_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit with Ben Yee Season 4, episode 7: "Children of the Scorn" prose adaptation by Austin Loomis "No one knows what it's like to be the bad man To be the sad man behind blue eyes No one knows what it's like to be hated To be fated to telling only lies" -- The Who, "Behind Blue Eyes" Cast: Lynn Cullen, A.P. McIntyre, Daria Morgendorffer, Jane Lane, Kate Cullen, Warlock, Lorna Smythe, Fred McIntyre, average man, baggage- handler, blonde woman, fat man, blond man ACT 1: BACK OFF, BITCH "AM said, very politely, in a pillar of stainless steel bearing neon lettering: "HATE. LET ME TELL YOU HOW MUCH I'VE COME TO HATE YOU SINCE I BEGAN TO LIVE. THERE ARE 387.44 MILLION MILES OF PRINTED CIRCUITS IN WAFER THIN LAYERS THAT FILL MY COMPLEX. IF THE WORD HATE WAS ENGRAVED ON EACH NANOANGSTROM OF THOSE HUNDREDS OF MILLION MILES IT WOULD NOT EQUAL ONE ONE-BILLIONTH OF THE HATE I FEEL...AT THIS MICRO-INSTANT FOR YOU. HATE. HATE." -- Harlan Ellison, "I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream" _Lawndale High -- Friday afternoon, November 3, AD 2000 (1 As, 128 Era 'Pataphysicale)_ At the time I speak of, Lynn was collecting books and putting them into her bookbag, in the kind of volume that could only be the result of a dozen or so teachers simultaneously thinking _Oh, she's probably got nothing *else* to do this weekend_. A.P. sneaked up behind her and was just opening his mouth to speak when she said, "Salutations, Maverick." She hadn't even looked up. "GAH!" After a moment to scrape himself off the ceiling, he asked, "How'd you...?" "You have a heavier tread than Jane and a slightly longer one than Daria. Now you wanted something?" "Ohyeah. *ahem* `Remember, remember, the fifth of November...'" "You don't even know what that *means,* Maverick..." "Sure I do! You explained it to me when you turned seven. We were sitting under that big oak in the school playground -- you know, the one Chris Hutchins chased you up two months later and you kicked him in the nose and he had to go to the hospital?" "Vividly. It took *days* to get the blood out of the tread of my sneakers." "Well, your dad sent you that card and it had that written into it and you explained Guy Fawkes." He thought about it a moment. "I think it's *damn* cool that you were born the same day as an anarchist tried to blow up British Parliament!" "Appropriate, certainly." "Annnnnnnd..." He started bouncing in a little circle around her like a total idiot. "o/~ You're gonna be an adu-ult! o/~" he noted in bad singsong tones. "o/~ You're gonna be an adu--o/~" She smacked him in the shoulder. "OW!" "Yeah, yeah, the big one-eight." She sighed. "If this was England, I'd be planning my first legal pub crawl by now. Note emphasis on the word `legal.'" "Soooooo...what *do* you want to do for your birthday?" "Honestly? I have an early Spiral rehearsal, then I plan on curling up on the sofa on my own with a good book and enjoying my first birthday present in peace." "Your first...?" A gentle smile. "The house. Remember, come 4:17 Sunday morning, Chez Cullen is mine." A.P. got a slightly downcast look. "Hey, look, I don't really want to bother with it this year." "But...but..." She kissed him on the cheek. "I have somewhere to be. Later, Maverick." She walked off. "But...but...but..." "Oh, stop that. You sound like an outboard motor." "I RESEMBLE THAT REMARK!" He dashed off after her. * * * Out in the parking lot, Daria and Jane approached the Merc from one direction as Lynn, flanked by A.P., approached from the other. "Dammit, Purple Peril, it's your eighteenth birthday and it only comes around *once.* And you *are* going to celebrate it or...or...I'll crash AOL in your honor." He thought about that a moment and was suddenly derailed. "Hmm. Maybe I'll do that anyway." Lynn smirked and opened the car door. A.P., back on track, grabbed it to keep her from closing it, then turned to Daria and Jane, who'd been watching with bemusement. "Look, guys, we aren't going to let her ignore her eighteenth birthday, are we?" "Uh, I'll have to go with *no* on that one," replied Jane. "Why wouldn't you want to celebrate your eighteenth?" Daria wondered. Lynn sighed. "Because we've already had one party this week. Because I'm not a fan of people singing Happy Birthday at me or being the center of attention." "Do the words `Mystik Spiral' ring a bell?" "That's different. That's not *me.*" "Sure *looks* like you." Daria noticed the smirks she was getting from Jane and A.P. "Don't even *think* about it." "Wasn't even *thinking* about thinking about it..." Jane did protest too much. While they were all distracted, Lynn got into the car and slammed the door shut, ripping it out of A.P.'s hands. "Ow..." he observed. Lynn rolled down a window. "Guys, fact remains, it's no big deal. I'm just getting one year older, and capable of voting. Though, given the choices I have my first go-around, I don't think the ability to vote is such a privilege anymore." She allowed herself a wry smirk. "I'm still not even legal for my crossbow. -- Anyway, guys, please, no fuss, no presents, and no. Damn. Party." She drove off. Daria, Jane and A.P. looked at each other. "Like hell," they solemnly agreed. * * * Lynn drove home at her usual high speed, singing along with W. Axl Rose on the car stereo. "o/~ Back off; back off, bitch! Down in the gutter, dyin' in the ditch; you'd better Back off; back off, bitch! Face of an angel with the love of a witch... o/~" She trailed off as she approached her driveway, eyes widening as she spied what was waiting on the doorstep. She pulled a hairpin turn, stopped on a dime in the driveway and clambered out of the car. Despite her best efforts, her gaze kept drifting to the front door, where she could see her mother standing and fuming. Kate stepped up to Lynn, her face that shade of maroon, and Lynn started trying to leash her temper. "Well. *This* is a surprise." "You *changed* the *locks?*" Kate barked. "I don't *believe* you had the *gall.*" "Seeing is believing...Jezebel." "You really *have* been talking to your father, haven't you?" "*He* showed up at the hospital." "And you know *why,* don't you?" _Not going there. Not for love nor money._ "Does it matter? He came to see that I was all right and that could have got him arrested. More than *you've* ever done." "I did my best by you; you *know* that." "Faeces tauri. You did your best by your *career.*" "And you'd prefer go in with *them,* would you?" She was so mad it actually came out that way. "Join the criminal underworld? Did I teach you *nothing* about the rules and how to follow them?" "Didn't exactly give me incentive to follow your teachings, let's just say." "I'm your *mother,* dammit, show some *respect!*" "When you show some for me, maybe I'll return the favor." "Respect is *earned!*" Lynn was starting to lose it. "*Which* should tell you something." "You're just like your father, aren't you? Rude, insensitive, *utterly* feckless...Lying, cheating, conniving little..." That was it. She was *gone.* "Better than an unfeeling, over- bearing, utterly controlling *bitch* of a woman with the maternal instincts of the average *bullfrog.*" "How *dare* you...?" "No, how dare *you?* This is *my* house; *my* name's on the deed now. And you're trespassing so get the *hell* off my front lawn." A charcoal-gray Honda Accord -- obviously a rental job -- pulled up without the Cullen women noticing. Out stepped Warlock and surveyed the scene. "You try to haul me off for trespassing and I'll report your precious father *and* his whole happy band for anything I can *get* them on...and that's *quite* a--" Warlock decided to intervene. "Peril! Status report?" "Get lost!" Lynn replied. "This is personal!" He was slightly taken aback by her vehemence. "Just wanted to make sure you're--" "She's fine," Kate interjected, "and it's none of your affair anyway, now will you just get *lost?* Who the hell *are* you, anyway, you nosy insufferable little *punk?*" Warlock took one step forward and got right in her face. On *his* face, an absolutely humorless grin slowly took shape -- the kind that's the last thing the mouse sees on the face of the snake before it stops seeing much of anything ever again. "Call me Warlock." After a moment, he added, "Her father and `his whole happy band' do." That froze Kate in her tracks for a moment; even Lynn stopped to smirk at her mother's utter shock. Then Jezebel turned on the Peril again, ignoring Warlock entirely. "So. You really *did* connect with them, didn't you? Well, I should have figured. Bad blood will out." "Yeah," Lynn pointed out pointedly, "and I've got the temper to prove it." "Don't give me that, Lynn! I suppose you'd rather be like *them,* would you? Cutthroats for hire with the morals of alley cats?" "Some of them know more about morals than you'd learn in a lifetime, Jezebel." Kate stepped forward a little, obviously just restraining herself at the last moment from slapping her daughter. "Don't you call me that! I don't believe you'd throw in with that...gang of *hoods!* But of course," she snarked, "that life would suit *you,* wouldn't it. Not giving a damn about the consequences of any action, just so long as it benefits the goddamn *Family.*" Lynn, cold rage in her face, flicked her wrist...nothing. She tried again -- continued absence of dice. Third time -- still no charm. Kate looked rather puzzled. Lynn sighed. "Damn, left it in the kitchen. Oh, screw it." With that, she aimed a kick at her mother's midriff. Kate, having expected some attack from the _Oh, screw it_, skipped back, but tripped over her high heels and fell flat on her ass on the front lawn. Lynn advances on her with obvious intent to maim... Warlock stepped forward. "Peril! Jezebel! Neutral corners! Now!" Lynn didn't even look at him. "BUGGER OFF!" "Don't you *dare* call me that, you little..." gritted Kate. "If the callsign fits, *wear* it!" _Christ,_ thought Warlock, _now *she's* quotehappy, what's the world *coming* to?_ "PERIL!" Lynn backed off. "FINE! But keep her *right* the hell away from me if, for some dumb-ass reason, you want her alive!" She stormed into the house and slammed the door. Kate called after her, "How *dare* you threaten me, you..." She trailed off, then rounded on Warlock. "And as for *you.* I could see all of you *hung.* Remember that when you're playing with your little toys and pretending to be men." Warlock clenched a fist, but didn't give her the satisfaction of a reply. She gave him one final glare, stomped to her own rental car and drove off. Once she was out of sight, Warlock allowed himself to sneer after her. Then he looked at the house, sighed and approached the front door. He pushes the doorbell -- which sounded dented, slightly puzzling him -- and, presently, the door opened a crack and Lynn peered out at him. Silence for a moment, until he broke it. "Do I come in, or do you come out?" "What the hell do you want? And if it's anything about Tom bodyguarding me or the bloodydamn *Family,* I'm not interested. Family blows." She started to slam the door in his face. "I COME BEARING BIRTHDAY GIFTS!" The door stopped in mid-swing, and Lynn peeked out again. "Excuse me?" she asked warily, trying to hide her surprise. "Birthday gifts," he repeated casually enough. After a moment, he added, "It *is* your birthday, nee?" Lynn was in utter shock. "Uh. Yeah. But..." _To hell with this. "They're not training manuals, are they?" she asked wryly. "Not mine. -- Scar's, maybe. But not mine." Lynn raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you'd better come in. The front step is no place for this. Neighbors already think it's a crackhouse in here." "Right." Warlock headed for the Accord, but stopped and turned. "Oh, and by the way -- I understand. These are not easy times. -- For any of us." Lynn looked at her feet, at an utter loss for words. Warlock spared her by resuming his journey to the car. ACT 2: FRONTIER PSYCHIATRIST "I won't let you forget the hatred I bestowed Upon your neck with a fatal blow From my teeth and my tongue I've drank [sic] and swallowed, but it's just begun" -- Faith No More, "Surprise!! You're DEAD!" The Plymouth pulled up in Chez Cullen's driveway, next to the Merc. Daria, Jane and A.P. piled out -- Jane was toting a carrier bag; A.P., several pizza boxes -- and looked askance at the rental Honda sitting in front of the house. Then they started walking toward the Cullen front door, maybe a little too fast, arriving just in time to nearly crash into Warlock as he opened the door and stepped out. For a moment, Daria, Jane and A.P. just stared at him. Jane was the first to speak. "What the *hell* are *you* doing here?" "What's going on?" Daria added. "Purple Peril?" A.P. called into the house. "Y'okay?" "Fine," Lynn lied. Even A.P. didn't buy it. "To do with *him?*" "NO." A.P. looked Warlock right in the eye. "Okay. You live." Warlock raised an eyebrow at A.P. Not, mind you, that he was *entirely* dismissive of the Maverick's potential ability to take him down -- after all, he'd seen what happened to Jensen -- but A.P. was unarmed, and Warlock'd also seen him in the dojo. He stepped aside slightly, and Daria, Jane and A.P., sparing Warlock one last mistrustful glance, stepped past him into the house. The door closes at his back, and he headed toward the rental car, but didn't get into it -- he just stood there and waited for a moment. Then he heard what he'd been anticipating. "Do you not speak *English?*" Lynn thundered inside the house, her lividity making her loud enough to be heard from his position. Someone presumably started to say something. "I DON'T WANT COMPANY! NO OFFENSE, BUT PISS OFF!" Warlock kept waiting. A moment later, Daria, Jane and A.P. came running out of the house; Jane's burden was lighter by one carrier bag, but A.P. still had the pizzas. They approached Warlock, who looked at them with something like sympathy. "Want a status report?" A.P. looked ready to try and physically kill anyway. "Not from *you,* you--" Daria clapped a hand over his mouth. "--mmphmmphmmph!" Daria addressed herself to Warlock, with remarkable calm under the circumstances. "Please. -- But not here. The neighbors..." "Crackhouse, I heard. -- Suggestions? To her considerable credit, Daria only sounded slightly bitter. "We could show you Biers. It is `your' place, after all." "That works. I should talk to Shooter anyway." "So long as we can eat the pizzas," A.P. allowed as. "Sounds fair." Warlock noticed the snickers and sick looks that Daria and Jane were suppressing. "What?" "You'll see," they chorused. * * * In the bar, the foursome sat at a rickety table, pizza boxes spread out. Warlock was looking with incredulous horror at the one with the tuna, onions, capers, artichoke hearts, cayenne peppers and shrimp. "He *eats* that?" he boggled at Daria and Jane. After a moment, he added, "In *quantity?*" "Ooooooooohyeah." Jane smirked. "But you have to watch out for the blue garlic." A.P. looked mortified. "She didn't tell you about that." He waited for confirmation and got none. "Oh, she did. Oh jeez..." "My curiosity has overcome my trepidation," Warlock announced. What about `blue garlic'?" "Look, it was *no big deal!*" "He ate one of those pizzas," Daria explained; "the garlic was old, turned blue when it cooked -- he apparently spent three minutes thinking he was a lemming." Warlock was getting a bad mental image. "I see...green hair, blue robe...jumping off..." "NOT THAT KIND OF LEMMING!" A.P. thought some more. "I don't think. I don't remember." _Sledgehammer of Subject Change out and swinging._ "Anyways." "Something is--" "Rotten in the state of Texas?" Daria gave him a Look for interrupting her. "All right, all right. Jezebel hit town. She left about ten minutes before you guys turned up." A.P. went beyond horror into speed-rant mode. "Ohthatsnotgood. ThatsSOnotgood." "Tell me it didn't turn into Springer." The look on Warlock's face was all the answer Jane needed. "Oh." Daria went into almost a professional mode. "Casualties? Wounded? Police involvement?" Warlock was mildly impressed by her clinical calm. "No, no, and no. But the second was a close thing." "Only close?" Jane wondered. "Closer than I'd have liked." "How so?" "Let's just say I very nearly became the ground meat in a steaming-Cullen sandwich." "Excuse me?" Daria interjected. A.P. had a question as well. "And you got her to stop killing the Bitch-Mom from Hell *how?*" "Talked her back from the edge." "You...did...*what?*" "Now *that's* impressive," Daria had to admit. "I already did it once in SF," Warlock pointed out. "Back when she ran off and left you guys an umnote." A.P. sounded very hopeful, almost pleading. "And...same kinda demon-rage edge...right?" A little too casual. "Right." A.P. frowned. "Why don't I believe you?" Warlock tried to be careful how he sounded, but a hint of his anger showed through. "I don't know. Why don't you?" "'Cause I know her and don't really trust *you* all that well..." Daria decided intervention was called for. "Guys...please. Let's stick to the business at hand. `Warlock'...why *are* you here?" "Was passing through Texas anyway," he replied. "Dropping off some birthday gifts." Total facefault and utter silence. "I don't know if I believe you about *that* either..." "A.P., shut *up!*" Warlock threw a hard look at A.P. to match Jane's hard words. _When *I'm* the peacemaker,_ Daria thought, _things are going straight to hell._ "If I may ask...what *kind* of `birthday gifts'?" "I got her one of those Klingon daggers that do that extra blade popout thing. Don't know about the others." "So this isn't a recruitment drive?" "Or more pushing for us to accept," the disdain was clear in Jane's voice, "Tom as a bodyguard?" "No. Just dropping off presents." "*Greeeeeeeeat* timing," A.P. muttered sourly. "It *was,* wasn't it." Rather pointed, that. "Now if you'll excuse me..." As the others watched with some trepidation, he whipped out his cell-phone and dialed a long-distance number. In a posh restaurant somewhere in (probably) London, Lorna picked up. "Matthew?" "No, Warlock." After a moment, he realized what she'd said. "Matt-who?!" "*Divine* gentleman. Works for Vogue. Everyone thought he was gay." He could just *hear* the smirk in her voice. "Not anymore." "Um....yeah. -- We've a problem." The Butterfly sighed. "Ask not what your Family can do for you..." "...ask what you can do for the Family. -- And *I*'m the quote- happy one around here." A shrug, most likely. "In any case. What do you need *me* for? I'm incidental, remember?" "Jezebel's in Lawndale and is pushing the Peril's buttons." "Ohfortheloveof..." "Yeah. We need her diverted." Another audible smirk. "Anywhere particular in mind? Or maybe I should ask if you want her back ever." "Somewhere where they don't like Americans. Or females that aren't totally covered. Her luggage, of course, goes to Antarctica." "Hmmmmmm...Uzbekistan? -- For Nike?" Warlock visibly smirked. "That'll work beautifully." "Right. I'll work on that and get back to you. Oh, and say hello to J...Kes for me." Piku piku. "I was about to tell you the same. She's not back in London?" "No. I haven't been in contact with her since she left for her little tour. She's not with you?" " Warlock: She left TBM..." He had to think. "...around Halloween." "Hmm. -- Should I worry? "Good question. We are at war." "Hmm. Well, worrying about that is your job, I'm sorry to have to tell you. For my own part, I'll get Jezebel the hell out of the Colonies." "That's all I'm asking." "Aye sir. If she gets in touch with me, I'll let you know." "Please do." He hung up with a digital *bleep* and looked up at the gang, who were looking at him with some concern. "Anything we should know about?" Daria asked ever so gently. Warlock almost visibly bigsweatdropped. "Oh, I thought Kes was going back home. Probably continuing her tour instead." A.P. didn't necessarily buy that, but at the moment, he was more worried about Lynn. "So what about Purple Peril? She won't let us *near* her." "I'll talk to her." He managed to sound rueful. "I seem to be good at that. "Yeah," A.P. acknowledged bitterly, :you do." He glared at Warlock. _Gotta do something about *that* too..._ ACT 3: CHURCH ON SUNDAY "And when you finally regain consciousness You're bound and gagged in a wedding dress And the prison guard looks the other way 'Cause he's the guy ya flipped the bird the other day I hope this helps to emphasize I hope this helps to clarify I, hope, you, die I. Hope. You. Die." -- The Bloodhound Gang, "I Hope You Die" Warlock's rental car pulled up outside Chez Cullen, and he stepped out and stood on the sidewalk. He was headed for the door when it swung open, and there stood Lynn with the d'k tagh. He looked at her; she looked right back at him, and *click* went the side-blades. One could almost see the thought bubble over his head, saying, _She wouldn't..._ She held up a whetstone. "Et tu, Peril?" "I haven't stabbed you." She thought about that a moment, then added, "YET." Another pause. "Bat'leth for Christmas?" "And I'll have Scar teach you to use it." "Never pegged Scar for a Trekkie." "Trekkie, no. Hand to hand geek, though..." "Point. -- So?" "Point. I get it." "One more of those and you *will* get it. Anyway, you're dodging." Warlock looked at the knife. "Not yet I'm not." "Ha. What are you doing *here* again?" "Arranging for the disposal of Jezebel. And trying some damage control." Lynn mimed shooting someone in the head. "Disposal?" "No." He thought a moment. "Not yet, anyway." "Ah." Lynn sounded half-disappointed, half-relieved. She paused to consider, then added, "How damage control?" "She'll be out of the country for a while; and well away from you. But your friends don't want to have to be." Lynn couldn't look him in the face. "Oh. I guess that means you heard that." "Yeah." "And...you're just being silent to make me fill it with whatever you think I need to vent about." "Could be." "I suppose it wouldn't have any effect to tell you I hate you." "Nope." Lynn sighed. "So do *you* have any suggestions? In case you didn't realize, I pulled this," she waved the dagger, "on Jane." "I've seen people forgiven worse. They care about you. And they understand." Lynn turned pink. "Yeah. Well. Yeah. -- Uh. Thanks?" "No worries." Lynn raised an eyebrow. "So. Going to fill me in on what else is going on? How're the others doing?" "We've basically crawled into a hole, then pulled it in after us." "Would you tell me if there *was* anything going on?" "If it was something you needed to know about." "Okay," she replied, sounding skeptical. After a moment, she sighed. You didn't quite answer my question. How do I approach people I wielded a knife at?" "They're not just people. They're your friends." Lynn shrugged. "Even worse, then. I can't talk to them after *that*." "Maybe you won't have to. Maybe they understand." Lynn stared at the ground. "Maybe." Another pause. "If that's all, you might want to take off. People seem to watch this house. The crackhouse thing, you know." "How *did* that..." He trailed off. "On second thought, I probably don't want to know. Later." He headed off. Lynn watched him go, then shut the door. * * * Warlock knocked on the front door of McIntyre Manor. A moment later, it opened, and a man scowled out at him. "We already gave," said Fred McIntyre and made to slam the door in Warlock's face. Piku piku. Warlock stuck the tip of his boot in the door. "I'm here to see A.P., actually. "A.P.?" _He can't *really* be confused by that, can he?_ "Your son? A pause. "Yea tall," a demonstrative hand motion, "red hair?" "Oh. You mean Andrew." He looked Warlock up and down. "What do you want him for?" "About ten minutes." Fred blinked at Warlock for a moment, then decided not to mess with this man. "ANDREW! There's a..." Words failed him, as they so often do his son. "...just come to the door!" Fred stepped away from the door, leaving Warlock to stand there wondering inwardly about the families of these kids. Then A.P. turned up at the door. "Well?" "Go," said Warlock. "See her. Make her have some fun." "Yeah. Fun gutting me." "I'm sure you two could think of something else to do." A.P. raised an eyebrow, and Warlock's tone turned dry. "I guess `carpe Peril' wouldn't go over too well right now either." "Not on your *life,* you..." The Maverick quite deliberately turned his back. "Wha...oh. Did not mean *that.*" "Look, she...Why am I telling *you* this?" "I don't know, but what she needs right now is to be dragged out and forcibly reminded people care about her no matter what. And that starts with you." A.P. still sounded slightly bitter. "Still giving orders, huh?" He thought some more. "And what do *you* care, anyway?" "Not an order, just a suggestion." Warlock considered how to put it. "Think of what would happen to her without you. You really want to see her friendless and alone, consumed by Family issues?" A.P. winced. "She wouldn't. She just..." "Just what?" A shrug. "*You're* the expert. You tell me. She just wouldn't let that happen to her. She's...not like that." After a moment, he almost pleaded, "*Is* she?" "I didn't think I was..." A.P. facefaulted. "Is this where Erudite Emerald would say `Walking away now with too much information' just to spare your feelings?" "Probably." "Okaaaaaaaaay." A pause. "So. Uh. Can...I ask you something?" "Shoot." A.P. blushed a bright maroon. "Where do I *take* her? I don't know from *dating* her!" "You two haven't been on a date yet?" "Not a...y'know...real one. Just fake-outs to freak...Jezebel, you called her?" "Oh. Right. And what did you two do then?" "Nothing...mushy. Couldn't take it. Y'know. Didn't want to give anything away." "The important part of a date is not what you do but *that* you do. Just spend time with her." "But it's her eighteenth *birthday.* It ought to be...special. Mushy stuff. First date stuff. Uh...romance." "Hmm...I've got an iiiiiiiiidea." Something about the way he said that made A.P. really nervous. "Should I be scared?" A slow grin. "Naaaaaaaaaaah." "That's a yes." * * * In her room, Lynn was staring at a book. Distantly, she heard a *clunk*, and knew that A.P.'s head must then poke into the window frame. She didn't look up, but she didn't look pissed off either, so he climbed into the window and looked over her shoulder at...nothing. "Why's the book blank?" he asked. "Diary?" "Like I'd write my secrets down on paper for anyone to read." She let him think about that. "It's a birthday present from Scar." She flipped to the first page. A.P. looked at it. "`Rule One: Never tell anyone everything. Rule Two:'" A moment of thought. "Where's the rest of it?" Lynn just looked at him until he got it. "OH." "You're *not* afraid I'm going to remove your kidneys via your nostrils? Or you have something so important to say to risk that fate?" "Important. -- Like you." Lynn went a shade of *bright pink* previously known to science only via Narcissa's wardrobe. "What do you mean, `me'?" "You. You're important. And worth risks." In defiance of the laws of color, Lynn went even pinker. "Uh." A.P. knew that, even for the articulate, sometimes words are totally pointless and don't say nearly enough. "C'mon. We're goin' out." "Out *where?*" He shrugged. "Let's find out!" Then he grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her toward the window. "Eee! I'm going to *need*..." She remembered it hadn't worked last time either. "Oh, tahellwithit." She followed him out. * * * A.P. was driving the Merc. Lynn still wasn't sure how that'd happened, so she was watching him, slightly nervous, as they passed the sign that said OAKWOOD -- 3 MILES. It was a dark and stormy theatre. The screen showing the forest scene in _Blair Witch 2: Book of Shadows_, with the actors looking at a tree that should not be in ruins. A few Junior Mints came flying out into the screen-lit theatre from the balcony and hit a few random spectators in the head. They started complaining. LOUDLY. In the front row of the balcony, Lynn and A.P. were sharing a large box of Junior Mints and snickering. Before too long, they were being led out by a peeved-looking usher with a Junior Mint stuck in his moustache. By then, they were smirking. In Oakwood Heights Shopping Mall, they were dueling with fake light sabres. Two security guards stepped up to them, at which point the duelists dropped their sabres and pulled the paintball guns that were strapped across their backs. With a shared grin, they opened fire. They came running out the revolving doors, followed by two security guards covered in blue and purple paint. As Lynn and A.P. hopped into the Merc and drove off, the security guards decided not to give chase, turning back to the mall with a good-riddance gesture. In a park whose name escapes me at the moment, Lynn was most of the way up a tree. A quarter of the way up the tree, A.P. was hanging upside down from a thick limb, rather like a sloth. Lynn looked down and smiled fondly. A.P. grinned, tried to wave, and thought better of it, grabbing the tree limb for dear life. In a grassy area of the same park, Lynn and A.P. were sitting on a _The Empire Strikes Back_ sheet instead of a blanket. A.P. produced a picnic basket. "Anything but that pizza." "It's *your* birthday. Would I?" Lynn raised an eyebrow. Afterward, the picnic detritus was spread everywhere. A.P. handed Lynn a wrapped box. She looked at the clumsy wrapping job -- she could tell he'd done it all by himself -- then took off the paper carefully. It was a little velvet box. She opened it -- it was an oval locket set with an amethyst. She opened the locket -- on one side was a pic of A.P. in his Romeo costume; on the other, Lynn as Juliet. A.P. looked *very* nervous -- until he was grabbed in a tight hug and kiss by the Peril. * * * Kate stumbled off the plane, looking rather green around the gills. "God, that has to be the *worst* flight I...ever..." She trailed off as she got a look at the completely unfamiliar airport. You could quite literally see her moods changing on her face, which went from airsick to stunned to waxing sorely pissed. A Caucasian male in his mid-30's with brown hair, in a suit and tie, passed her, and she grabbed him by that cravat and yanked him forward so they were pretty much nose to nose. "WHERE THE *HELL* AM I?" "No entiendo, senora, lo siento." Kate facefaulted, then turned to a black-haired guy in his early 20's whose whole look fairly screamed "baggage handler," fairly grabbing him by the collar. "Look, if you don't tell me what Godforsaken country I'm in..." "Wakaranai...gomen..." She let him go with a snarl and turned to a blonde woman in a business suit. "Excuse me...could you tell me where this *is*?" "Pardon, madame, je ne comprends pas." Looking like she was -- "looking" because she *was* in fact -- trying desperately not to scream, Kate turned to a portly balding guy in a Polo shirt and jeans. "Now look. I'm from America and I have *no* damn clue where I am. Can you--?" "Ich verstehe nicht. Das tut mir leid." T minus three, two, ignition, blastoff. "DOESN'T ANYONE IN THIS BENIGHTED COUNTRY SPEAK ENGLISH?!?" A tall blond man in a suit approached her. "Yes, I do. What is the problem?" Kate sighed. "Thank *God.* I'm Kate Cullen and I'm representing Nike..." There came the *pwing* of a ricocheting gunshot. Kate and the blond man kissed the floor. After a moment, he waved her up as he gots up. As she got to her feet, he made a gesture and a couple of security guards approach, taking hold of her arms gently. "Wha...?" "I'm from the American Embassy here in Uzbekistan. We're putting you into protective custody." I'd describe her expression of utter frustrated, horrified rage, but you might start feeling sorry for her. Just as adventure is somebody else far away having a lousy time, comedy is somebody for whom you've no sympathy having a lousy time. I think Mel Brooks said it best: "Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall through an open sewer and die." So we'll leave her standing next to an office desk in the said Embassy, gesticulating wildly as she talked into an old rotary-dial phone. "No, look, you don't understand. I *can't* tell you where I am. -- No, I *can't!* I can't *pronounce* it! Hell, I can't even *spell* it!" * * * Lynn and A.P. were sitting side by side on the blanket, holding hands, silhouetted against the sunset they were watching. And I think we'll leave *them* like *that*, since I share the immortal S. Morgenstern's view (which I've quoted once before) that "each of God's beings, from the lowliest on up, is entitled to at least a few moments of genuine privacy". ADAPTOR'S NOTES The 'Pataphysical calendar, created by Alfred Jarry (the 19th- century French proto-surrealist) and beginning on the day of his birth, is one of the multiple calendars I discussed on New Year's Day in one of my rare yet infrequent appearances on #Daria+, like anyone cares. (Well, *that* brought a lot of hands up.) I chose it because it happened to have a month starting that day (the third of the year, after Absolu and Maha). Equivalent dates in other calendars available on request. (Look, I don't want to keep seeing the same hands.) I think the "You sound like an outboard motor" may be a refcrime to a similar line in the B5 episode "Divided Loyalties." 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, Kate Cullen, A.P. McIntyre and Lorna Smythe are copyright 1999, 2000 Janet "Canadibrit" Neilson. The character of Warlock is copyright 2000, 2001 Canadibrit and/or Ben Yee. This storyline is copyright 2000 Canadibrit and Ben Yee and was adapted by Austin Loomis (to whom the prose format version is copyright 2001) with their 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, Ben Yee 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