_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Episode 2: "The Things We Do For Dough" prose adaptation (version 2.0) by Austin Loomis "Money rules the world, got to have that cash Grab it with your greedy hands, get some to stash Money is the word, it's got that magic touch Can't live without it, you need the stuff too much" -- Milli Vanilli, "Money" It started small, the way these things do. The three of them arrived at Pizza King that afternoon like any other. "Okay, people," said Jane Lane, "you know the drill." She and her friends, Daria Morgendorffer and Daria's recently- arrived near-double Lynn Cullen, turned out their pockets and spread the contents on top of a convenient trash can. The sum total of their wealth was three bills, assorted change (mostly pennies), an unwrapped piece of candy rendered unidentifiable by glued-on pocket fluff, a chewed pencil stub, three widgets of uncertain purpose, and a large ball bearing, which last item Lynn picked up, asking, "Art project?" Jane snatched it back. "Science project. Hell, Da Vinci did it." "What have we got?" Daria asked. Jane counted the actual "money" portion of the loot. "Enough for a mini-pizza and a kiddie-size Coke." "Damn." "When do you guys get your allowance?" Lynn wondered. "Mine's suspended." "What dumb-ass reason did Helen come up with now?" Jane had to know. "Mom found out I was saving up for that cabin in Montana. She said I should set more realistic goals and started socking most of my allowance into a trust fund for college." "Jane?" Lynn asked. "Well, Mom was supposed to be coming back next week, but she heard about some tour of the Egyptian tombs that she couldn't miss. So it's all dried up until sometime around Halloween." "Damn." "How astute," Daria observed dryly. "You do know what this means, don't you?" "Extortion of the parental units?" "Knock off a few Van Gogh forgeries and sell them at outrageous profits?" Jane suggested. "I was going to say after-school jobs," Lynn confessed, "but either of those could work." * * * Dinner that night at Morgendorffer Home Base was "lasagna" again, as it so often was. (Daria had once remarked to Jane that the microwave lasagna the dual-income Morgendorffer household so often ate could be best described as "concentrated starch and protein squares.") Jake was buried in his paper as usual. Daria poked at her food with her natural aplomb as Quinn babbled on about the major (by her standards) events of her life. "So, after Joey, Jeffy and What's-His-Name knocked each other out, Marcus brought me the soda and asked me out so we're going to Chez Pierre tomorrow, which is good because I've got Roland's party tonight and I'm booked solid all next week and..." "Daria," Helen turned to her older daughter with an exasperated air, "how was *your* day?" Daria looked up from her plate and replied, perfectly deadpan, "I refrained from going postal. Good enough for you?" "Be serious, Daria." She took a deep breath and made her stand. "I *am* going to have to ask you to reconsider your withholding 95% of my allowance in the name of my college education." Helen raised an eyebrow. "And why should I do that, exactly?" "Um...I still owe the Mob?" "Daria..." Helen warned her firstborn. A sigh. "If you must know, it's put a cramp in my social life." "Yeah, right," Quinn sneered. "What social life do *you* have? I mean, if you *have* to pay your own way, you *can't* be going on any dates." "Quinn," Helen warned her younger spawn, "be nice." She turned back to Daria, speaking in the "good parent" tone of a career woman who usually sends her personal assistant to parent/teacher conferences. "Sweetie, it's great that you're starting to expand your social circle a little, but frankly, if you want money that badly, it's high time you started thinking about an after-school job. After all, your college education's much more important than a little pizza money to us. If your afternoon outings are that important to you, then you should be more than willing to work to earn that outlet." "Damn right, Daria," Quinn came to her mother's support. "Oh, that reminds me -- Mom, I need to use your credit card to get a date outfit for Marcus." Helen was instantly exasperated. "Quinn, I am *not* giving you my credit card *again.* That's the *third* time this month." "But Muh-*om!*" Quinn whined. "I mean, I *can't* wear just any old...*thing!* This is Chez Pierre! The waiters would think I'd gone... *cheap!*" "No more credit card purchases, Quinn. If you want more money, the same thing goes for you as for Daria. Get a job." _She's actually holding Quinn and me to the same set of rules?_ Daria thought. _Who is this woman, and what did she do with the *real* Helen Barksdale Morgendorffer?_ "This sucks," Quinn announced. "What have I said about using that word?" Under her mother's prodding, Quinn turned sulky and defiant. "Go ahead, ground me! You've taken my money, you've taken my fashion sense, you've taken my dignity, you might as well take my freedom too!" She stormed out in a high dudgeon. Daria was surprised again. "That was actually heartfelt." Jake looked up from his paper. "Oh, was that Quinn?" * * * Daria collected her books from her locker as she related the previous evening's events to Jane and Lynn. "So, even though my mom wants me to have a social life, she wants me to fund it by getting a job -- a pursuit that would allow me no time for a social life. The hypocrisy of parenthood at its best." "Well, you got off lucky," Lynn replied. "My mom gave me the `when I was your age, I never had an allowance' speech. Never mind the fact that she spent her formative years shaking down kindergarteners for their milk money and ripping off UNICEF at Halloween. I guess she wants me to go down the road to rack and ruin." "Same with mine...only she inspires that road, only to steer me off it when it suits her." She turned to Jane. "How are the Van Gogh rip-offs coming?" "Badly. I'm just not inspired. The perpetual motion machine takes up too much of my time." "Then that means..." Lynn summed it up. "In the immortal words of your little sister, Daria...this sucks." * * * After school, they gathered in the next best thing to Pizza King, given their current operating budget -- upstairs at Casa Lane, specifically Jane's room. Lynn was sitting with her back against the foot of Jane's bed, a pad of paper and a pencil at the ready. Daria was sprawled across the bed with her hair streaming down the foot -- what the two of them had come to refer to, after Jane posed her a certain question during Quinn's "intellectual" phase, as her "something eating at my soul" pose. Jane was straddling the back of her chair. "Right, people," Lynn said, "we need options. The future of our pizza afternoons is at stake. -- I hear they're looking for waitresses over at Pizza King. That's money *and* employee discount." "Not to mention," Daria pointed out, "the added bonus of total humiliation in front of half of Lawndale High." "Good point. Babysitting?" "Yeah, right," Jane scoffed. "`All hail Pippi Longstocking!'" "Don't push me, Lane," Daria snapped. Lynn eyed them both suspiciously, sensing another of their in- jokes. "I don't want to know. Babysitting is out, I take it." "Last resort option, to say the least. Next?" "Dog-walking?" Jane suggested. "Great. Then they can get revenge on me for almost running them down." "Driving lesson?" Lynn perked up. "Blind spot because of glasses?" "How'd you guess?" Daria asked, knowing the answer before the reflexive question was all the way out of her mouth. "Mom wants me to get contacts. I tried them, but..." "Burned the eyes." "I like the glasses better, anyway. Great for turning off bimbos and brainless boy-toys." "Right," Jane shrugged. "That doesn't leave us with many options." "That doesn't leave us with *any* options. We're just kids." "Crap," Daria philosophized. A long pause followed, during which Lynn got a thoughtful look on her face. "Hey, guys," she said, seeming reluctant to talk, "I've got to go." "See you," Jane assured her. "Call if anything occurs to you." "Yeah," she replied, sounding evasive. "I'll do that." * * * Lynn rummaged in the sofa cushions and came up with some loose change. She stared at it, poked around with her finger to count it, then nodded -- _yeah, that should be enough_ -- and stuffed it into the pocket of her purple jacket. * * * Jane opened an art book to the chapter on Van Gogh and pulled out her palette. Turning to her easel, she began to paint. * * * Daria dug into the pillowcase that held her Montana Cabin Fund money. Held, past tense -- it now contained a note that said: _You'll thank me when you get your Yale degree! --Mom_ _That's it,_ she thought. _I am officially disgusted._ * * * Lynn got on the bus and gave the driver the change she'd retrieved from the sofa. _Take this bus to Cuba,_ she thought as she grabbed a seat and opened her chosen reading material -- _How to Fake Your Way through Any Subject or Occupation...EVER!_ * * * Jane stared at the easel, which now held a perfectly rendered reproduction of one of Van Gogh's paintings, then got a disgusted look and drew black lines all over it. She put a fresh canvas up and started again. * * * Daria eyed Quinn, who was looking at a list of contacts and dialling their phone numbers. In her Teen Life Planner, boys' names appeared every day next to 'HELP BABYSIT' and a family name. Daria turned away in disgust. * * * The bus did not go to Cuba, or even to Luton, but dropped Lynn off at Middleton College. She stood there for a moment as it pulled away, looked shiftily about her, and headed towards one of the dormitories. * * * Trent helped Jane load the canvasses into the back of his battered blue Plymouth. She ran back to the house, returning with the plane propeller she'd bought for five bucks and a now-forgotten reason. Trent looked at her with a baffled expression. Jane shrugged and threw it into the back, and they drove off. * * * In the kitchen, Quinn, still on the phone, abandoned her list. Daria, who'd been poking around in the fridge, leaned over to get a look at the list. All but one of the names were crossed out -- that one was circled in red and had NO WAY! printed over the top of it. * * * Quinn was on the cordless in her room, looking a bit irritated. "No, of *course* I wouldn't do that to you, Sandi. I mean, God, *no one* deserves *them* as babysitting clients." She paused to listen to Sandi Griffin demonstrate her love for the sound of her own voice. "No, Sandi, I *wouldn't* let anyone down like that, but who'd *take* them? *No one* I know is *that* desperate..." Just then, Daria passed by Quinn's open door. "Hold on. I'll call you back." She hung up and said, loudly but sweetly, "Oh, *Daria*..." Daria appeared in the doorway. "Whatever it is, I won't do it unless you make it *really* worth my while." "Well, you know how you needed some more spending money to get pizza or whatever with your little friends? It just so happens that I'm in a generous mood today and am willing to give up one of my baby- sitting jobs for you." "You mean that one circled in red with `NO WAY' written in big block caps across the top?" Quinn stomped her foot. "Daria, you *have* to! I have a reputation to maintain! And if I let even *one* person in this town go without a babysitter, my reputation as a reliable babysitter will be *ruined!*" "And the years of lies will have been for nothing. Tell me what incentive I have to do you this favor." "They pay really well now!" "Not good enough. Twenty percent of your total profits for the next two weeks." "Daria! That's not fair!" "Bargain or say bye-bye to the only person in town who will do this for you." "But..." "You're in a hole here, Quinn. We both know that you wouldn't be asking me for help if there was anyone else to ask. Accept my terms, try to bargain, or lose out." "Oooh! -- Five percent." "Fifteen." "God, Daria, you are *torturing* me!" "Save it for someone who cares." "Okay! Ten!" "Done. Always a pleasure, Quinn. Tell them you've found them a babysitter." * * * The next day, in history class, sometime before Mr. DeMartino arrived, Jane leaned forward to talk to Daria. "Hey, have you seen Lynn lately?" "I'm astigmatic, Jane, not blind." "Whoa! Aren't we on a short fuse today?" "Yeah, well...Quinn roped me into a babysitting job." Jane shrugged. "Well, you wanted money." Then dawn broke over Marblehead. "Not..." "Yep. The Guptys." Jane remembered the previous time Quinn had inveigled her sister into babysitting for Stepford-couple Lester and Lauren's too-perfect sproggen, and how Daria had had to call on her best (and, at the time, only) friend for help -- and the "damage" the two of them had done to Tad and Tricia's nicely impressionable minds. "At least it won't be all sweetness and light this time around." "Jane, I fear for my life. Tad's apparently taken to blowing the heads off the cute lawn ornaments with a BB gun. And Tricia's discovered the joys of paint-balling." Jane was impressed. "Really? Whoa. Need company?" "Nah. If I'm going down, I don't want to take you with me. And having them kill you would deny me the pleasure. Now, what about Lynn?" "She hasn't been over, not answering her phone...fell asleep at her desk in Barch's class yesterday. I've asked what's wrong, but..." "Let me guess. Only verbal response was `go to hell.'" "You and her -- peas in a pod." A pause to let that sink in. "That's why I thought *you* ought to ask." "I'll think it over. What's it worth to you?" "Daria, you *know* I've got no cash." "No mention of Trent for a month." "A day." "Week." "Three days." "Five." "Four." "Done." She realized that the Morgendorffer negotiation style was spreading. "I do too damn much of this." * * * The Cullen house was just a little smaller than Morgendorffer Home Base, painted blue-grey, with two levels and an attic. Daria approached the door and sighed, then rang the bell. After a suitable interval, Lynn answered the door. "Hi," she said, clearly suspicious. Daria suddenly felt self-conscious. "Hey. I...um..." "Wanted to check up on me at Jane's request?" "Um...yeah. And wanted to see how you were coming on your room." A sigh. "Come in." * * * As she'd said she planned to do, Lynn had painted her room black, with purple trim and purple velvet drapes, for the whole "dark and mysterious and possibly suicidal but nobody can be sure" effect she'd promised. Over her bed, a simple poster paid silent tribute to KURT COBAIN (1967- 1994). "So how'd you get roped into this?" Lynn just had to know. "Goodness of your heart?" Daria felt guilty. "Um..." Lynn smirked. "Didn't think so. So what did you get out of Jane for braving my den and checking up?" "No teasing about or mention of Trent for four days." "You're getting soft. I would have held out for a week at least. And in answer to the question, I am fine." "So why the disappearing act?" "Earning money...believe me, the hard way. But it'll keep us all in cheese-burn for awhile." "Um ... you're not saying how, are you." It wasn't really a question, so Daria saw no reason to inflect it as one. "We can play Twenty Questions, if you like, but I'm not *giving* it to you." "All I want to know is, is it legal?" "It's not anything that I would be tried and convicted for, put it that way. I don't know enough about the criminal code in this state to be sure." Daria thought that over for a moment, couldn't find the holes in the logic, and shrugged. "Fair enough." As she turned to go, she looked back. "Just one piece of advice." Lynn instantly got suspicious again. "Yeah?" "If you're going to sleep in class, only do it in Ms. Barch's. Mr. O'Neill will send you to Mrs. Manson, Mrs. Bennett will send you to Ms. Li, and Mr. DeMartino ... well, he had Trent a few years back." Lynn did a Mona Lisa smile that reminded Daria of how much they really did look alike. "I think I'll pass on knowing the details of his demented reactions to people sleeping in his class. I'll watch my back. Thanks for the warning, and don't let the door hit you on your way out." The thanks left Daria baffled and uneasy. "Yeah..." she said in parting, "um...yeah." * * * Daria surveyed the carnage at the Guptys' from the foot of the walk -- headless lawn ornaments were everywhere, and someone had paint-balled the front of the house. "We who are about to die salute you," she mused as she walked up to the house and rang the bell. Lauren Gupty opened the door. "Oh, it's *you,*" she said rather coldly. "We wouldn't allow you in this house again, only you're the only one who will sit for our little monsters..." "Dear!" her husband called, approaching. "Shut up!" Mrs. Gupty shouted over her shoulder, then turned back to Daria. "Anyway, we can't take it anymore. We need a break. You'll be well paid so long as you keep them from wrecking the place." Daria hesitated, but only for a moment. After all, this whole situation was in a way her fault. "Um...okay." "Now get in there and try to tame the monsters you created!" With that, Lauren and Lester shot out the door. Daria approached the stairs to the second floor, a little scared. "Tad?" she called up the stairs. "Tricia?" _Isn't this how horror-movie victims act just before they die?_ * * * Up in her room, Jane looked at the sketch she'd drawn -- Tad and Tricia Gupty menacing Daria. Feeling her face pull up into an evil grin, she added Trent, as Indiana Jones, swinging to Daria's rescue. Then she looked at the phone and decided it was time to check in. She picked it up and dialed the Guptys' number. "Hello, damsel in distress..." she began. "Gupty residence," Daria replied with surprising calm. "How are the terrors doing?" "I sat them in front of _Cannibal Fragfest_ on CD-ROM. Haven't heard a BB pellet fired yet." "Ah," Jane nodded sagely. "Diversions rock. So, how'd it go with Ms. Houdini the vanishing Daria look-alike?" "She's working." Jane was surprised. "Doing what?" "She won't tell me...except that it's not strictly illegal." "Not *strictly* illegal?" "Hey, we can pry it out of her next week." There was a distant thump and a sound of screaming. Daria's voice got muffled, as if she'd put her hand over the phone's mouthpiece, as she yelled upstairs. "*If you two don't knock off killing each other, I am putting the block back on the television! And you know what that means!* "You wouldn't!" said a distant voice, possibly Tad, but it was hard to be sure. "You want to watch _Sick, Sad World_ too!" "Yeah!" said another voice, definitely female and therefore, presumably, Tricia. "You said you didn't want to miss this one!" "I'm on the phone," Daria explained, "to someone who will tape it for me. Get my meaning?" "We'll stop," the terror-tots answered as one. Jane was impressed. "Whoa! Considering a career in education?" "Are you kidding? Babysitting pays better than teaching. But I'd better go." "Yeah, see you." She hung up, thought a minute, then flipped over to the next page of her sketchbook and started drawing Lynn in a samurai outfit, wielding a katana. _Lynn Cullen, Yakuza!_ she smirked. * * * The next day, Jane was looking over Daria's shoulder as her friend collected her books from her locker, noticing as she did that one bow of the other's glasses was mended with duct tape. "Going for the alternative look again?" "Tad got a little over-enthusiastic over _Sick, Sad World_ and started randomly firing his BB gun." "Maybe `Klebold and Harris -- Psychos or Just Misunderstood?' wasn't the best viewing idea." "Go to hell, Lane. I haven't seen *you* make any sacrifices in the name of pizza." "Oh, haven't I?" She reached into her pocket and held out a bunch of crumpled bills. "How'd you get *that?*" "Swap meet. Sold three Van Gogh reproductions and that stupid plane propeller." "God, you've got it easy. Now all we have to do is find out how Lynn did." As if on cue, Lynn arrived, looking a little tired, but otherwise seemingly none the worse for wear. "Hi." "Hey. How's the quasi-legal money-making going?" "Well, we'll just have to see. Ah, my contact." A familiar figure approached. Black jeans, deerskin shirt, pink hair...no doubt about it, it was Heather, the Morgendorffers' tour guide from their family trip to Middleton College. "Lynn Cullen?" she asked. "Right here." "Cool. Got the goods?" "I sense a running gag here," Jane whispered to Daria as Lynn rummaged through her book bag. "One philosophy paper on Kant; three lit papers on Austen, Dickens and Bronte respectively; one history essay treating on the importance of the Nazi party to the German economy; and a graduate thesis on Poe. Got the money? And remember: cash only..." "Yeah, yeah," Heather shrugged, "never accept checks from college students." She produced a plain brown envelope. "Three hundred and fifty in total." "Great." They made the exchange. "Pleasure doing business with you." "When are you back on duty?" "Well, this should last me awhile...I'll be in touch sometime well before the Christmas break. I ought to at least *consider* buying people presents this year." "Great. My sociology final paper's due just before the holidays." She noticed a familiar face. "Hey, Daria." "Hey," Daria said flatly. "This kid took over your franchise, looks like." "I'd still be on it, but I don't believe in perpetuating a vicious cycle by earning money doing college work so that my mom can confiscate it to send me to college and I can pay someone else to do college work." Heather got a brief chuckle out of that. "Yeah, whatever. I've got to get out of here. Too many bad memories. See you." She made her exit. The three of them looked at each other for a moment. "Okay, Lynn," Jane started doing the math, "you got $350. I made $239. Daria..." "Four-fifty an hour, plus combat pay from the Guptys, plus 10% skimmed off the top of all Quinn's earnings for taking the Gupty job in the first place ... $195." "Whoa," Lynn was impressed. "For one job? Who the hell are the Guptys?" "You don't even want to know." "And that leaves us enough to..." "Buy out the franchise," Jane suggested. "Large pizza with the works and sodas for everyone?" Daria proposed. "Works for me." * * * The same outcasts, one pizza later. Jane and Lynn sat across from Daria in the booth. They were enjoying it. "Two weeks since we could afford to do this," Jane pointed out. "The withdrawal symptoms had become unbearable," Daria deadpanned. "Oh, the agony," Lynn chimed in. "Frozen pizza bagels were a slightly adequate methadone...but it's not the same without the unidentifiable burned things." "Oh, by the way," Jane asked casually, "are you guys in a generous mood?" "Why?" "Hey, Janey," said a familiar sleepy voice. "Hey, Lynn. Hey, Daria." "Hey, Janey," Max added, scratching his newly-pierced septum. "Hey, Daria. Hey, Lynn." "I invited the guys to have pizza with us," Jane explained, "and celebrate our newly-acquired wealth." * * * Many large pizzas later, they had managed to put a fair dent in that wealth, and the booth was getting a little crowded. Jane was crushed between the wall and Jesse, and Lynn between Jesse and Max. Daria was crushed between the wall and Trent, and Nick was beside Trent. "Well, wasn't that nice," Jane remarked. "Isn't this cozy?" "I'd start watching my back in dark alleyways if I were you, Jane," Lynn advised. "Amen to that," Daria added. "What?" Trent wondered. "Never mind," his sister assured him. "Hate to eat and run, but...practice awaits." "Practice?" Lynn wondered. "Another excuse for a meeting of the world's first branch of Narcoleptics Anonymous." Daria realized what she'd said, blushed bright red and covered her mouth, as who should say "whoops." Trent did one of his laughs that turn into a coughing fit. "Good one, Daria." Daria blushed even deeper. * * * "So," Jane asked as they were walking to school the next morning, "your parents find out about the money yet, Daria?" "Mom tried to confiscate it in the name of college, but I reminded her that she said to get a job for all pizza-related outgoings." "Reaction?" Lynn wondered. "And I quote: `I could kick myself for saying that.' How about you?" "She doesn't know yet, and never will." "How are you keeping the money from her?" "The old hollow book routine." "Sounds a little cliched." "Mom can't bear to look in my room -- something about being able to feel the life and joy being sucked out of her the moment she crosses the threshold." "Impressive reaction." "So it's safe enough. Besides, the title's _Too Much Information: Weed through College Literature the Easy Way_. Mom's not going to give that a second look as long as she thinks I'm interested in college." Jane was intrigued. "I don't know whether to envy you for having parents around all the time or pity you for having people breathing down your neck all the time." "Well, once Mom thinks I'm adequately settled into what *she* laughingly calls home and *I* refer to as `convenient daughter storage space,' you won't see her for dust. And anyway, how challenging would life be without an excuse to screw someone over?" "You may have a point there." They walked on into the sunrise. "Plans for this afternoon?" Daria wondered. "I say order pizza in and watch some crappy Japanese monster movies," Lynn replied. "My house?" Jane suggested. "Mystik Spiral rehearsal, right?" Daria checked. "Well..." "Lynn's house." "Spoilsport." "Yenta," Lynn countercharged. "I am *not* a yenta!" "Yes you are," Daria informed her gently. "Am not!" AUTHOR'S NOTES "Concentrated starch and protein squares" is from one of the host segments on MTV's 1998 "Daria Day." Daria explained the true nature of the "lasagna" as something better suited to the delicate digestive tracts of cartoon characters. "The bus did not go to Cuba, or even to Luton" is the Monty Python reference for the episode, as is "The same outcasts, one pizza later." That's two, isn't it? The two Python references are the bus, "one pizza later" and "Many large pizzas later"...The three Python references are the bus, "one pizza later," "Many large pizzas later," and this paragraph, which is turning into something from Cardinal Jimenez of the Spanish Inquisition...amongst the Monty Python references are the bus, one pizza, many pizzas, this paragraph, nice red uniforms and an almost fanatical devotion to Daria, I mean the Pope. "Sproggen" (singular "sprog") for children is from alt.support. childfree. I still don't recall what I was looking for on Deja.com when I encountered the term. Again, the Max we see in "Ill" doesn't have the nose ring he sports in "Speedtrapped." Obligatory legal blap: Daria Morgendorffer was created (as were the rest of the Lawndale characters) by Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis Lynn, and she and her neighbors are copyright 1993, 1997, 2000 MTV Networks, a Viacom company. (As Michelle Klein-Haess has pointed out, work-for-hire sucks the yolks from ostrich eggs.) They are here used, without the permission of their creators or owners, in the not-for-profit context of fan-fiction. The character of Lynn Cullen is copyright 1999 Janet "Canadibrit" Neilson, as is this storyline, which was adapted by Austin Loomis (to whom the prose format version is copyright 2000) with permission. All other characters, locations and incidents (of which I don't think there are any, 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.