_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Season 3, episode 7: "Thrash of the Titans" prose adaptation by Austin Loomis ACT 1: THE RETURN OF THE WHITE PAWS Up to now, we haven't seen the outside of the bar where Lynn Cullen has been meeting the young man she calls "Rust." In retrospect, that was probably just as well. It's as grubby a place on the outside as within; the most prominent elements of its exterior design are scarred woodwork and graffiti. I'm told it's called "Biers," probably in honor of a similar place frequented by Ankh-Morpork's necro-animate and Uberwaldian communities (and other sorts who don't really fit even into the rather stretchy social fabric of the Disc), but if there is or was a sign up with the name, I blinked and missed it. On the night I speak of, Lynn's Mercedes was parked outside, looking somewhat -- okay, several somewhats -- out of place. It was still daylight, but only just. It was quiet out, until Lynn's voice shook the walls. "Oh, *crap,* I'm late!" Inside, she began stuffing the knife down the side of one boot, throwing books into her bag, and generally making hectic leaving preparations. "You gotta give this crap up, Cullen," her host informed her. "You haven't got the time..." She paused in her frenzy just long enough to glare at him. "Telling me how to live my life is not your job, Rust. Don't overstep yourself." This led to a short pause. "Tomorrow. Same time." Lynn didn't dignify that with a reply; she just shouldered her bag and exited at a not-quite-run. * * * A good ways away, in the basement of 111 Howard Drive, Trent Lane was tuning his guitar in an absent sort of way, as if his mind were rather elsewhere. Jesse Moreno was plucking away at his own axe. Bass player and papa-bear Nick Campbell was poking at the inside of an amp, and Max Tyler was trying -- and failing -- to learn how to twirl a drumstick between his fingers. "Man, what did you *do* to this thing?" Nick blurted. "I mean, it was a nice try putting it back together again, but the wiring's all bass-ackwards!" "Don't talk to me," Trent rasped. "Talk to Lynn." "Can't," Jesse observed coolly. "She's not here yet." "She's never late!" Max blurted. "I mean...what, you think she met a guy or something? I mean, girls don't talk about stuff like that to guys. It's a thing." "Maybe she's losing interest. Y'know. In the band." Trent, Nick and Max all looked at Jesse. He shrugged, and they went back to what they were doing. "We can't let that happen, man," Nick insisted. "I mean, we'd fall apart now. We've built all the new songs around her singing!" "I don't think she's losing interest," Trent assured him. "She wouldn't just back off without saying anything. And anyway, I think it's a little early to say anything's wrong. She's been late *once.*" He let that point sink in, then added, "Go easy on her, Nick. She was in the hospital not long ago. That's bound to mess her up." "All the same...maybe we should come up with something to pull her back in a hundred percent. Something that we can *all* sink our teeth into. Just plain gigging's getting old." Max chuckled. "I guess touring London spoiled us, man." The door opened and Lynn came careening down the stairs, looking flustered. "Sorry. There was a hold-up." "It's okay," Trent allowed as. "We ready to start?" "Yeah; just give me a second to catch my breath." "Hey, Lynn," Nick led off, a little too casual, "you're still into the band, right?" "Excuse me?" "Nick..." Trent warned. "It's just...you're late," Nick carried on regardless. "It's not like you." Lynn started snapping then. "Nick, if I wasn't interested in singing for Mystik Spiral, the first thing I would do is tell you all where to stick it. Please stop jumping to asinine conclusions just because, for the first time I can recall, I'm fifteen minutes late for a rehearsal." She let that sink in, then added, "Now are we starting or not?" They looked at her and decided it would be dangerous to push the issue. Nick picked up his bass, and Max got a firm grip on his sticks. "What's for warm-up?" Trent asked. "Cover or original?" "Cover," Jesse replied. He waited for objections, then asked, "Alice in Chains?" "Metallica," Lynn countered. "`Of Wolf and Man'?" Max suggested. "`Sad But True'!" Nick answered. "Hit it, gentlemen!" Lynn commanded, and they slammed into the opening riffs, their technique much improved since she'd become a part of the act. * * * Later, in her dark and mysterious room over at 15 Glenview Road, Lynn was sprawled out on her bed, reading _A Snitch in Time: the Informant's Market_ and making extensive notes on a pad next to her. Daria Elizabeth Morgendorffer, her look-alike and half-sister, was logged onto Lynn's computer. She looked up at Lynn with a suspicious expression on her face, one that said _I will beat answers out of you if I must._ "Lynn..." Lynn was lost in her study. "Hmm?" As if on cue, the phone rang. Daria sighed with exasperation. Every time she tried to ask Lynn what the deal was with their father, Jerome Peregrine Smythe, something happened to defer the issue; frankly, the gag was starting to get old. Lynn wasn't moving to pick it up, so Daria assumed responsibility. "Cullen residence." An overexcited voice spilled from the receiver. "Hey, Lynn! We got *great* news! We--" "*No,* Nick," she cut in. "This is *Daria.* Hang on." She held out the phone. "Nick Campbell. On speed, apparently." Lynn raised an eyebrow and took the phone. "Cullen. -- Yes. -- Whoa, whoa, whoa; slow down. -- No, *little* slower than that, Nick." An actual pause that time. "Okaaay..." Another proper pause. "I see. -- Well, yeah; it sounds interesting. -- I *told* you, I *am* still interested. If this is the only reason...Okay, okay, okay. Yes, I'm happy, go on and sign us up. -- I will do my utmost to be on time. Adios." She hung up. "God, you're late *once* and they hold it against you for the rest of your miserable life." "Satisfy my curiosity. What was he babbling about?" "A Battle of the Bands." "They actually *have* those?" "Apparently. Max tripped over it. -- Well, actually, according to Nick, he tripped over a paving slab and fell face-first onto a flyer stuck to the sidewalk with a wad of chewing gum." "He gave you all that detail?" "The only person who can talk faster than Nick when he's excited is A.P. when he's scared out of his mind. Anyway, Nick called everyone from the nearest bar and so he's signing us up and we're up in two days." She looked at her watch. "Which means that I have to be at rehearsal *now.* Sorry to kick you off the machine, but..." "It's okay." As she logged off, Daria thought, _At least I know where you're going to *be* this time..._ * * * Daria and her artist friend Jane Lane were on one side of the gang's usual booth at Pizza King, with Andrew Philip McIntyre alone across from them. "Battle of the *Bands*?" A.P. boggled. "I thought that only happened in teenybopper sitcoms!" "And Lawndale is sort of teenybopper sitcom-ville," Jane pointed out. "So are we surprised?" A.P. mulled this over a moment and couldn't find anything wrong with Jane's logic. "Point, I guess. -- Sheesh. This is getting stupid. I mean, no *wonder* Purple Peril's never around after school anymore. Band rehearsal, homework, writing...if it wasn't for the damn play, I wouldn't see her after school at *all.*" "Yeah, I guess she *is* taking a lot on," Daria admitted, a bit sheepishly. "Problem, Daria?" Jane wondered. "I just..." A sigh. "I'm just a suspicious idiot, don't mind me." "Well, I for one don't blame you for being suspicious," A.P. stubbornly clung to the topic Daria was trying to abandon. "I mean, fine, the crossbow. Deadly, yeah, but high reload time lowers the body count. Knives? Well, you can only use it once at long range but if you've got more than one..." The looks on their faces must have told him to let go, so he did with a sigh. "Oh, fine, spoil my fun. The one thing I can talk about without screwing up the language and you won't let me." Just then, a short, wispy little Goth-chick the girls were almost sure they recognized from *somewhere* came barging through the door. A.P. looked over her way, and his eyes went wide. He ducked under the table, leaving Daria and Jane to stare at the spot where he had been sitting. Daria peered down at him. "A.P.?" "Keep it *down!*" came the reply from beneath. "She doesn't like me very much!" "Y'know," Jane mused, "she looks like how you described..." "Mara Fitzgerald, yeah, I know, now will you pretend I'm not here?" After a moment, he seemed to realize something, judging from the panicked way he added, "Oh crap..." just before he grabbed Daria by the front of her mustard-colored T-shirt and yanked *her* under the table as well, an instant before the Goth-chick looked their way. Daria stared at him. "What the hell...?" "She's not gonna wait the five-ten seconds it takes to tell you and Purple Peril apart, trust me! So if you don't want to eat your own nose in a few seconds, sit down...and shut up!" Mara, for it was indeed she, found whom she was looking for in the booth next to the gang's -- a very tall, very pale, very skinny guy with very blue hair. She sat across from him, and before too long, they were both joined by a stocky blond guy who could have been either Casey Wright, the fourth original Back-Alley Name Dropper, or Oakwood school bully Chris Hutchins, though the nearly unintelligible grunt of "Mara. Guy," seemed to argue more for the former. "So what's the verdict?" replied the guy he'd called Guy. "Do we have any real competition?" "Ironically, yes," Mara answered him. "Mystik freakin' Spiral, of all people!" That elicited a chuckle. "You're kidding. I saw them once; the guy does birthday ballads to his *sister!* That's *death!*" Under the table, Jane suppressed a snarl, poorly. "If he's fronting..." "That's just it; he's not. They got a new singer awhile back. Didn't get a name, but apparently she kicks." "Well...that's only one real worry out of a heat of twelve. What the hell?" He looked at the pizza. "God-damn! What do they do, pour grease on afterwards or what? C'mon. Let's hit the Tower." And with that, exebant the Oakwood contingent. Daria clambered out from under the table, followed by the wide-eyed A.P. "Sounds like Lynn's gonna meet up with some old friends this week," Jane noted. "Eee," A.P. allowed as. "Maybe we should warn her what she's up against," Daria offered. "Forewarned is forearmed, after all." "Eee." "Wouldn't it be more fun to let her be surprised?" Jane wondered. "Eee." Daria shook her head. "She hasn't been taking to surprises very well lately and if you say `Eee' one more time, A.P., it will go hard with you." A.P. clapped a hand over his mouth. Daria and Jane just looked at him, then pondered the whole situation. ACT 2: SILVER So this misery chick walked into a bar, dropped her bag on a pool table and just stood there, hands on hips, all arrogance, saying "I know, I know." "Shall we get you on time management courses?" Rust suggested. "Or just get you to give up that stupid band?" "You sound like my mother." "Ow. From you, that's a killing insult." He let her consider that a moment, then added, "I'm serious, Cullen." "So am I. But anyway, that's not the point. People are starting to get suspicious, Rust. You're going to have to let up or let them find out." A moment of silence greeted this suggestion. Rust broke it with a sigh. "You're good. You're *damn* good." A smirk. "Good genetics and expert tutelage will do that." "Flattery will get you...a step-up in the weaponry stakes." Lynn quirked an interested eyebrow. * * * The next morning at Lawndale High found Lynn at her locker, looking a little weary. She rubbed at one of her ears as A.P. approached in a severe panic; Daria and Jane tailed along behind him, looking amused. Lynn caught sight of A.P. out of the corner of her eye as he approached and gave a nod of acknowledgement. A.P. then grabbed her by the lapels and pulled her forward until they were almost nose to nose. In full speed-rant mode, he rattled, "Thebackalleynamedroppersaryourcompetitionforthebattleothebands -- mara ancaseyangoatboyanthey'regonnabe*so*pissedwhentheyfindoutyoujoinedanother band..." He stopped in his tracks as if noticing something (anomalous behavior though that be for a Psycho-Maverick), sniffed the air as if to confirm, then continued at normal speed. "Um...Purple Peril? Why do you reek of gunpowder?" Lynn had been made somewhat nervous by the grabbing, the speed- rant and the sudden interrogation. That's the only excuse for her coming up with such a bald and unconvincing narrative. "Um...trying to get some pyro effects going for the band. Didn't work -- I'm lucky to still have my eyebrows." Daria looked utterly disbelieving. Even Jane looked doubtful. A.P., however, only looked a bit hurt. "*You?* But you don't *do* that kind of thing! You couldn't ask me for help?" "You're busy enough with play lines." She thought about new tactics a moment. "Um...disengage tractor beam?" A.P. looked down at his hands, then up into Lynn's face. Then he let go and turned away *very* quickly, blushing maroon. "Now what's this about Mara and Casey?" That calmed A.P. down. "Oh. Yeah. Um...they crashed Pizza King." Jane seemed amused. "You should have seen him. His eyes went so big he looked like an anime character! Then he dragged Daria under the table by the bra!" She noticed a very brief depressed look on Lynn's face. "Um..." "Shut up, Art-Smart Scarlet! There's *history* here!" After letting that sink in, he turned back to the Peril. "They don't know you're leading Neo-Grunge Earache yet. When Mara finds out..." "I can handle Mara," Lynn replied grimly. Daria raised a suspicious eyebrow, but opted not to comment. "What about Goat-boy?" "You remember that really tall kid who failed about two grades because he kept filling in answers on tests with really graphic ways that the teacher grading it should screw goats?" Daria and Jane got _What the *hell?*_ looks on their faces, but Lynn ignored them both. "Ah, yes, Guy Mann." "Turns out he sings." A derisive snort. "What about, screwing goats?" "Maybe. Dunno. But Mara's gonna..." "I told you...Mara is not a threat." Something in her tone stopped even A.P.'s whittering. All three of them stared at her. She stared back. _Let's move on from this before someone dies,_ Daria thought. "Why exactly is Mara a threat to you?" Lynn glared. "Or rather, why would she be if she was going to be?" "Well, she was pretty pissed off about the way the Back Alley Name-Droppers broke up. She never really forgave me for dropping out, no matter how little choice I had in the matter. And when A.P. dropped out with me..." "She tried to get me back in as drummer," the Maverick jittered, "first week of school this year. I turned her down. She threatened to make me into Techno Weasel chow mein. I still said no. Then I got expelled and..." He trailed off, thought a moment, then turned to Lynn. "But at least *I* didn't join another band!" "Will you stop worrying?" She paused for realization. "And don't tell the others. They seem to think I'm thinking of leaving Mystik Spiral; if they find out I'm rendezvousing with my old band..." She shrugged. "Um...won't they figure that out on their own?" wondered Daria. "Sure." A smirk. "But think how it'll reassure them when they realize that, rather than being invited to rejoin, I'm trying to keep Mara from clawing my eyes out of their sockets." The other three looked at Lynn. She just kept on smirking. * * * Backstage at the Zen, on the night, Trent and Jesse were tuning their guitars. Nick was pacing, looking at his watch every few seconds, in a way anyone who'd been in the maternity ward at Cedars of Lawndale on a certain night would have found familiar. Max was still trying to perfect his drumstick-twirl, but still fumbling and dropping it after three seconds or less. Casey entered the green room, dressed in black and looking severe in a security-beast sort of way. Behind him were Guy -- in tight black leather jeans and a black fishnet tank top, which looked more laughable than he'd probably intended with his toast-rack- on-a-stick build -- and Mara, in a very short black velvet dress with a little too much lace trim. She eyed Jesse with interest. "You're even finer up close, leather boy." Jesse blinked, clueless as usual. "Huh?" "And thick as a brick wall, too," Guy sneered. "You're out of his league, Mara -- he's just townie-scum." "Who're you?" Trent rasped. "We're the Back Alley Name Droppers. Live with it." "From Oakwood, right?" wondered Nick. "You'd be the Nympho-Goth and the bass-grunt." He turned to Guy. "Who're *you* supposed to be; Stick-man?" Casey, always a man of few words, nailed Nick across the jaw. Poppa Bear nearly fell over, but regained his balance and thumped Casey a good one in the stomach, following up with an uppercut to the nose. Casey doubled over briefly, then hit Nick in the shoulder. Trent made a break-it-up gesture to Jesse, who walked over to them, grabbed both bassists by the back of the respective heads and bashed those heads together. Nick and Casey, already a little dazed, dropped like rocks. "What the hell is wrong with you two?" Trent demanded. "Where the hell does he get off calling me that?" Mara bristled. "I mean, what the hell does he know about me?" "He's heard stories," said Lynn, leaning casually in the doorway. She was wearing a pair of black calf-length New Rock motorcycle boots that made her normal combat boots look tame, a short black leather skirt, and a Lycra off-the-shoulder top with silver flame designs running up the arms, topped with a vest/Basque thing with metal plating, giving an overall effect of body armor as created by an enthusiastic sci-fi movie costume designer. Her eyes were enigmatic behind prescription sunglasses. Without exception, everyone else in the room was stunned. "Lynn?" "Nympho-Goth. Hey." The Peril walked into the room. "What the hell are you..." There was almost an audible _ping!_ as Mara figured it out. "*You're* their new singer?" "You got a problem with that?" wondered Trent. By now, Guy had recovered enough to sneer. "Huh. I'm just havin' a problem seeing how I worried about competition from *you.*" "You haven't *heard* me yet, Goat-boy," Lynn pointed out. "Yeah, but *I* have!" Mara stepped up to Lynn so that they were nose to chin. "You little..." She struggled with the limitations of language in a McIntyrian way for a moment. "Damn, there aren't any good enough swearwords!" "You're not trying hard enough." "Where's your sense of *loyalty?*" came the angry sputtering reply. "Where's *your* sense of perspective?" Daria, Jane and A.P. appeared in the doorway as Nick and Casey were picking themselves up off the floor, glaring daggers at each other. Lynn and Mara were facing off; Mara was going purple with fury, but Lynn just looked down on her, in all senses of the word. Trent scowled at Guy, who was still wearing his sneer, and Max just watched the scene, his _criminale_ tendencies cowed. Jesse, as usual, remained impassive, or maybe oblivious. "Eee," A.P. philosophized. Mara turned on the easier target. "You little geek-ball!" Lynn grabbed Mara by the collar and yanked her forward and up, so the nympho-Goth found herself on tiptoe, looking straight into Lynn's sunglasses, which sent her face went from rage-purple to fear-grey. "He is *not* your competition," Lynn stated coldly. "Deal. With. Me." Trent stepped to her side. "You mean *us,* Lynn." Nick joined him on her other side. "Yeah." Jesse didn't say anything; he just stood next to Nick in an imposing way, being as muscular as he knew how. Max stood with Trent, on the safety-in-numbers principle, which brought back his bravado. "Yeah! You go up against the Spiral, man, we're gonna take you *down!*" "Max," Lynn scowled at Little Drummer Boy. "We're going to be adult about this. What's past is past. If Nympho-Goth here wants to hold a grudge, let her. We're going to let the judges make the call now." She let Mara go. "Now go find somewhere else to be." Guy was obviously maintaining his sneer only with an effort. "We've gotta go get ready, anyway. And we'd rather not warm up with *you* around; give too much away." He looked around. "Where the hell is Joe?" He and Mara exebant with as much dignity as they could muster. Casey hung back a moment, hands stuffed in his pockets. In his usual nearly unintelligible grunt, he said, "Hey Lynn, A.P.," then shuffled out. Daria, Jane and A.P. entered the room proper. After a moment of grace, Max blurted out, "Hey, Lynn, you look *damn* hot!" A.P. glared. Lynn waved the comment away, and A.P. looked... marginally happier. She turned to Trent and spreads her arms as if to ask _how do I look?_, and A.P. glared again. "It suits," Sir Naps-a-Lot replied. After a moment's thought, he asked her, "How long have you known they were our competition?" with a jerk of a thumb in the direction the new B.A.N.D. had gone. "Maybe 18 hours." "Okay. How good are they?" Lynn made a see-saw hand motion. "Eh." "Can we take 'em?" Lynn gave a slow, smug smirk, which spread across the entire band. Daria, Jane and A.P. exchanged a look. "I have a feeling we're in for a show..." the Maverick warned. * * * "o/~ Can't stand your lips! Can't stand your eyes! o/~" Sitting with Daria and Jane at their table, A.P. stared at the stage in disbelief. Very slowly indeed, he observed, "I didn't think *anyone* could be that bad." "o/~ Can't stand your teeth! Can't stand your thighs! o/~" Daria nearly mustered enough emotion to sound sympathetic. "Sorry. We've heard this guy before." _At the Young Adult Coffeehouse, if I had time to tell that story._ "I guess acclimatization mutes the horror." "But you'd think he'd have written some new material by now..." Jane added. "o/~ The girl I love... o/~" The guy smashed his guitar, drawing a mild cheer from the more anarchistic or inebriated in the crowd. He bounded around the stage until being forcibly removed by security beasts, at which point the entire crowd cheered enthusiastically. The MC stepped onstage. "That was...do we really care who that was?" "NO!" everyone agreed. "Well, we've fed him to the Beasts anyway." He let them plan quiet celebrations a moment, then went on. "Next band up for sacrifice are the Back Alley Name-Droppers...Sex Pistols covers, probably..." A.P. dropped his head on the table. "Judges..." He gestured to the side of the room, where a panel of three -- we'll call them Punk Bloke, Goth Chick and Hair Rock Reject, since I couldn't be bothered finding out their names -- sat and waved their drinks at the crowd. "...you'll hear them play one cover, one original. Marks out of ten. And on we go!" The lights came back up onstage. Joe McKeon was on drums, looking extremely out of place. Mara was at her keyboard, hands poised. Casey was slightly slouched over his bass, and Guy stood tall at the front with a battered guitar. Without preamble, they went thrashing into a very impressive version of Korn's "A.D.I.D.A.S." Daria, Jane and A.P. looked as shocked as they were. "*My* brother's going to try to beat *that?*" Jane blurted before she could stop herself. "Purple Peril's gonna be spitting *nails!*" A.P. opined. Daria, recovering herself, got up out of her chair and walked off. "Where is she going?" A.P. shrugged, not taking his eyes off the stage. ACT 3: A STROKE OF LUCK Backstage, Trent, Jesse, Nick and Max were standing in the wings, looking nervous. Daria slipped past without them noticing and looked around for Lynn. Her sister was nowhere to be found, but the fire door was open a crack, propped open by a block of wood. Daria looked at it a moment, then went out into the parking lot. She carefully wedged the door back open and looked around some more, until she saw a moderately familiar pair of intimidating boots sticking out over the rear passenger- side door of Lynn's Mercedes. She walked over to the Merc and sat on the trunk, not looking at Lynn. "They're not bad." "Thanks," came the reply from within. "I needed to hear that." "You're better." A moment of silence. "I don't need to be made feel better." "The one you called `Goat-boy' has no stage presence. They don't present a united front onstage and it works against them." A pause to let that sink in. "It'll work against you too, if you don't go out there and rally the troops." More silence greeted this advice. "They're pretty shaken up, Lynn. They remember all too well the days when they were getting booed off the stage playing `Ice Box Woman' at McGrundy's for twenty bucks each. And they're still afraid they're going to wind up playing Doors covers at brewpubs. You're the one with the confidence." "Even if it's only an outward show?" "Even then; it makes them feel better, and their confidence can inspire yours." She let Lynn consider that, then meaningfully added, "You don't have to stand alone." Lynn sat up and looked at Daria for a moment. "You're not just talking about this, are you." "No. I'm not." Lynn considered Daria for a long moment, then opened her mouth to speak... "Hey ho, Purple Peril!" Daria and Lynn turned to face the rapidly approaching Psycho- Maverick. "Dammit, A.P..." Daria muttered under her breath. "Um...maybe you should go talk to Sir Naps-a-lot, Purple Peril. He looks *seriously* freaked. So do the rest of 'em." Lynn gave a small Mona Lisa smile. "Yeah. I guess I'd better. *Someone* in there had better have some confidence." She opened the door of the Merc, stepped out, shut the door behind her and walked off. A.P. grinned at Daria. "So she's okay?" He noticed she was glaring at him. "What?" She made a frustrated gesture with her hands, biting back possible replies. "*What?*" A resigned sigh. "Never mind. The moment came once; it'll come again." She walked off. A.P. looked after her, completely at sea. "What'd I *say?* What'd I *do?* Erudite *Emerald*..." He ran off after her. * * * As they came back in, the B.A.N.D. were leaving the stage to a great chorus of cheers and applause. The MC stepped back up on stage. "Well, the Back Alley Name-Droppers walk away with 27 points! Maybe I was wrong about the Sex Pistols covers!" The crowd cheered its assent. Daria sat back down next to Jane, seething inwardly. Jane noticed. "What's wrong with *you?*" "The road to hell is paved with good intentions," came the grimly muttered reply. Jane looked at Daria dubiously. "And maybe we'll be wrong about this one too!" the MC yammered on. "Next up for the slaughter is Mystik Spiral! Who sound like they play *Doors* covers at brewpubs!" This elicited hyena-like laughter from the crowd. A.P. sat down on the other side of Jane from Daria and looked across at her. "Tell me what I did!" Daria waved a hand at him. "Shut up -- they're about to start." From backstage, Trent, Jesse, Nick and Max looked out at the MC onstage, still looking nervous. "Feeling a little less confident, townie-scum?" came a sneer from behind them. The Spiral members turned to see Guy and Mara looking impossibly smug. Joe and Casey, on the other hand, looked a bit less enthusiastic about band-baiting. Guy ignored them and went on, "You don't have to go out there, you know." "What's the matter, Goat-boy? Afraid of a little competition?" Lynn brushed past them to join her bandmates. "You okay?" Trent asked her. "Never better." She let them all bask in that a moment. "Now let's go impress some people." And they stepped out onto the stage. "Hey. We're Mystik Spiral. And if you don't like it...straight down the river Styx with you." After a pause for applause, the Spiral ripped into Skunk Anansie's "It Takes Blood and Guts to Be This Cool (But I'm Still Just a Cliche)." The crowd went audibly nuts. Guy looked green, and Mara looked extremely pissed off. Casey and Joe shared smug little smirks at their bandmates' expense. Out front, Daria looked smug, Jane looked surprised, and A.P. was grinning like an idiot, or at least an idiot savant. "Worried about your brother dealing with the competition *now,* Jane?" "Guess not," Art-Smart Scarlet answered Daria's question. "Now it's *their* turn to spit nails." A.P.'s grin managed, somehow, to widen. "Take *that,* Nympho-Goth!" * * * Some time later, it was over. Daria looked a little disappointed, while Jane looked more sort of livid. A.P. had his head in his hands. It was very quiet now. "A tie," Daria observed. "Well, that makes it almost okay that they didn't get first place," Jane groused. A.P. looked up with an anguished wail of, "But they *sucked!*" "Sucking is in the eye of the beholder, A.P. The judges loved it." His face went back into his hands, half-muffling his frustrated scream, "Marilyn Manson-wannabe *scumbuckets!*" "Well, you have to admit," Daria pointed out, "they put on a show." "Do you think they'll ever be able to clean the fake blood off the stage?" Jane mused. "I'm more interested in how they intend to get that Chihuahua out of the rafters." In the silence that followed this, they could hear its distant, panicked barking as Lynn approached their table. "How's everyone taking it?" Lynn shrugged. "They're ecstatic." She paused to let them figure that out, then decided to spell it out. "Well, they've never had the guts to sign up for anything like this before, so tying for second is a really big deal. And of course, even with only half of the grand offered to the runners up, they're walking away a hundred bucks in pocket." "And you?" Daria wondered. "Eh. You know me. Calm, cool, and collected. Would have liked first, but given the show Lizard Gizzard put on..." There was a Doppler- effect whimper and a thump, eliciting a collective wince from the gang, as gravity took charge of the Chihuahua. When it was over, Lynn went on. "...I don't think I'm surprised." A.P.'s face was still in hands as he let out another lamenting wail. "But they *sucked!* They couldn't sing worth *crap!* I don't think that guy was even holding his *bass* the right way up!" The Peril favored him with a Mona Lisa smile. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, A.P." He didn't surface from his hands. "Don't mention it." "I'm...gonna go help the guys pack up." "I'll go with you." Jane got up and they both exited. Daria looked closely at A.P. "She's gone." A.P. looked up slowly, revealing a maroon blush. "So what *did* I do wrong?" "I came this close," Daria demonstrated by pressing a thumb and forefinger together, "to getting her to spill what's been bothering her lately. The sleepless nights. The weaponry. The unexplained absences. And the weirdness about Jerome." She slammed a fist into the table. "So damn close, and you interrupted." A pause for that to sink in. "Okay...any idea how to kick yourself in the ass? Because I think I need to learn to do that." * * * Backstage, Jane was walking alongside a still-Gioconda-ing Lynn. "Quite the silver-tongued devil, young Andrew, eh?" Lynn, seeing where this was going, decided to use a sure-fire tactic to head it off. "Like your former young Thomas?" Jane was taken somewhat aback. "What do you know about *him?*" "Only that you don't want him mentioned any more than I want my unrequited feelings for A.P. mentioned. To *anyone. Ever.*" "But... But what if he..." "I'm not hearing this, because you're not saying it, because we're not having this conversation. Nor will we. Are we on the same page?" Jane felt cheated, but decided it was still better than feeling hospitalized. "Fine." She nerved herself a moment. "But you play dirty. I mean, I have some very good reasons not to want to talk about Tom!" "And they're no more my business than my relationships are yours." With that, Lynn drifted away. A moment later, Jane was no longer too stunned to speak. "You... you're not even going to *ask?*" She considered. "You *are* acting weird!" * * * Lynn came out the fire door into the parking lot, lugging a pair of cymbals and a snare drum. She spotted Joe and Guy loading amps into a small battered white thing that had probably begun its life as an ice- cream truck. Casey spotted her and shuffled over. Mara saw him go and followed him. "You were good," Lynn told them as she hefted the snare drum into the Tank. "You too," Casey muttered. "Yeah," Mara acknowledged with tooth-pulling reluctance. They waited while Lynn tucked the cymbals into the Tank, until she turned to face them. Casey's muttering was almost intelligible. It'd have taken someone who'd known him a while to realize he'd said, "What the hell'd they wanna do that to a dog for?" Mara allowed herself a small grin. "They sucked, didn't they?" "Oh yeah," Lynn confirmed. "Musically, anyway. Welcome to the 21st Century, where shock and style is more valued than substance." That seemed to seal it. "Still dating the geek-ball?" "Nope." An almost Gallic shrug. "Whatever." "What are you hangin' around with *her* for?" Guy treated them to a long-range sneer. "*C'mon!* We've got a *party* to get to!" "Yeah, yeah, whatever!" Mara yelled back. After a pause, she turned back to Lynn. "See you around." Casey nodded. Lynn didn't say anything, just shut the back of the Tank and walked around it towards the passenger side door. Mara and Casey shared a look as they walked off. Trent was leaning out the window as Lynn approached him and said, "Hey, we ripped it up. You guys were great." Trent grinned. "Couldn't have done it without you, Lynn. We're gonna have a party at my place to celebrate. You're coming, right?" She must have hesitated a little too long. "Lynn..." "Trent, I've got some stuff to do..." "Look, you put the effort in, same as the rest of us. You gotta celebrate with us on this." She was still reluctant to beg off her other appointment, but she couldn't readily tell him that. "Well..." Another Mona Lisa smile. "Okay. I'll meet you there." Trent grinned and the Tank pulled out. Lynn headed for the Mercedes, pulled her jacket out of the back seat and dug out her mobile phone. She hit the speed-dial button, put the phone to her ear, and waited for... "Rust? Cullen." She let him ask his question. "I'm not supposed to say on a mobile phone." She listened to his praise. "Thank you. I'm going to have to skip tonight's session." Another question. "Well, tied for second, actually, but I'm expected to celebrate. They're going to ask questions if I refuse." She got the answer she'd hoped her. "Well, I would have skipped without your blessing, but I thank you for it anyway. Later." She switched the mobile off, hopped into the driver's seat and stowed the phone in the glove compartment. She put the key in the ignition and started the car. Then she just sat behind the wheel for a moment, weighing it all. _I've improved a townie band to the point where they can tie for second in a close-running Battle of the Bands, I've unmade an enemy -- some people would say that's the greatest achievement I could hope for -- and I've earned myself a night off from "training."_ "All in all," she mused calmly, "a great night." With that, she put the pedal to the metal, and the Mercedes roared out of the parking lot at high speed. Ahead...the future. ADAPTOR'S NOTES I'm not counting dwarves and trolls because they have their own bars. "Exebant" really is the third person imperfect plural of the Latin verb _exire_ (that is, the past tense of "exeunt"). I made a specific effort to be sure of it, so I could be as pretentious as possible while still being factual. 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. Al D T0 W- Q Fw^Fr O+ Ow+OH+Of m c- MV+ F:111,208,313 BB+ FCT -DT+ q fJ^fj^fD