_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Season 2, episode 7: "Misshapen Identity" (Gotta Get Away, part two) prose adaptation by Austin Loomis "I gotta get away from me..." -- The Offspring, "Gotta Get Away" WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE DARIA MORGENDORFFER, America's bitter sweetheart, had her first meeting with FRED and CAROL, the parents of her more-or-less boyfriend, ANDREW PHILIP (A.P.) McINTYRE. It didn't go well from Daria's perspective, because Carol was largely oblivious and Fred was a little bit twitchy -- his chief interest in his son's girlfriend was the hope that she might help make the boy less of a geek. Daria's literary interests were okay, but it would have been more to Fred's taste if she'd gotten A.P. into sports. While she was at A.P.'s, Daria learned of the "Tales from the Subversive Side" writing competition on www.subversion_is_we.co.uk, and the PSYCHO-MAVERICK (to use his nickname) inveigled "ERUDITE EMERALD" into entering. The next day in the LAWNDALE HIGH gym, Daria and her friend JANE LANE (aka ART-SMART SCARLET) learned that LYNN CULLEN, Daria's look-alike (alias the PURPLE PERIL), was also entering the contest, and COACH MORRIS received further confirmation, in the form of a game of floor hockey, that if there's a sport A.P. can do without screwing up, he hasn't found it yet. Daria and Lynn pushed themselves to the brink trying to write their stories -- much to the disgust of JODIE ABIGAIL LANDON, the super- student whom Lynn had helped get over her approval dependency. "It's not about pleasing anyone," Lynn informed the ex-OVERACHIEVER. "And what it *is* about is none of your business." Jane and A.P. finally had to take action when Lynn collapsed in gym class the same day Daria had turned down an opportunity to stay home from school. They took the look-alikes to Casa Lane, served them soda spiked with some of Carol's Valium, and while their friends were dead to the world, emailed the already-essentially-finished stories off to the contest. One week later, the word came in from the contest management that the two entries, "The Overthrow of Pamela Wu" and "The Flack-Jacket Mafia vs. the Nazi Jackboot," were too similar and, as such, were both disqualified. Daria stormed out, and Lynn locked herself in her wardrobe, just as she'd done the last time there was this big a rift in the Jacketeer ranks. ACT 1: PRINCESSES OF THE UNIVERSE "I am immortal, I have inside me blood of kings (yeah!) I have no rival, no man can be my equal Send me to the future of your world..." -- Queen, "Princes of the Universe" (theme from _Highlander_) In a hazy wood, the contenders faced off at opposite ends of a clearing. They both held their swords high. In unison, Daria and Lynn decreed, "There can be only one!" They rushed at each other... ...and in her padded room, Daria sat up with a gasp. Simultaneously, in Lynn's dark and mysterious room, a thump and a groan of despair emanated from within the wardrobe. Lynn stepped up to the bathroom mirror and looked into it. "When I feel bad about myself," she muttered, "stand before the mirror..." "...look myself in the eye," Daria continued, "and say, `You are special...'" "`No one else is like you,'" Lynn finished the mantra from Wimp- in-the-Willows' self-esteem class. In bitter if unknowing unison, they concluded, "What a load of crap." * * * In the daytime, in the halls of Lawndale High, Daria was standing at her locker, wearing the black T-shirt and blue jeans she'd worn for the abortive Alternapalooza trip, and again when they rode with Mystik Spiral to the Horn Dog. Jane approached, seeing her only from behind. After a moment's thought, she sighed and walked over. "Yo." Daria turned around. "Hey." "Do I have to ask...?" She gestured at Daria's clothes. "I thought it was time for a change," Daria confessed somewhat sheepishly. "I..." Lynn appeared from around the corner and stopped short. She was wearing the black jeans and a purple T-shirt *she'd* worn for that second road trip, and the ensemble bore the same resemblance to Daria's as their usual outfits did to each other. They both looked flustered, and Lynn hurried to her locker without a word. "I guess you weren't the only one." "I hate you." Lynn turned away from her locker and spied Brittany Taylor, who was looking in a mirror mounted in her locker and fixing her lipstick. Lynn was dubious, then resigned -- and then she walked over to Ponytail Barbie. * * * At lunchtime in the cafeteria, Daria sat poking at her so-called food, as A.P. and Jane watched her in some concern. "I don't believe this is happening. This *can't* be happening. Practically the same title. Practically the same *content. Exactly* the same subject." She sighed. "Even Quinn's foray into my identity wasn't this bad." "Yeah, well," Jane reflected, "I know you're messed up over this, but remember, she's not very happy about it either." "Yeah," A.P. added, "and anyway, I don't see what *either* of you are getting so upset about. I mean, there are differences between you -- anyone with half a brain can see that." "We're talking about Lawndale High here, A.P.," Daria pointed out. "I know very few people with that much grey matter." Jane suddenly started staring, stunned, at a point behind the other two. "You better *believe* there are differences between you..." She pointed, and Daria and A.P. turned around to see what she was seeing -- Lynn, wearing a cheerleading outfit a size and/or a half too large for her, her hair in ponytails much like Brittany's, standing among a crowd of cheerleaders, who looked ecstatic. Lynn, on the other hand, looked a bit ashamed of herself. "She showed me her moves just a while ago!" Brittany squeaked. "She needs some practice, but she'll fit right in soon! So let's all give a big Lions welcome to Lynn, our *new* cheerleader!" "She's sick, right?" A.P. pleaded. "She's got to be sick..." "Gimme an L!" Brittany commanded. "L!" the Lionesses replied. "Yes, I think `sick' about covers this," Daria confirmed. "Gimme a Y!" "Y!" "Sick of being a look-alike, perhaps?" Jane snarked. "Gimme an N!" "N!" "And she went out for cheerleading?" "Gimme another N!" "N!" "I give her three days, tops. But I have a feeling this is going to get worse before it gets better." "What's that spell?" "LYNN!" "But I guess the fact that *she's* trying to change means that *you* don't have to," Jane concluded. "Lucky for you, huh?" Daria shamefacedly looked at her outfit. "Yeah. Right. Yeah." * * * After school on the streets of Lawndale, Daria was walking with A.P. "I just don't get it," he said. "I mean, she *hates* cheerleaders. She hates everything cheerleading *stands* for -- perkiness, school spirit and team sports!" "I know she does," Daria replied. "So do I. That's why she's doing it." A.P. was confused. "Come again?" "If I didn't know your IQ score," Daria observed sharply, "I'd wonder if you were some kind of idiot savant." "Hey! Come on! I get enough cracks like that from Purple Peril!" Daria sighed. "Look, I hate cheerleading. So does she, but she's desperate enough to set herself apart from me to put that aside for the sake of being different." "Oh." There was a pause while A.P. digested that. "So she'll be too busy being popular and cheerleader-like to talk to any of us anymore if she keeps this up. And she might, the mood she's in." He thought some more, then sighed. "Damn." Daria sighed too. * * * In the hall the next day, Lynn sagged against the lockers and sighed pathetically. Jane approached, looking amused. "Hey. How was the Perky Squad? Did they get to the full-frontal lobotomy part of the initiation yet?" "I quit," the Peril explained. "We had a practice and they wanted me to smile a lot and act vacuous. I told them I don't like to smile unless I have a reason and handed over the pom-poms." "Funny, that's what *Daria* said about smi..." She trailed off, seeing Lynn's brief hurt look. "Oops." Lynn sighed. "I figured that. Well, there are other options." "Where are you going with this?" Lynn just shrugged and walks away. Jane looked after her, hoping this would somehow find a way to end well in spite of itself. * * * Daria, back in her normal outfit, and Jane were turning away from Daria's locker when Lynn passed by in her Halloween costume -- the white peasant blouse, purple half-corset, black skirt, and black velvet cloak with the purple lining. She wore her contacts and a lot of eye makeup; she'd evidently gone Gothick. Daria and Jane each raised eyebrows as she went by. Lynn opened her locker, grabbed a book, and shut it -- revealing the face of LHS' resident Goth, Andrea Thorne: a face that said without words (Black Magic Woman's favorite way *to* say things), "Who do you think *you're* kidding?" Lynn sighed and slumped her shoulders, and Andrea nodded once and walked away. * * * The next day, they were standing by Daria's locker again, waiting to see what Lynn did this time. She wandered by in a tie-dyed T-shirt, bell-bottoms, Birkenstocks and a peace symbol medallion -- *very* much the neo-hippie. She gave Daria and Jane the peace sign as she passed. At her locker, Charles "Upchuck" Ruttheimer approached Lynn, eyebrows raised and sleazy grin already in place. Lynn grabbed Hefner's Folly by the back of the head and slammed his face into the bank of lockers beside her. Then she took her books, shut her locker, and walked past Daria and Jane, at which point she removed the peace medallion, shrugged and handed it to Jane, then moved on. * * * Another day, in Ms. Barch's science class. Lynn sat at her desk in black jeans, a maroon velvet blazer, a blouse and Kickers, her hair up in a French braid. The whole ensemble fairly screamed "teacher's pet." A piece of paper landed on the desk, and she looked at it -- her homework was graded C+. She dropped her head on the desk in despair. * * * The half-pipe was out near Cluster Burger, between the Car Dealership Strip and the Multimovieplex. Lynn, wearing cargo pants, a white long- sleeved T-shirt with a black T-shirt over it, a pair of Adidas, a beanie- type helmet and a fed-up expression, started down the ramp on her much- too-new skateboard. When she hit the top of the other end, she lost the skateboard entirely and slid down to the bottom of the half-pipe on her rear. A.P., who'd seen the whole thing, gave her the traditional slow, sardonic applause of the left-handed golfer. She glared at him until her skateboard finally came down and hit her in the head. * * * In the hall, A.P. was at his locker, stashing books. Not five feet away, the three Js -- the collection of young jocks who used to swarm around a certain Fashion Club then-vice-president like drones around the queen bee -- were standing against the lockers and looking wistfully after the said queen bee, Quinn Morgendorffer, who drifted past on the arm of her new steady squeeze, home-schooled polymath Ted DeWitt-Clinton. "Hey, Quinn," Joey said sadly. "Hey, Quinn," Jeffy added, more hopefully. A door opened and closed on the other side of the hall, and Jamie White (the one everyone had expected Quinn to end up with until the big dance clobbered all our expectations) turned toward the sound as he spoke. "Hi..." His eyes widened. "...ai-yi-*yi*!" The other two turned to look, and their eyes, too, widened. Then they abandoned their post and dashed towards the vision Jamie had seen. "Hi!" Joey led off. "Are you new?" "Can I show you around?" Jeffy added. "Hi, I'm Jamie!" A.P. closed his locker and, with idle curiosity, looked to see where the 3 Js had gone and what new prop they'd found to occupy their time. Then he saw *her.* He went through a number of emotions -- first surprise, then interest, then rue...and then a realization which was closely followed by fear. As he turned and ran away, *she* spoke. "Hi guys!" Elsewhere in the hall, Jane and Daria are leaning against the lockers. Jane was obviously waiting for something. "Wonder what it's going to be this time?" "You're getting some sick, twisted enjoyment out of this whole thing, aren't you?" Daria accused. Jane shrugged. A.P. came running toward them, eyes wide, in a total panic, talking *way* too fast so the whole sentence came out as one long word. "Thisisbadverybadtherarenowordsforhowbadthisis." Jane was confused. "Um...*What's* bad?" A.P. was still in speed-rant mode, but at least he went slow enough to punctuate this time. "Ireallythinkweoughtagosomewherelse. *Anywhere*elsebutschool. Arubamightbenice..." Daria was starting to get impatient. "A.P..." she began, about to add _Am I going to have to *beat* the details out of you?_ He'd calmed down enough now to put spaces between his words. "I *really* don't wanna be here when whatever she pulls goes down. It's not Hilfiger but it's *damn* close!" And he ran off, ducking around a corner. _Hilfiger,_ Jane thought and turned to Daria. "Why does that concept sound familiar?" And Lynn walked past, dressed in a purple baby T-shirt, black bootleg jeans and high heels, and followed by the fawning Js, the figure that (like Daria) she normally hid very much in evidence. She went to her locker and opened it without a word to her usual friends. The Js continued to fluster around her. "Can I carry your books?" "No, let me! I'm stronger!" "I'll carry *you* so your feet don't get tired!" "Tell you what," Lynn perked. "I have two books and a notepad and pen." She produced them, handed one book to Joey, one to Jeffy, and the pad and pen to Jamie. "There! Division of labor so you don't get too tired." "You're so smart! Want to go to Chez Pierre tonight?" "You're so considerate! How about we go to the movies after school?" "You're so *pretty!* I have a BMW!" "The reason it sounds familiar," Daria reminded Jane, "is that she once told us that if she ever went postal, she'd do it wearing Tommy Hilfiger and listening to the Spice Girls." _A body-blow to the "I am a cynical, depressed freak, therefore I listen to Marilyn Manson" stereotype._ A.P. approached cautiously. "I keep waiting for her to break out a semi-automatic weapon." And, just to make the weird situation complete, Sandi Griffin and Tiffany Blum-Deckler, the remaining membership of the Fashion Club, approached. "Um...hi," Sandi led off, just as she'd done when she first met Quinn. "You're cool." "Well, not *nearly* as cool as *you*..." Lynn replied with her best imitation of sincerity. "Well, it'd be hard to be," Janus graciously acknowledged. "Listen, we have an opening for vice-president of the Fashion Club." "Buuuut..." Tiffany rasped, "I thought I was getting promoted..." "Tiffany dear," Sandi managed to mask her scorn for her favorite sycophant, "you're *far* too valuable a coordinating officer to lose to the rigors of the vice-presidency." She turned to Lynn. "Now, after a short initiation period, we might consider allowing that position to be filled by *you.*" With barely stifled sarcasm, the latter noted, "It would be an honor, I'm sure." And she walked away with the remaining complement of Fashion-Victims-R-Us. Daria addressed her next observation to the world in general. "Even when she's trying *not* to be like me, she's like me. Do you have any idea how depressing this is?" She walked away. Jane looked after her sadly. A.P. was confused. "Is it a good thing or a bad thing that I didn't get that?" Jane just shrugged at him. ACT 2: ICH BIN EIN AUSLANDER Lynn approached her locker slowly, flanked by the 3 Js. She reached her locker and turned to them, her face neutral except for her eyes, which were blazing with fury. In deadly, quiet tones, she informed them, "Go...away...or I...will kill you." They took one look at her and decided it would be a good idea to flee from the wrath to come. Lynn opened her locker, then rested a hand on it as she removed one of her shoes and rubbed her aching foot. A.P. wandered over tentatively, still nervous about the whole fashionable thing. "Hey ho...Where's Fashion-Victims-R-Us?" "If there is a God, and if He is in any way just, they are currently being pecked to death by New York City pigeons." "So...not enjoying your dip into the shallow end of the intellectual pool?" "Not as such. I attended a Fashion Club meeting. I wonder if they've ever had an actual thought...and what medication they're taking to stop it from happening again. Those three goofballs keep inviting me on more and more outlandish dates. The damned perky voice even annoys *me,* the contacts burn and these shoes are killing me. I feel like something out of the Ministry of Silly Walks." "Come on, Purple Peril, this is dumb. So was all that other stuff you tried. It's just not *you.* So what's wrong with being like Daria?" "*That's* what's wrong with it!" she snapped. "The fact that even you, who've known me since I was six, think of *me* as being like *Daria* instead of the other way around. I'm three months *older* than her, remember? I came *first!*" She took a deep breath. "Fine, so this fashionable nightmare isn't working out, just like the other stuff didn't work out; I'll just have to try something else." She grabbed some books, slammed her locker shut, put her shoe back on and stalked away. At least, that was the theory. It went fine, too, up until the stalking away part; when she tried to do that, she tripped over her shoes and fell flat on her face, books scattering. A piece of paper fell out of one book and she looked at it. It was a flyer for the Zen. An idea bloomed -- you could see it in the thoughtful look crossing Lynn's face. * * * Lynn, in regulation Purple Peril gear, barged through the door of Axl's Piercing Parlor down on Dega Street, not far from the Zen. A.P. was hot on her heels, pleading with her. "Oh, come on, Purple Peril! This has got to be the dumbest thing you've *ever* done!" "Our sword fight in Oakwood Heights mall?" she countered. "Okay, the *second* dumbest thing..." "And the rubber fish off the roof of the school?" "No, that was *my* idea," he reminded her. "And the watercress lettering reading `I'm out of this hellhole' I planted in the principal's carpet when I finished 10th grade and found out I was moving to Lawndale?" Even he got the point. "Okay, okay, you've done a *lot* of dumb things but they all had some point to them!" "And this doesn't?" Axl himself came out of the back room at that point, looking bemused. "Oi, you two're going to scare off the public." "As far as I can see, we *are* the public. Or I am, at least." "Well, 'allo, darlin'." He scrutinized her. "You look sort of familiar. You came in here with Trent, right? The navel ring?" "I think you're thinking of someone else," she gritted dangerously. "Oh. Sorry. Never mind. Take a look at our piercing menu." "No need. I know exactly what I want done." "Yeah," A.P. mused. "You want to pay some scruffy dreg from Brit-land to stick needles through you." "How much to poke a really big hole through both his lips and put a padlock through?" Axl chuckled. "That's pretty good, luv. Now what can I do for you?" They retired to the back room. A.P. looked undecided, then sighed and settled into a chair. * * * A short while later, he was leafing through _Tattoo World_ magazine, alternately interested and disgusted, when Trent Lane walked in. "Hey, Axl, can you...?" Jane's older brother trailed off as he noticed "the punk," to use his pet name for A.P. "Oh. It's you." He seemed to think about it a moment, then grudgingly offered, "Hey." "Hey ho, Sir Naps-a-Lot," A.P. grumbled. On some level, they still considered each other rivals for Daria's affections, even though she seemed to have made at least a temporary decision. "Did *you* put Purple Peril up to this crap?" "What crap?" "*Ow!*" Lynn shouted from the back. "The needle's still hot!" "Sorry, luv," Axl replied. "It's sterile, at least." (Due to his British accent, he pronounced "sterile" more like "steeroil.") "Good thing I'm not springing for some of your special offers or I'd be sterile too." (She pronounced it American-style, to rhyme with "beryl.") He chuckled. "Right. Now 'old still." Trent raised an eyebrow at A.P. A.P. shook his head. "Watercress nothing -- this *is* the dumbest thing she's ever done." Trent looked quizzically at A.P., who waved a "never mind" at him. * * * Once again, Daria and Jane were leaning against the lockers. Jane was wearing an expectant look and carrying a camera. Daria was reading over some homework. Suddenly she looked up and stared. "I *really* don't think I want to know." Lynn walked past -- at least, it looked like somebody who might once have been Lynn Cullen. She had five earrings in one ear, three in the other, and a hoop through an eyebrow. The glasses were back. She was wearing a leather jacket, her biker leathers, her faithful old boots, and a skinny-fit black-on-grey T-shirt that proclaimed her a PSYCHO-BITCH. The shocker was her hair -- the same style, parted more or less down the middle, but bright purple with white streaks dyed in. Jane stared, then snapped a picture. Lynn noticed the flash, turned to Jane, grabbed the camera off her, removed the film and ground it under the heel of her boot. Then she handed the camera back and walked on, stopping at her locker. "Whoa," Jane blinked. "What rodent crawled up *her* butt and died?" "I'm not taking any blame for this," Daria insisted. "If she wants to change her look, that's her problem." "And I detected no bitterness at *all* in that statement..." Jane snarked. Daria glared at her. A.P. wandered over and looked at Lynn. "You know what the worst part about *that* is?" He punctuated the word "that" by gesturing at Lynn. "I mean, apart from the shark tattoo on her left shoulder blade?" Daria and Jane stared -- thanks to her shirt, they hadn't seen that. "Trent and the rest of Neo-Grunge Earache couldn't be happier about it. And Little Drummer Boy thought the tattoo was hotter than hell itself. Shame she thinks he's a moron." "Sorry -- back up about three steps." "I went with her to get the piercing and tattoo done. Max's septum was swelling and Trent and the rest of the band dragged him kicking and screaming to Axl's for advice. He's fine. As to the other thing, she e-mailed me after your trip through the pits of Carter County." "That would explain a lot," Daria allowed as. "And, since the band was so conveniently placed after the body art debacle, she told them she'd consent to being their singer." The three went quiet and contemplative for a moment. "Well, it could be worse!" Jane braced. "How so?" Daria wondered. "Um...can I get back to you on that?" * * * Daria was putting books into her locker. Her face showed her feelings -- slightly worried and guilty -- but Andrea approached her from behind, so she couldn't see that. Black Magic Woman just stood there silently, looking at Daria for a moment. Then she spoke. "She's dressing different." Daria wheeled, startled. "Huh? What?" Then she saw Andrea and her heart got under control. Then she checked short-term memory for the question. "Who?" "Her." She gestured to Lynn at her own locker. Daria tried to mask her guilt, and hoped she did better at it than she felt like she had. "Yeah. Yeah, she is." "Why?" A sigh. "To differentiate herself from me." "That's no kind of reason." "Excuse me?" A pause. Daria was reminded of the _Rolling Stone_ interview with Warren Beatty, where the star (at the time) of _Dick Tracy_ had Paused so much that the interviewer wound up deciding to time his Pauses with a stopwatch. Now it was Andrea's turn to sigh. "You're different people. You're smarter and more in control. She's braver and more vicious. And it shows." "Yes...I guess it does." "So why bother?" "Because she's stupid," Daria mused. "Because we're both stupid." Andrea considered Daria for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction -- as who should say _My work here is done_ -- and left. Daria looked after her for a moment, thinking. * * * Daria was lying on Jane's bed in the "something eating at my soul" pose. Jane sat next to her on the bed, watching her and having just heard her account of the encounter. "Whoa. So you decided that having a look- alike isn't so bad after all?" "Sort of. Maybe more like, I decided that looks aren't everything." She sighed. "I've believed that all my life, but when it comes to living up to it, I just plain suck." "Well, I've said it before, and I'll say it again -- you don't have to be a martyr to principle. I mean, you actually showed emotion -- fine, it was face-simmering embarrassment bordering on dim rage, but hey, it's a start and it's not a bad thing." "Jane...she can't help what she looks like -- or what her personality's like -- any more than I can. I've been blaming her unfairly for something she can't change -- not to mention forgetting that she must feel about the same way." She took a breath. "So now I find myself faced with a quandary. I want to do something that will show her that I'm not holding this against her anymore. But I'm completely stuck for ideas." "Well, maybe you could show it by doing something that Lynn might do. Failing that, take revenge on Sandi for what she did to Lynn's car." Daria thought about that for a moment...and then she gave a *completely* evil Mona Lisa smirk. "I think I know just the thing." She got up. "Thanks, Jane." And she made her exit. Jane stared a moment, then called after her, "Just don't get yourself arrested!" Under her breath, she worried, "When am I gonna learn to keep my big mouth shut?" ACT 3: SPICE UP YOUR LIFE Daria had never set foot in Junior Five, the teen clothing store that had gotten much of the Fashion Club's business when there was one (even more than Cashman's, sometimes), but desperate plans did indeed call for desperate measures. She approached Theresa, the salesclerk Quinn had mentioned once or twice. Theresa looked at her new customer in shock. This must be that girl who lived with Quinn, the one she'd heard about from the Fashion Club. In almost desperate tones, she asked, "Can I help you? *Please* let me help you," she added, unable to stop the impulse. "Well," Daria allowed as," I guess I *could* use some advice..." "*Great!* Now, when did you first suspect that your outfit sucked?" "Um...no, I don't think you understand. I..." "Okay, when did your `*friend*' first suspect that your outfit sucked?" _The next time somebody tells me history never repeats, I'm going to knock their block off._ "Look...I'm looking for the most God-awful clothing combination imaginable." Theresa eye'd Daria critically. "Yes, I can see that." Daria took a moment to glare at her before getting back down to business. * * * In her room, Lynn had braided the front part of her hair and was in the process of weaving small pointed steel weights onto the ends by thin silver wire that wound three-quarters of the way up each braid. The window opened and A.P. crawled in through it. He sat on the windowsill and watched Lynn for a moment before speaking. "I'm no expert, but something tells me that turning your hair into a lethal weapon means you're pissed, right?" "Haven't touched a drop," she replied. "Pissed *off,* then. God, Purple Peril, don't go British on me -- you're mad as hell." "And I'm not gonna take it anymore?" She chuckled hollowly. "No, I'm okay." He got off the windowsill and moved to the desk, where he spotted an open notebook. He sat down in the desk chair and began thumbing through the notebook. "And lyrics depicting ultra-violence, carnage and suicidal tendencies is you being okay? I'd hate to see what you write when you're *really* angry." "Get out of there, you." He found something particularly disturbing and winced. "Ouch, this is harsh. *Please* tell me you're not planning on *doing* any of this stuff." "Kings used to execute people who spied on their artists, you know. It's a trend that could use reviving, in my opinion." "Geez, Purple Peril, I haven't seen you this pissed since your mom got you that New Kids on the Block tape for Christmas." "One more word about this and I go postal." He'd seen her in the fashion-victim threads too recently *not* to get nervous at that offer. "Ooo-kay...So we won't talk about this." There was a pause. After a while, Lynn got annoyed. "Did you want something?" "Yeah. Um...you know that thing? Like, rehashing cool moments from the past? Kind of like a personal greatest hits album?" "Reminiscing?" "That's the one! I wanted to reminisce. I figured you'd have all the souvenirs and stuff from Oakwood, so..." She looked at him with no facial expression of any kind. He looked back with an expression that read _Work with me here! I'm trying to help!_ She sighed and headed toward her wardrobe. * * * Daria surveyed the two items laid out on her bed, the essential tools of her revenge plan. One was the bag from Junior Five. The other was a box labelled _The Essential Lock-Breaker Kit_. Attached to the latter was a tag that said, _The gift that keeps on giving -- happy birthday -- Lynn._ Daria smirked her most evil Mona Lisa smirk. * * * Lynn and A.P. were seated on the bed, a Doc Marten box between them. Lynn held a picture of the two of them at age 7, dancing on a teacher's desk in full Blues Brothers regalia. A.P. chuckled. "Who took this, anyway?" "Adriana Falconridge. Biggest shutterbug in the 2nd grade. Or in the known universe. You don't want to know what I had to do to get this picture off her." "Whose idea was it to pull a Blues Brothers on Mrs. Randall's desk, anyway?" "Mine. *You* wanted to re-enact the scene where Jake and Elwood drive their car through the shopping mall." "Oh yeah. But hey, this worked just as well. I thought Mrs. Randall was going to go apoplectic when you said," he mimicked her best deadpan, much more poorly than she'd imitated him while telling the girls about their hockey days, "`But we're on a mission from God...' while being dragged along the hallway by your ear!" Lynn grimaced. "And hasn't *that* happened too often in my life..." _At least when Cyclops did it, you had a better response ready._ "Seriously, though -- you've got this thing. I mean, Erudite Emerald would never...aw, hell, ran out of words again..." "Stoop to that level of depravity?" "That's bad, right?" She nodded. "Then no. I mean cut loose. Be funny. Make some noise. Do something silly just for the hell of it." That set him to musing. "Maybe it's not what you look like or having the words. Maybe it's just what you do with them..." Lynn stared at A.P. That was a *very* deep thought for a Psycho- Maverick. He didn't even notice -- he was rooting in the shoebox again. He came up with a rubber fish and grinned. "Hey!" She sighed and favored him with a Mona Lisa smile. * * * "Calling to the world, spice up your life! Every boy and every girl, spice up your life!" The girls' locker room seemed empty, but Daria could hear the sound of a running shower and Sandi butchering the Spice Girls' last big hit as a quintet (if the notion of "butchering a Spice Girls song" isn't redundant). Erudite Emerald walked in casually with the Junior Five bag and sneaked over to where a pile of gym clothes rested on a bench. She looked at the lockers dubiously, trying to figure out which one belonged to her target. "Sandi's is number eighty-seven," came a rasp from behind her. Daria wheeled. Tiffany was standing there, looking at her with her usual blank you-made-me-lose-my-place expression. All of a sudden, it morphed into a sly little smile. "Are you, like, gonna get her really, really badly?" Daria debated whether to consort with the enemy before deciding that "Igor" (as Lynn called her) wasn't quite evil, just a good girl who'd gotten a bad start. "Um...yes." "Good. I didn't like what she did to that other girl's car. That was *so* wrong..." And she left without another word. Daria stared after her for a moment, then got back to work, removing a stethoscope from the Junior Five bag, pressing it against the combination lock to listen for telltale clicks as she turned the dial. * * * Jane shut her locker, turned her head...and smiled with some relief. Lynn was standing at her own locker and, while the hair was still purple and white, and woven now with wire and weights, she'd reverted to wearing her field jacket outfit. Jane decided it was safe to approach her. "Yo! Like the outfit. It's *you.*" Lynn didn't look away from her locker. "Yeah. It is, isn't it." Jane looked uncertainly at Lynn for a moment, then shrugged and went back to her own locker. * * * Sandi, wrapped in a towel, went over to her locker. Her gym clothes didn't seem to be on the bench. She must have forgotten she'd put them away, or Tiffany must have taken care of it for her. She dropped her towel (like I kept telling you during "No Nudes is Good Nudes," this isn't that kind of a story), opened her locker...and stared in, appalled. "Oh, my *God*..." * * * Later, by her locker, Jane was chatting to A.P. "Are *you* responsible for Lynn's sudden change of heart? If you are, I have got to commend you." He had the good grace to blush. "Well...you'd have done the same." "No," she confessed ruefully, "all *I* did was ensure possible mayhem at the hands of one Daria Morgendorffer. God, I hope there are no casualties involved." "Come again?" She looked past him. "In a minute -- I want to watch this." He turned to follow her gaze, and they watched Daria approach Lynn. Erudite Emerald's eyes widened when she took in the outfit...then she decided to take it as the peace offering it was and walked over to her look-alike. In slightly humble tones, she said, "Hey." Equally humbly, Lynn echoed, "Hey." There was a moment of forgiving silence, then Daria turned sly. "Could I get your opinion on a...project I've just finished?" Lynn seemed confused, but answered, "Okay...shoot." Daria's only reply was to reach into the Junior Five bag she was carrying, pulling out a very familiar turquoise T-shirt with one horizontal maroon stripe. Then Sandi, the rightful owner of that shirt, walked past with Tiffany, and Daria hastily stuffed it back in the bag. Janus was wearing a yellow and black striped knit sweater, powder-pink stretch pants with large orange flowers on them, mint green slouch socks and turquoise high-top sneakers. "I don't believe someone did that to you," Tiffany rasped. "That is *so* wrong..." "What's *worse*," Sandi gritched, "is that the stupid *principal* won't even let me go home to change. I don't *believe* he's making me look like such a...a...fashion *don't* for the whole rest of the day. Well, at least until lunch. If I drive *really* fast, I can just get home, get changed and get back in time for class." "Buuuut..." "You just cover for me." "Um...yeeeaaaahhh." They proceeded out of earshot. Lynn stared at Daria. Then Daria reached into her pocket and produced an empty sugar bag. "That car's going nowhere. She has to walk home like that." For a moment, Lynn stared at Daria in total amazement. Then she burst out laughing. Jane and A.P. walked over. "Did you do what I think you did?" A.P. asked. "Uh-huh." Lynn was still chuckling slightly. "Couldn't have done it better myself. If I only had a camera..." "Well, I'm *so* thrilled at not having to stand up for Daria in court..." Jane pulled out her camera and handed it to Lynn. "Go knock yourself out." Lynn took the camera with a smirk. "I'll have to do a bit of covert surveillance later on." "So..." Daria wondered, "are you still going to be lead singer for Mystik Spiral in the face of all this?" "Well, I kind of promised them I would." She paused, then went on, shyly, "And anyway, I think it might be..." "Fun?" A.P. suggested. "I wouldn't go *that* far." "So..." Jane mused, "Lynn dyes her hair back to normal and the Olsen Twins are reborn?" Daria and Lynn looked at each other, shared a brief smirk, and in unison, with no real malice, replied, "Go to hell, Lane." ADAPTOR'S NOTES Ironically enough, given my gritching about the montages last time, this time it was the opening dream sequence and intercutting that did my head in. I guess I'm just prone to writer's (well, adaptor's) block, and to making excuses for it. (Jan promised that "The Parent Crap" would have no filmic devices that would give me trouble turning them into prose, but I'm sure my balky subconscious will find *some* excuse to slow me down.) I hate it when writers represent characters talking too fast by taking the spaces out from between the words in their dialogue. I've stopped speaking to Mark Latus (one of my favorite Sailor Moon ficters) because he keeps doing it in his fics. So what do I do when a Daria fic gives me a choice of runningthewordstogether or not? Hypocrisy is, as Lynn observed last time, a wonderful thing. In "A Tree Grows in Lawndale," we find out that Theresa is in Junior Five, not Cashman's as we've all thought. Oh well, at least we can be pretty sure it's in Cranberry Commons. If any of the first-rank illustrators (Liliane Grenier, SBBED.D and others whose artistic style is reasonably close to MTV's house style) would like to draw Sandi in the outfit Daria picked out for her, I'd be more than happy, as my imagination seems to be balking at the concept. Obligatory legal blap: Daria Morgendorffer was created (as were the rest of the Lawndale characters) by Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis Lynn, and she and her neighbors are copyright 1993, 1997, 2000 MTV Networks, a Viacom company. (As Michelle Klein-Haess has pointed out, work-for-hire sucks the yolks from ostrich eggs.) Monty Python quotes and characters are copright 1970, 2000 Python (Monty) Pictures Ltd. Lyrics from "Spice Up Your Life" are copyright 1997, 2000 Star Factory Inc., a division of Nybbas Media Productions, 1 Nybbas Tower, Perdition. (Okay, that's not whom they're *really* copyright to, but we all know the Demon Prince of the Media must be getting his cut.) 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.