_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Season 2, episode 11: "Relation-slips" (Chaos Theory and Practice, I) prose adaptation by Austin Loomis ACT 1: ALICE, WHAT'S THE MATTER? In her padded room, Daria Morgendorffer was lying on her bed, staring at a fascinating crack in the ceiling, when inspiration struck. She suddenly sat up, with a look on her face that would have clearly said "Eureka!" had anyone been physically present to see it. She moved to her computer and began to type. Just down the street, in her own room, her friend Jane Lane was sketching something, looking really absorbed. Down in the basement of Casa Lane, her brother's band, Mystik Spiral, was practicing. After a moment, lead singer Lynn Cullen stopped, waved at the others to do the same, ran a hand through her hair in a frustrated gesture and then started screaming at Nick Campbell. If I printed even half of what she had to say, it'd strain Outpost Daria's PG-13 rating worse than even a sbbeD.D fic. Max Tyler smirked, and Lynn turned on Little Drummer Boy as well. Trent Lane and Jesse Moreno raised eyebrows at each other. Daria kept typing. Jake Morgendorffer poked his head around the door, smiling. Daria didn't look up, just waved away the only father she'd ever known. Jake looked a bit hurt, but went. Daria, undistracted now and then, kept typing. Jane stepped back from carving a mid-sized block of wood into an interesting shape to look at it, vaguely unsatisfied. Lynn stood in front of her bandmates with a pointer in her hand, pointing out chord changes on a large pad of paper propped up on an easel beside her. She looked exceptionally pissed off at having to walk them through it like this. Nick looked equally peeved, understandably so, since the whole thing was for his benefit. Trent gave Lynn a wry grin. She rolled her eyes. Daria kept typing. The phone rang. She didn't move to pick it up. It kept ringing. Finally, she turned the music up. In his room, Andrew Philip McIntyre put down the phone, chewing his lower lip. In the Lawndale High art room, Claire Defoe looked proudly and pleasedly at Jane, who was now stripping a very large log of its bark. A flock of students poured out of a classroom. Jane followed after a moment, looking morose and pained. In her hands she was clutching a paper -- a math test, with a slightly overlarge red F in the top right hand corner. * * * After school, Jane sat across from A.P. in the gang's usual booth at Pizza King, playing with her pizza more than eating it. A.P. was eating, but his normally mischievous face showed a flicker of sympathy for her account. "Ouch." "No kidding," she replied. "This does NOT bode well for my C average. I just don't get this trig stuff. And I've been working on this art project -- guess I got too involved. I'd normally ask Daria for help but..." "Where have the Bobbsey Twins been hiding lately, anyway? I mean, outside of school, I haven't seen them in days!" "Well, I think Lynn's holed up in the basement with Mystik Spiral, drilling Jesse on A-diminished chording. They've got a gig at the Zen this weekend." "And...Erudite Emerald?" "Being held hostage by her muse." She sighed. "I sure hope whatever she's working on is pretty short. If I don't get a really good grade on the make-up, it's remedial for me." "Well, *I* could tutor you, if you wanted." Jane was dubious. "You any good?" "Sure! A.P. stands for Advanced Placement too, you know!" Jane raised an eyebrow, to which A.P. shrugged and grinned. "Well, I suppose my grade can't get any worse..." * * * Daria was at her desk, tapping away at her keyboard. The phone began to ring. and it took her a full seven seconds to notice and pick up. "Hello?" "It *lives*!*" said a familiar voice. Daria sighed and gave a reluctant Mona Lisa smile. "Hey, A.P." "Hey ho, Erudite Emerald! The muse still got a gun to your head?" "If you mean, am I still writing, then yes." He sounded disappointed. "Ah." Then he turned hopeful. "Well, care to take a break? Your presence is requested at the Zen tonight. Purple Peril's got a smoking set planned!" "No, thanks. I want to get this idea set in type before it gets away." That disheartened him all over again. "Oh...okay. But it's not going to be the same without you." "Another time, okay?" "Like I haven't heard *that* before..." he muttered. "Excuse me?" A sigh. "Nothing. Catch you later, Erudite Emerald." He hung up a little abruptly. Daria looked at the phone in bemusement for a moment, then hung up and went back to her typing. * * * Daria and Jane were walking down the streets of Lawndale to school. Jane looked annoyed at her friend, who was ignoring her in favor of a large stack of papers. "So I did mention that I flunked my last math test, right?" "Mmm," Daria replied. "So nice to see you concerned," Jane replied drily. "But don't worry -- I found myself a tutor." "Mmm." "You missed a great night at the Zen Saturday. Lynn went into Symposium mode and got crowd-surfed clear across the dance floor." "Mmm." "A.P. was pretty down. He hasn't seen you in awhile and I think it's getting to him." "Oh, hell..." Jane was relieved to get some acknowldegement. "*Finally*..." "...I'm going to have to rewrite this whole three pages." Jane sighed and gave up, walking in silence alongside her uncommunicative friend. * * * Later, in the cafeteria, A.P. and Jane were sitting side by side, watching Daria as she pored over her papers, occasionally crossing things out or making notes in the margins. Lynn walked over with a tray of food and sat next to Daria, wincing as she eased into a seat. "Someone tell me why I thought crowd-surfing was a good idea. Even my bruises have bruises." "Oh, come off it, Purple Peril," A.P. grinned; "you loved every minute of it!" Lynn sighed, conceding the Psycho-Maverick's point. "Maybe so, but now I'm paying for it a hundred fold." She turned to her look- alike. "So where were you, Daria?" Wherever she might have been on the night, and wherever her body might be right now, Daria was currently miles away. "Mmm." Lynn nodded as grokking began to be. "Oh. Right. Never mind." Jane and A.P. looked at her curiously. "And this doesn't phase you at all," Jane semi-boggled. "Been there, done that. Her muse has got her in its thrall. Nothing short of the story's end, cataclysmic writer's block or a nuclear warhead will shake her from this now. It's a writer thing." She turned to A.P. "You remember." He thought a moment. "Oh, yeah, like the writing comp. Or that time you were working on _Sunset Blade_." Lynn turned to Jane and explained. "This idea got me and wouldn't let go. First I inveigled A.P. to challenge me to a sword fight in Oakwood Heights mall -- we were banned for life; no great loss. With that information, I started to write. I stayed awake for three straight days and didn't say a word to anyone the whole time." A.P. carried the tale to its conclusion. "Then she came to my house jittering with caffeine overdose, handed me what she'd written, took two of my mother's Valium, passed out and wouldn't wake up for..." A pause to do some calculations in his head. "...thirty-two hours." Jane raised an eyebrow. "And your mother didn't notice this because..." "In London on business that week," Lynn clarified. Jane shrugged. "Should have guessed. How'd the story come out?" "It was pretty damn cool!" A.P. exclaimed. Lynn shrugged modestly. "For a short story written by a twelve- year-old." Jane looked at Lynn strangely for a moment. Lynn met the look unflinchingly. Then an idea occurred to Jane and she looked at Daria. "Daria?" She paused for a reply, but got none. "Daria." Still no reply. "*Daria!*" Daria seemed slightly startled. "What?" "What're you writing?" "Novel." She went back to her papers without another word. Jane, Lynn and A.P. shared what I can only describe as a Look. ACT 2: THE CHEMICALS BETWEEN US "So that's how that's done," A.P. wrapped up. "Pretty simple, really." Jane raised an eyebrow. "He says from the depths of his geeky, number-cruncher's mind." They surfaced together from the textbook they were hunched over and looked around her room to reorient themselves. "Thanks for the tips, though. This'll get me at least a B on the make- up." "Hey, no problem, Art-Smart Scarlet! I mean," he muttered, dejected, "it's not like you're cutting into any quality date time or anything." "Don't worry," Jane assured him bracingly. "Daria's muse will desert her in a few days, guaranteed." He got a hopeful look in his eyes. "You think?" "I *know,*" she assured him wisely. "Take it from an artist who's been there. Muses and flashes of inspiration are *very* fickle. Believe me, before too long, Daria will hit the block to end all blocks. She'll be so desperate to get away from the accusing stare of the blank page that you'll get sick of seeing her." "Well..." Lynn popped her head into the room and knocked on the doorframe. "Room for one more outcast?" "Always, Purple Peril! But...why aren't you and the rest of Neo-Grunge Earache peeling paint off the basement walls?" "It is to laugh," she observed drily. "The whole band has gone into one of its periodic catatonic states. I don't expect them to be useful for anything but doorstops for the next few days." "Lynn, back me up here," Jane wondered; "Daria's little muse attack won't last too long, right?" "No way. Longest muse attack I ever had was four days." She took a moment to think. "Except for that *one* time..." "What?" A.P. wondered. Then he remembered and winced. "Oh, *that.* That wasn't an attack, Purple Peril; that was a damn siege." Jane was starting to get bemused and a little worried. "Whoa whoa whoa. Explain." "When I started my first novel," Lynn explained, "the initial flash of inspiration lasted three weeks, with fallout spanning the next two months or so." "When she spoke," A.P. snarked, "it was about the novel. When she read, it was drafts of the novel. When she left the house, it was to people-watch for characters for the novel. For two weeks, the only thing I heard her say was `Mmm.'" He turned to Lynn. "I wanted to shove the fourth draft down your throat, Purple Peril." "So in other words," Jane summed up morbidly, "you acted just like Daria's acting now." "No way," A.P. insisted; "Erudite Emerald's *much* worse. I..." He realized what he'd just said. "Oh." There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. "Well, at least Lynn's got a few days off." "Cold comfort, Art-Smart Scarlet." That could probably have come out less morosely -- say, if it had been an announcement of global thermonuclear war. "Gee, thanks," Lynn snarked. "I know what'll cheer you up. Movie of the week at the dollar theatre is _The House on Haunted Hill_. Let's all go watch some gratuitous special effects and then eat pizza until we feel like barfing." A.P. grinned. "You always know *just* what to say, Purple Peril!" * * * At Pizza King after the show, Jane stared at A.P.'s pizza in something like horror. "Gee, Lynn, I didn't think you meant the `feel like barfing' thing *literally*..." "Hey," the Peril replied, "I'm hardened to this by now." _If you think *that's* bad, remind me never to show you the Whizzo Chocolates sketch._ A.P. seemed hurt. "What's so barf-making about this, I'd like to know?" Jane tried to decide where to start. "Tuna, onions, capers, artichoke hearts, cayenne peppers and...is that *shrimp?*" "Hey, I like seafood!" He thought of something. "Oh, and extra garlic!" Jane made a yuck-face. Lynn shrugged. * * * A rapid tappita tappita tappita. Daria suddenly stopped typing and stared at the computer. She stared at the keyboard. Then she groaned, pressed her hands to the base of her spine, and stretched backwards with a series of crackles and crunches that would have made anyone who heard them wince. Then she looked at the phone, picked it up and dialed. After two rings, a familiar voice sounded in her ear. "Hey ho, caller! This is A.P. and you've reached my secret lab. I'm busy right now -- it'd be dangerous for you to know what I'm up to -- so leave a message and I'll get back to you if I survive this latest experiment." There was a beep. Daria hung up and dialed again. After three rings, she heard: "Hello; you have reached Lynn Cullen's private line. I must at least be able to tolerate you if I gave you this number, so if you leave a message I'll probably get back to you...unless you've done something horribly, horribly wrong. Wait three days and you'll get a return call or merciless revenge. Thank you." Beep. Daria raised an eyebrow, hung up again, and looked at the phone for a moment. "Probably at Jane's." She picked up and dialed a third time. Part of the advantage I, as an omniscient and occasionally smug narrator, have over Daria (who, despite being our star, is still only a character) is that I can show you what was going on at Casa Lane. In Trent's room, the duck-phone was quacking, but Trent, sprawled face- down on his bed in his favorite sleep posture, didn't stir or even hear it. Jane's room was empty. Well, not completely -- there was a half- finished painting on an easel in the corner, and a textbook and 3-ring binder lying open on her bed -- but empty of people, anyway. Daria, of course, knew nothing of this. She merely hung up the phone in irritation after enough rings. "Where *is* everybody?" Her brow furrowed for a moment as she thought, and then the realization struck. * * * A.P. was looking slightly sick. Jane and Lynn were smirking at him. "Ooh..." he groaned, "maybe eating two of those pizzas wasn't such a good idea after all..." "To me," Jane replied, "eating even *one* of those pizzas isn't such a good idea." "Oh, come on, like ham and pineapple is any better." "Hey, the Hawaiian pizza is an institution! That...*thing* you just ate two of is...is...well, gross!" "Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it!" "The smell alone nearly knocked me over!" "Guys," Lynn interjected, "you do realize that only people in the `old married couple' stage of dating argue over pizza toppings this way." Jane and A.P. looked at each other, then at Lynn. Then, in unison, they picked up a few stray crusts and threw them at her. Lynn used a pizza plate as a shield and started throwing them back. All three were at least chuckling. Daria watched her friends, feeling sad and left out. She sighed, slumped her shoulders and walked away without them even having noticed her presence. * * * At school the next day, Jane, A.P. and Lynn were converged around Lynn's locker when Daria approached hesitantly. A.P., for some reason, looked groggy and worn. Lynn was struggling to open her thermos. "Eick," A.P. philosophized. "So weird pizza toppings really *do* give you nightmares," Jane mused. "Go figure." "Listen," Lynn said to the thermos, "I don't like you, and you don't like me. But just let me get you open so we can get at the coffee and *forget* this unpleasant episode." Daria decided now was as good a time as any to approach and state her greeting. "Um...hey." "Yo." "Meef." "I'll break out the sledgehammer." After that, the thermos opened easily. "Thank you." Lynn turned to her look-alike. "Hi, Daria. How goes the pursuit of the perfect story?" "Um...not bad. I..." "Is there coffee?" A.P. half-grogged. "*Please* let there be coffee." "I warn you now," Lynn replied as she poured coffee into the cup lid and handed it to A.P., "it's that Turkish stuff, so I wouldn't take more than a gulp if I were you." He ignored the lid and grabbed for the thermos itself, taking a long drink. He then shuddered and clutched his stomach. "Ow, that burns..." "It goes down a bit harsh, but at least you'll be awake. For the next few days, given how much of it you drank -- I *told* you..." "Can you described the green monster with all the eyes again?" Jane wondered, aesthetics overcoming revulsion. "I really want to paint that." Daria sighed, "Never mind," and walked off sadly while the three were occupied. A moment later, a moment too late, Jane turned around. "So how *was* the writing..." She was puzzled to realize her friend had gotten away. "Daria?" "She was there a minute ago," Lynn shrugged, then turnedto A.P. "Did you see which way she went?" "Hng..." he replied queasily. * * * Daria rang Casa Lane's doorbell, then settled in to wait. There was no answer. She thought about it a moment, then tried the doorknob. Still no dice. Daria thought about this for a moment longer, then rang the bell again. After a long moment, just when Daria was about to turn away, the door opened and Trent's sleep-tousled head poked out. "Hey, Daria," he rasped. "Hey, Trent," she replied. "Um...is Jane around?" "Uh...no. She and Lynn and the...A.P.," she liked how, at the last moment, he'd managed not to call A.P. "the punk" as he usually did, "stayed after school to help her with an art project." He considered a moment. "You can come in and wait, if you want." "Um...okay." They wound up sitting at opposite ends of the living room sofa, looking as distinctly uncomfortable as they felt. _I can't still feel like this,_ Daria thought to herself. _I mean, I have a boyfriend and that's it._ _Gotta say something, man,_ Trent told himself. _It'll be fine. She just..._ He thought about it. _...has that little red-headed punk as a boyfriend now. And you've screwed up so badly she'll never want to go out with you. *No* problem._ _I mean, I like A.P. and everything. We're getting along...well, maybe we're *not* getting along as such but...Trent isn't my type, I *decided* that...Oh hell._ _This is getting *really* uncomfortable -- I guess she's waiting for me to say something. Come *on,* Trent, get with it!_ They spoke at the same time: "Could I get a...?" "Did you want a...?" They looked at each other sheepishly and chuckled a little. "Sorry," Trent half-smiled. "You go on." "I just...wondered if I could get a soda." "Yeah, sure; stay put." "No, it's okay, I know where..." "You're a guest, Daria, I..." They got up at the same time and bashed into each other. Trent grabbed Daria's arms to keep her from falling. "Sorry, Daria. You okay?" "Yeah. Thanks for catching me." They stood like that for a moment, just looking at each other. The old sparks flew for a moment, like they'd never gone away. And then a door slammed and, before Trent could even think of letting go, Janey, Lynn and A.P. struggled into the room under a weight of elaborate silver- sprayed wooden sculpture. The new arrivals caught sight of Daria and Trent, and all five of them were frozen in tableau for a moment. Then A.P. dropped his end of the sculpture (which landed on Lynn's foot, at which she screamed) and ran out of the house. There was another moment's pause as Daria disengaged from Trent. Then Lynn glared at the both of them and gestured towards the door. Daria moved to follow A.P. out, but was blocked at the door by Lynn's outstretched arm. In a quiet, serious, deadly way, the Purple Peril informed her look-alike, "If you hurt him more than necessary, I will make your life hell." Daria stared at Lynn, hoping her remorse and fear weren't as evident on her face as they probably were. Lynn lowered her arm, and Daria hurriedly made her exit. Then Lynn joined Jane in staring at Trent for a tense moment. All he could think of to say was "Um...it wasn't what it looked like?" This was greeted by a frosty pause. Jane could hardly believe her ears. "You pick *now* to make a decent move?" "I've said it before," Lynn joined the chorus, "and I'll say it again. You are *such* a twit." They exited, leaving the sculpture where it lay. Trent sighed remorsefully, but not without a slight trace of hope. ACT 3: LAST DANCE WITH MARY JANE Daria entered A.P.'s room -- which was, to all appearances, empty -- paused a moment, then moved to the closet door and hammered on it. "Not hungry," said a familiar voice from behind the door. "Good," she replied. "You shouldn't talk with your mouth full anyway." "What's to say? You painted a picture worth three thousand words back there." "Look...Will you come out of there? I don't like talking to inanimate objects." "Ponytail Barbie and Lobotomy Ken have gotten a few words out of you." "I didn't say I *couldn't* -- just that I didn't *like* to." The door opened and A.P. poked his head out. "You still like him, don't you," he said, slightly sad. "After everything, you *still* like him." "Yes and no. He has some bad traits, but he has some good ones too. I'd liked him for years before I even *met* you, A.P. I made a rational decision to let it go but..." She sighed. "Oh, you wouldn't understand." "How...sometimes...you care too much to...let go of someone?" he replied slowly. "You might be surprised." By virtue of not believing him, she managed to sound casual about whatever he was saying. "So you have an unrequited admiration for someone else too, is that it?" It sounded like it was causing him physical pain to say this. "Like I said...you'd be surprised." Daria looked at him closely for a moment, then realization struck her, probably crossing her face on the way into her brain. "Not..." He nodded slowly. * * * Lynn was lying on Jane's bed in what they had come to call the "something eating at my soul" pose. Jane was trying to paint but kept looking at Lynn, as if her very thoughts were audible and distracting. "You were really angry back there," she said at length. "I know," Lynn replied. "Gonna tell me why?" "No." "Okay...eat your own liver in peace, then." "Got any fava beans? Or chianti?" She accompanied the Hannibal Lecter reference with a weak smirk. "Ouch. Bad joke." A moment of tense silence. "So...you and A.P. must be pretty close for you to get that mad." "You could say that. We have...a lot of history." "You mean like sword fights and floor hockey?" "That too. He was great company when Mom started travelling full time...and when Dad stopped writing. A.P. kept me busy enough not to think about...well, my family." "So...you owe it to him to be protective?" "You could say that. He kept me from...doing an ill-advised thing once. Anyway, of course I'm protective. He's my best friend." "*Just* a friend?" Jane wondered shrewdly. "Just my *best* friend. And the only person who's been there for me for any long span of time. When there's that kind of weight on a friendship, it's easy to delude yourself into reading more into what you feel than you should." "But...correct me if I'm wrong here, but you guys went out." "It was a hoax. Mom told me to `stop hanging around with that red-headed freak and do something normal'. I was thirteen and starting to date at that point seemed kind of normal, so I claimed we were dating. A.P. went along with it -- mainly, I think, because pissing off my mother was one of his favorite hobbies at one stage. But he liked his computer more than he ever liked me." "But you might..." "There is no `might'. He's my best friend and, if I have anything to do with it, he'll *stay* my best friend. And I don't want to see him hurt. End of statement." Tense silence again. Jane stared at Lynn, who looked back with a walled-off expression. "Ooo-kay..." she said at length. "I'm gonna take off. There's an unfinished English essay kind of nagging at my nearly-non-existent conscience." Jane raised an eyebrow, but stifled any vocal expression of her disbelief. "Right. See ya." Lynn exited. Jane thought a moment, then started sketching. _Cleopatra Lynn -- Queen of Denial._ * * * Daria and A.P. were sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing each other. "So you've liked Lynn almost since you met her." "Yep," he replied. "But she never gave you any encouraging signs." "Nope." "Not even when she told you that you had to start dating." "*Pretending* to date. It hit too close to home. I got into computers as completely as I did because it was the only way to hide the fact that I wasn't pretending." "Then she moved and you could relax." "But I missed her and the whole thing sucked." "Then *you* moved...but you decided to go out with *me* instead of trying to ask *her.*" "She'd made her feelings clear. And you...well..." He sighed. "*Damn,* I wish I had better words. I like you, anyway." "But you never let her go." "Just like you never let Sir Naps-a-Lot go." "Touche." She considered a moment. "So if we break up over this..." "I...couldn't." Daria's disbelief must have shown on her face for just a moment. "She likes me as a friend and partner in crime, and that's it. I'd lose her if I made a move." "The risk is there, yes," Daria allowed sympathetically. "Anyway -- and maybe I'm just paranoid, but -- I think she and Trent are on the verge of a thing," A.P. went on, managing to sound only slightly bitter. "I don't want to mess that up if it's what she wants." Daria sighed, mildly disappointed. "I don't think you're being paranoid. And you're probably right." "I'd rather keep her just as a friend than lose her for good." He took a deep breath. "So...where do we go from here?" "Well...we have two choices as things stand. One: we break up, maintain a friendship, and spend an indeterminate amount of time pining, Shakespeare style, over people we can't have. Two: we maintain the status quo, try to talk to each other a bit more, and take things as they come. Maybe we aren't going to spend the rest of our lives together, but we're just in high school. I guess it depends on whether you think we can get past the unresolved...issues involved." "Well, I've been dealing. You?" "I can. Someone once told me that, when you're seventeen, liking two people is no big deal. So," she asked hesitantly, "is this us taking option two?" By way of a reply, A.P. simply held out his hand. After a brief pause, Daria took it. * * * In the padded room, Daria sat on the bed looking at Jane, who was sitting cross-legged on the rug on the floor, both of them tense to be around each other again. "So how'd it go?" Jane asked. "Was there much wailing and gnashing of teeth?" To herself, she thought, _If there wasn't, then Lynn may have a chance._ Daria shrugged. "We decided it wasn't a big deal. I mean, crushes happen. It's awfully soon to be a hundred percent sure. We're carrying on as normal and seeing what happens." "But...but what about yesterday?" "Excuse me?" "Come *on,* Daria! You...Trent...in each other's arms...sparks flying..." Daria was starting to get mildly angry. "Even if Trent would have me on the rebound that way, Jane, it would be totally tactless to jump into a relationship after breaking up the old one. And anyway, I told you, Trent's not really my type." Jane sounded exasperated. "That's bull, Daria! I saw you that day! Are you going to pretend that you have no emotions forever?" A cold silence fell upon the room. "That's not fair, Jane. What gives you the right to say that?" "Years of observation, that's what! Every chance you've had with Trent, you've let go! I've tried and tried..." Forget "mildly" -- Daria was officially angry. "Did I ever *ask* you to? I don't need you to interfere in my life, Jane! God, I've asked you to drop it more times than I can count -- you *know* how I feel about your yenta crap but you just won't give up! What kind of friend are you?" Jane seemed taken aback. "A damn good one, actually!" "Oh, yeah. The yenta act. The activities you've dragged me into. The guys you've ditched me for. Some friend." "And you're any better? Making me beg every time I needed your help if it went against your precious principles? Getting jealous and possessive whenever I even *looked* at a guy? Just ignoring me for most of last week without so much as an apology?" "So if I'm such a bad friend, what are you doing here?" Jane stared at Daria in disbelief. Daria's face was hard and unreadable. Jane looked hurt for a split-second, then became enraged. She got up and slammed out without a word. For a moment, Daria didn't move. Then she closed her eyes, fighting back tears. _'Cause I...I *don't* want to freaking *cry* in front of everyone, okay?...*You'd* never cry in front of anyone..._ Then she got up, went to her shelf, picked up the cheese-wedge model (worshipped, she'd written once, by household mice), and hurled it at a padded wall. * * * Jane slammed out the front door of Morgendorffer Home Base, stormed down the walk, then stopped and looked at Daria's window. She blinked back tears, set her angry expression and walked away. [tsuzuku] ADAPTOR'S NOTES I assume all good Pythoniacs are familiar with Whizzo Chocolates, makers of such taste treats as Crunchy Frog, Ram's Bladder Cup (with lark's vomit) and Spring Surprise. When I told Jan I was adding the Whizzo ref to this fic (after she pointed out that she'd been too worried about the plots to provide any of her own), she said she'd have used that one herself if she'd thought of it, and that she'll be incorporating it into the remaster. I'm no pineapple fancier (matter of fact, I *hate* the things so much you'd think a pineapple ran over my cat or something), but I have to admit, compared to that...thing A.P. constructed, a Hawaiian pizza sounds almost appealing. Yes, Jan, the chianti does go with the fava beans. At least, it did in the original quote. 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. 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.