked annoyed at the interruption. "...only just above average...her grades in her other subjects, particularly English, I note--" "I have an unfair advantage. I've been speaking it all my life." Daria only barely hid a smirk at that remark. Ms. Li was getting a dangerous look in her eyes. "...Her grades, if not her *attitude,* will be an asset to the school. Her essays and poems will bring honor unto..." her voice took on the reverential tone in which she always spoke the name, "Laaaawndale Hiiiigh." "I feel a rendition of the school fight song coming on." She let out a loud belch, not unlike the one Daria herself had given voice to when critiquing the poetry of Quinn's brief "intellectual" phase. "Sorry. False alarm." _That's what *I* said._ Daria couldn't help it anymore. She actually let her mouth quirk upward into that Mona Lisa smile. Ms. Li was starting to lose it. "Miz Cullen, you seem to be a promising student, despite your recorded attitude problem! I would appreciate it if you kept your comments to yourself and let others get on with learning!" _Yadda yadda yadda,_ Lynn thought, listening to this speech with half an ear as her eyes scanned the desk. They came to rest on a few pieces of paper that looked interesting, and she opened her mouth to comment on them...then thought better of it. _Never play an ace if a deuce will do._ "Now, Miz Morgendorffer, you would be doing a favor to myself and to the school if you could show Miz Cullen here the ropes." "Excuse me. I thought Student Greeter was Jodie's job." "It is...and believe me, I'd much prefer Miz Landon to be taking *this* student around. But she seems to have come down with mononucleosis..." "Ooh," Lynn deadpanned, "the kissing disease! Scandalous school you have here, Ms. Li." Ms. Li didn't deign to reply to that. "...and will be out of school for the next two weeks." "Oh, the humanity," Daria observed flatly. It was at that moment that Angela Li reached saturation point. "Both of you, out of my office, now! You have class in two minutes, and lateness means an automatic week's detention!" Lynn and Daria regarded each other sidelong for another moment, this time more approvingly. Then they turned in unison and left. "Okay, Angela," she told herself once the door had closed behind them. "Deep breaths. They will not bring dishonor unto your school. You will not let it get to you..." She drew a wrapped package out of her desk drawer -- the label read, _To Superintendent Richards: a token of my regard! -Angela._ She unwrapped it to reveal a bottle of good bourbon and proceeded to pour a generous measure into her WORLD'S GREATEST DISCIPLINARIAN coffee mug. She then stared at the mug in disgust. "I don't believe this. You are not going to let those kids drive you to drink...*especially* not Superintendent Richards' bri... token of regard." She considered it for a moment. "Oh hell, there's two of them!" She swilled down the bourbon in the cup and poured again. * * * Daria and Lynn walked side by side through the corridors of Lawndale High, causing a lot of (apology in advance) double-takes. "So..." Daria led off the conversation. "So..." Lynn replied. *Now* people's behavior made sense, especially her friend's. "You met Jane." "Yeah. She thought it was really amusing. -- Well, apart from when she had the heart attack after spending nearly two minutes talking to me as if I were you." Daria raised her eyebrows. "Jane has a sick sense of humor sometimes." "So do I. Probably, so do you." A pause for thought. "Question." "Yeah? "Did you ever say that Mr. O'Neill `never forgets a face, just the name that goes with it'?" Daria felt her eyes widen in surprise. "Yeah. -- Yeah, I did. How did you know?" Lynn sighed. "Lucky guess." They'd reached the door of Mr. O'Neill's classroom. The bell rang. They looked at each other again. "Into the jaws of death rode the four thousand..." They entered the classroom together. After a suitable pause, Timothy O'Neill began to do something he did fairly often, actually: weep openly. * * * At their lunchtime table, Jane was sitting opposite Lynn and Daria, who sat side by side, poking at the indeterminate lumps the Lawndale High cafeteria laughingly called food. "So how are the Olsen Twins anyway?" "Go to hell, Lane," Daria opined. "Yeah," Lynn chimed in. "Keep in mind that my hobby is torture devices." Jane was impressed. "Really?" "No. But I have a passing familiarity with the art of torture. Required learning for the damn novels. Also helpful if you want to threaten someone." "Well, well, well!" said a voice Lynn found oddly familiar -- kind of like a younger, smarmier O'Neill. "Do my eyes deceive me, or do wishes really come true?" "Crap," Daria philosophized. Some guy with red hair, freckles and a sleazy grin sandblasted onto his face approached their table. There was something familiar about the shape of that face, but she couldn't quite think what. "I have always particularly loved the...feisty nature of our Ms. Morgendorffer here. The only way that I could think to improve her would be to make more of her. And behold, my prayers have been answered. Want to double date with the Chuckster?" "I'd rather pull your nose hairs out one by one with a rusty pair of pliers," Lynn replied. *Now* she knew what seemed so familiar about Hefner's Folly here. _My God,_ she thought absently, _it's Mr Nudge._ "Rrr! Feisty!" _Lesson one: the meaning of the word `no.'_ Quite calmly and casually, Lynn grabbed the interloper by the throat with surprising strength and heaved him across the table so that they were almost nose to nose. "Listen, maggot," she said sweetly, "I could castrate you in so many different painful ways that I couldn't even begin to list them all today. Most of them would have you retching where you stand anyway. I could cut your ears off and stuff them so far up your ass you wouldn't shit them out again until graduation. Give me a reason to mess you up, sleaze-bag. I've been studying pain and suffering for years. I could inflict agonies that would leave you begging for a merciful death, and then I'd make you live with the mutilation for the rest of a long and pointless existence. Just give me one. Good. Reason." With that, she released him. Charles Ruttheimer III, better known as Upchuck, looked at her for a moment, fear and disbelief in his eyes, and then decided that even if she *wasn't* serious, he'd better not risk it. "Sorry for offending you, Miss," he said in a meek tone Daria had last heard when he was confessing that he'd only been invited to Brittany's party as a reward for dissecting her frog. "I'll take my leave now. Good day." He made a shameful exit. There was an awe-struck silence. You could have heard a jaw drop. Then Andrea Thorne, sitting two tables down from the meeting of the brains, stood up and started to applaud. All the other girls in the cafeteria quickly followed suit. Lynn took her bows. * * * "I have to admit," Daria said later, as they were all standing by Lynn's locker, "you impressed me out there. Points lost for lack of subtlety, but an overall 9.3 for style." "Oh, come on," Jane chided her friend, "Upchuck is as subtle as a brick! Perfect 10 from the Lane jury. You blew him out of the water!" "Eh," Lynn shrugged. "Just because I give out crap doesn't mean I have to take it, too. I could see him sliming around for the next two years, and there was no way I was going to let him mar my pursuit of higher learning." "I think you have too much faith in Lawndale High," Daria noted dubiously. "No. My pursuit of higher learning is going to revolve around what I *really* need to know: how to cut losers down to size and twist the cerebrally deficient around my little finger to suit my own ends." Daria nodded. "In that case, you've come to the right place." Not too far away, the members of the Fashion Club were staring at the trio in shock, none so aghast as Quinn Morgendorffer. "Oh, my god," Sandi Griffin breathed, "the rumors are true." "They might not be twins," the club's secretary pointed out. "They don't look...exactly...alike." "Explain that statement, Stacy." "Um...ah...they aren't wearing the same color?" was all Stacy Rowe could come up with. "Even losers have fashion originality," Sandi pointed out with a disdainful snort. "In fact, that's the problem with the unfashionable -- too much deviation from the accepted fashion norm. Now, Quinn..." Quinn cringed inwardly, feeling her card house of lies about to come crashing down. "...You told us your cousin or whatever had no family and that was why she had to live with you. Now it turns out that she has a twin sister. What's the deal here, Ku-winn?" "Look," Quinn replied, trying to sound as exasperated as she felt, "if they *are* twins, wouldn't the other one be living with me too? Well, she's not. How can they be?" "Well," Stacy chimed in again, "there's this show on TV, called _Sister, Sister_..." "She is *not* my sister!" _Bad enough she told the whole school after that self-esteem class._ "Calm down, Ku-winn," Sandi smarmed. "No one *said* that Darla girl was your sister...except maybe *you.*" "Well," Stacy went on, "in this show, there's this set of twins that were put up for adoption, and they wound up in the same town and discovered each other years later! Then their parents -- a single woman and a widower, who each adopted a twin..." "Will you stop babbling, Stacy, and get to the point?" "Well, what if Quinn's cousin wasn't actually her cousin, but her *adopted* sister? Maybe her parents thought they couldn't have kids and adopted Quinn's cousin or whatever, and someone else adopted that other girl, and now they're meeting up years later!" "Well...what do *you* think, Ku-winn?" Quinn had to consider her answer a moment. She quite literally couldn't believe her luck. _Reprieved._ "Well, I always did think it was strange that we had a cousin living with us for all those years... and how her parents never got off on parole no matter how much time they served..." With that, the Fashion Club wandered away. Jane turned to Daria and Lynn. "Did you hear that? First you're the Olsen twins, then you're the Mowery sisters!" "How lucky I am," Lynn stated flatly, "to be such a hot topic of conversation on my very first day. Pass the drain cleaner, please." "My sentiments exactly," Daria had to agree. "Well, except for the very first day part." Mr. O'Neill approached, quivering slightly. "Hello, Daria," he said to Lynn. "No, Mr. O'Neill, I'm Daria." O'Neill shook some more. "Right. Good. Longer hair and purple means Lynn." He repeated it to himself like a mantra. "Longer hair -- purple -- Lynn. Longer hair -- purple -- Lynn." "I'm sure he'll be back to his perky self," Jane assured Lynn. "Once the Prozac kicks in." "Right. Lynn, that test you did for Dr. Manson came back today. It looks like you may have to take my Self-Esteem Workshop. It will have the added benefit of helping me to be able to tell you apart from Dar..." he caught himself, "um...I mean, helping me get to know the real you better." "Just ask to take his final exam now," Jane whispered to Lynn as she slipped a sheet of paper into the new girl's hand. Lynn perused the paper a moment, then spoke up. "Mr. O'Neill, I was...feeling a little jetlagged that day. Not my usual self. Could I take your pass-out exam now? I'd like to prove myself to you." O'Neill looked a little worried; maybe he was having a flashback to Daria and Jane's easy pass. "Oh. Okay... Question one: `Self-esteem is important because...'" Lynn took a cursory glance at the paper. "It's a quality that will stand me in good stead for the rest of my life." "Very good," came the uncertain reply. "Now, `the next time I feel bad about myself...'" "Stand before the mirror, look myself in the eye, and say, `You are special. No one else is like you.'" That time, O'Neill stifled a whimper, but you'd have to know him to have noticed. "You really *must* have been jetlagged. You have this stuff down cold. Okay, `there's no such thing...'" One last reassuring glance. "...As the right weight or the right height. There's only what's right for me. Because me is who I am." He was on the verge of tears, sensing that his luck had run out. "I guess we don't have to go any further. I am really pleased." He didn't *look* pleased; for a moment, he looked downright hangdog. "You wouldn't...be interested in Drama Horizons...?" "Requires facial expressions. Sorry." His last chance to tell Daria and Lynn apart having failed, Tim O'Neill walked away sobbing slightly, assured of a year of hell. "That was great!" Jane cheered. "You've got this school thing beat!" "With a little support from fellow outcasts," Lynn replied, "I guess I do." "That jetlag excuse was pretty good," Daria had to admit. "Where did you transfer from, anyway?" she asked, realizing Ms. Li hadn't said. "Oakwood." "The next town over?" _The Lions' traditional rivals?_ she very carefully didn't add. "I didn't think O'Neill would remember where I was from, if he couldn't remember my name or tell me apart from you." She looked after the retreating language arts teacher. "Looks like I've got him down cold too." * * * "So," Lynn summarized her preliminary info as she walked home with her new friends, "Ms. Barch hates men, Mrs. Bennett hates pennies, and Mr. DeMartino hates everyone. That seems simple enough to remember." "Did Barch give you the `avoid all men or they will drain your will and bank account before running off with pretty blonde college girl in stiletto heels' speech?" Jane asked. "Yep." "Then your initiation is complete," Daria notified her. "Welcome to Lawndale. IQ limits strictly enforced." "Hmm. So what do Lawndale social outcasts do after school, anyway?" "Eat pizza. Watch _Sick, Sad World_." "Bitch about the nauseatingly stupid people at school, teachers included?" "Oh yeah," Jane assured her. "And you have *got* to see Daria's room." Lynn looked at Jane in confusion, then turned to Daria. Daria sighed. "The former owner kept his schizophrenic mother in it. There are padded walls and sawed-off bars on the windows...also violent poetry carved into the walls of the closet with a key." "You never told me about the poetry!" Jane accused. "You didn't ask." "That sounds cool," Lynn had to admit. "Shame my mother won't let me do that to my room. She did give me money to buy paint and do the place up myself. She told me she was going to redecorate it herself, and I'm sure she would...around the same time she signs my third-grade report card." Jane and Daria looked at each other, remembering when Daria had used just that event as a benchmark for when Helen was going to make good on *her* threat to de-coolify Daria's room. "So I pushed for a do-it-yourself job. You guys want to help me do the place up?" "What are you doing with it?" Jane wondered. "Black walls, purple trim, purple velvet drapes...the whole `dark and mysterious and possibly suicidal but no one can be sure' look." "Nice touch," Daria admitted. "Eh. It's a gift." * * * "Do you have a twin that you don't know about?" the Morgendorffers' living room TV asked. "Does one of your children?" Jake Morgendorffer, sitting on the sofa and drinking a beer, looked up from his newspaper. "I...don't think so..." "Evidence has been released suggesting that doctors and nurses in hospitals throughout the country are making a trade in stolen twin babies. A doctor will take one twin and sell him or her to a waiting childless couple, leaving parents blissfully unaware of their double miracle." "My God!" "Fathers, take note. If you were not present at the birth of your child, you could have been robbed of a special gift." "Thank God I was there at Quinn's birth. But what about Daria? Oh, God..." He picked up the phone and began to dial. * * * Helen Barksdale Morgendorffer was pacing around her office. The phone rang, and Marianne, her personal assistant, picked it up. "Helen Morgendorffer's office. Just one moment. -- Helen, it's your husband on line one. He says something about one of the children being snatched." "*What?* Oh my God..." She grabbed the phone. "Jake, what's wrong? Which one of the girls is missing?" "Helen! Helen! Do you remember if you had twins when Daria was born?" "Jake, what the hell are you talking about? Are Daria and Quinn okay?" "I wasn't there when Daria was born! What if we had twins and the doctors stole the other baby away from us? My God, Daria might have a sister!" "Jake, Daria *does* have a sister. She has Quinn." _Though I seem to remember she said something once about Quinn not admitting to having a sister..._ "Are you saying that Daria and Quinn are okay?" "But Helen, what about our twins?" "Jake, we've never *had* twins. Now will you go back to your paper? I'm running late for a video conference." "But the TV said--" *That* explained it. "What have I told you about believing everything you see on TV?" "Don't do it?" her husband confirmed meekly. "That's right, Jake. Now let me get to my video conference." She hung up. "Honestly, sometimes I don't know why I put up with it..." * * * _Helen's right,_ Jake assured himself, looking at the phone handset. _Helen's always right. Except TV is right so often too...except about that man-eating vegetables thing I watched with Daria last week..._ The door opened, then closed again. It took a moment for the noise to register with Jake, lost as he was in thoughts of man-eating vegetables and snatched twins. Then he heard sounds behind him, headed for the kitchen. "Boots. Daria. Second set of boots. Jane -- or maybe it's Jean...Anyway. Third set of boots...Third set of boots?" Instant epiphany. "*Oh my God, Daria has a new friend!!!*" He dropped his paper and his beer and charged into the kitchen to meet the new friend. "Hey there, kiddo, heard you come in. Who's your new little..." He stopped cold as he came into the kitchen and saw Daria's new little friend. "Hi, Mr. Morgendorffer..." she said. "Oh...my...God...we...*did*...have...twins..." He saw the floor coming up at him, but he never felt it hit. * * * The girls surrounded the fainted Jake, looking down on him for a moment. "Think we should have warned him?" Jane wondered, completely deadpan. "Nah," Daria continued the tone. "That was almost fun." "Is he always like this?" Lynn had to know. "Pretty much. Usually he just bursts a blood vessel in his eye." Something occurred to her. "Maybe he burst one in his brain this time." "Should we check his pulse?" Jane noticed something. "He's breathing. Don't bother." "Maybe we should go to your house, Jane," Daria suggested. "They like weird there." "Well, Trent and the rest are holed up in the basement, and God knows what they're on by now, but...sure." "Can we at least have a peek at Daria's room first?" "We should go before he wakes up," Daria replied. "You can come another time when Mom's home. Maybe you can make her faint too. And Quinn. Though I'd rather see her tear her hair out...it'd be hard for her hair to bounce with multiple bald spots." And they all walked away without looking back. * * * In her room, Jane was looking at a half-finished canvas -- all that was on it was the image of Daria, dressed in a slinky black dress, in a pose that suggested she was lying in nightclub-singer style on top of a piano to be added later. "You were going to *paint* that?" Daria half-screamed. "Your little dream sequence was the only inspiration I had... at the time. Now, I have a better one. You have earned a reprieve." With that, Jane put a new canvas up on the easel and started sketching. "Was that the Trent thing you were trying to apologize for?" Lynn asked. "Why don't you put it on a billboard, Jane?" "Because I'd be hung from it about two hours after I did it. Life ain't much, but it makes great art." The outlines of two faces were taking shape, with a pair of glasses on each face. "Jane," said Lynn, rooting through Jane's junk, "question." "Shoot." She saw that Lynn had come up with her Stikmata 5000 glue gun and hastily added, "*Not literally!*" A pair of lips had now appeared on each face, both mouths set in identical stoic lines. "Yeah, right." Lynn put down the glue gun. "No offense, but what's that smell in the hallway? Smells like iodine." "It *is* iodine. That smell comes from under Trent's bed -- I think he left the bottle there from his `orange skin' phase." She'd sketched hair above the faces now, and it was already becoming clear that she was drawing the initial encounter between Daria and Lynn in Ms. Li's office. "I'm not even gonna ask." "It has its advantages, though. We don't have to fumigate Trent's room nearly as often as we used to. When you start smelling moldy food or dead mouse, then let me know. I'll write out one of those blank checks Mom left us to an exterminator or something." "Have you heard anything from your parents recently?" Daria had to ask. "Well, the Hamlets were boring, so they went their separate ways. Mom's doing terracotta pottery in Israel somewhere, and Dad's potholing in South Wales." "This is a weird family," Lynn observed. "I like it." A badly played guitar chord came crashing up from below, accompanied by dim, muffled laughter. "Who is torturing that poor guitar, and can we make them stop?" "That would be Trent or Jesse. They have a band called Mystik Spiral." "Sounds like the name of a band that plays Doors covers at brew pubs." _That's what I said,_ Daria thought. Aloud, she said, "They're thinking of changing it." "To Helpful Corn, Daria. Don't defend my brother just because..." Daria interrupted to confirm something with Lynn. "There's still such a thing as justifiable homicide in this state, right?" "Come on, we'll go tell them to keep the noise down. I want Lynn to meet Trent and the others anyway. And you can visit with Trent; I know he'd *love* to see you..." "One more word and you're toast, I swear. I still have that bridesmaid dress to bury you in." * * * Jane led the way down the stairs to the Lanes' basement, followed by Daria and Lynn. Lynn saw a guy with a shaved head playing drums, but he didn't grab her eyes right away. Between them were three guitars, one presumably a bass, played by: a guy with white patches in his reddish hair, probably left over from some previous bleaching; a muscle-bound figure in leather vest and matching pants (but no shirt); and a vocalist in T-shirt and torn jeans who looked enough like Jane to be (presumably) Trent, who began singing. "o/~ As lashes close/I see my woes/spread out like a carpet of bugs... o/~" "Good lyrics," she whispered to Jane. "Bad instrumental section." "o/~ In absence of light/pass visions of night/and shallow graves left halfway dug... o/~" "This stuff always reminds me of that poetry on my closet wall," Daria had to admit. "You heard `Spite,' right?" Jane confirmed. "`Ow, my nose?' Oh yeah." _And came home with a rash._ She winced at the memory. "o/~ Behind my eyelids/is a world you cannot see/a place that's just for me/behind my eyelids... o/~" A long, rampant, ugly guitar solo commenced then. "Interesting imagery," Lynn confessed. "Good rhythm," she added after a pause. After another, she asked, "Can we pull the amp plugs? The only thing wrong with this song is the music." "o/~ You watch a tear/it trickles clear/and glistens on my skin... o/~" "Ooh. Glistening skin. Kinky." Daria shot her a death glare. "On the drummer, maybe..." Daria relaxed. "o/~ Corn is a grain/it grows on the plain/please, baby, let me in... o/~" "What the hell?" The music came to a screeching halt. "Trent, what the hell...?" the rhythm guitarist asked. "Sorry..." Trent asked lazily, "what?" "Hey, man," the drummer snapped, "you changed that line, remember? `My liquid pain, oh world profane'? We talked about that corn crap. What is it with corn?" "Aside from being a damn cool band, you mean?" Lynn said this loud enough to be heard. The band snickered, but didn't look over. "Hey, Trent," said the rhythm guitarist in half-stoned tones, "remember Alternapalooza?" "Hey, yeah -- Helpful Corn." "We talked about that too, you guys," muttered the blond bass player. "No damn corn. Anywhere. Not in the lyrics. Not in the band name. If we get an album, under no circumstances will we call it Helpful Corn. No corn...anywhere!" "How about corn on a dinner plate?" Lynn just had to know. "Will that make this guy cringe? Corn-o-phobia, anyone?" Trent finally noticed the girls. "Hey Janey. Hey Daria. Hey..." He did a double take. "Hey Jess, what was in that muffin you brought over? I'm seeing double here." "Cool," said the rhythm guitarist as he looked over their way. "Whoa, double Darias!" "Guys," Jane assured them, "whatever drug-induced fantasies you think you're having, you're wrong." "This time, anyway..." Lynn said sidelong to Daria. "The one in purple is Lynn. Meet Trent," she gestured to Trent, who was still blinking at them, "Jesse," the rhythm guitarist, who was collapsed on a chair and giggling, "Nick," the bass player, who grunted a little, "and Max. They are Mystik Spiral." "Hey Lynn," said Max. _Can't speak,_ Lynn found herself thinking. _Must...speak._ Aloud, she said, "Hey." Daria looked over at Lynn, stunned. That sounded familiar. Jane noticed too. "Well, maybe we should leave these boys to their male bonding. You guys playing anytime soon? I'm sure Daria and Lynn would love to watch you guys `perform' sometime..." In eerie unison, Lynn and Daria whispered to each other, "Hand me a guitar string so that I might silence my friend." They raised their eyebrows at each other, surprised. "Yeah," Max allowed as. "Zen. Friday." "We'll pick you up on Friday," Trent suggested. "Sometime after dinner. Not too early. But before seven. Or after." "Um...okay," said the pseudo-twins in unison. "Or better yet..." Max hinted. "Why don't we leave it loose?" Off Trent's comment, Daria and Lynn looked at each other for a moment, then broke into identical little Mona Lisa smiles. AUTHOR'S NOTES Yes, Thorne. In my continuity, Hecuba is her *middle* name. The phrase "Tim the Human Marshmallow" was suggested by comments in Michelle Klein-Haess' "Clothes Make the Manson." In "Ill," Nick has white hair. In "Speedtrapped," his hair is red. I decided to split the difference. The comparison of Upchuck to Mr Nudge occurred to me out of the blue when I was trying to think of a Monty Python quote Lynn (a known Pythoholic, as anyone who's read "Swear to Be Different" and/or "Love Him or Leave Him" should know) could use in this episode. Not only did I fulfill my firm intent to try and include at least one Python ref in every one of these adaptations, but Jan liked them enough to use three of them in the four first-season remasters she's done as of this writing. This could (as she worried) become a feedback loop, or indeed "one of those vicious...*things!*" (Quinn, "Too Cute" if my memory serves, which it usually does) 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.) They are here used, without the permission of their creators or owners, in the not-for-profit context of fan-fiction. The character of Lynn Cullen is copyright 1999 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, but you never know) are either imaginary or else 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, then beaten about the head and shoulders with a free-range carrot. Austin, and good day.