From zedd@io.com Sat Apr 01 08:47:30 2000
_The Look-Alike Series_
Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit
Season 2, episode 8: "The Parent Crap"
(with paraphrases from "Gifted," teleplay by Peggy Nicoll)
prose adaptation by Austin Loomis


ACT 1: OH WELL...

Lynn Cullen staggered into the kitchen, wearing her usual sleepwear -- 
an oversized purple T-shirt, black and white checked boxer shorts, and 
purple fluffy slippers -- and made a beeline for the coffee machine.  
Sitting on the counter in front of it, where she couldn't miss it if 
she tried, was a small stack of papers.  The top sheet was a note, signed 
_Mom_.  "What the hell...?" Lynn muttered groggily.

				      * * *

Elsewhere in Lawndale, in the kitchen of Morgendorffer Home Base, Helen 
Barksdale Morgendorffer was at the table, leafing through a stack of 
papers.  Her husband Jake was hidden behind the Lawndale Sun-Herald as 
usual.  Her eldest daughter, Daria, entered and made a beeline for the 
fridge.
	Helen looked up then. "Well, good morning, Daria!" she led off 
hopefully.  "How are you?"
	"Av well av can be ekfpected," Daria replied, muffled by the 
fridge.  "Make of that what you will."
	"And how's school?"
	Daria emerged from the fridge with apple in hand.  "Tedious 
beyond all sense, so it could be worse."
	"And...things with the boyfriend?"
	Daria continued on her way out.  "I wasn't expecting the Spanish 
Inquisition."  She stopped and flinched slightly, for a moment worried 
that Cardinals Jimenez, Biggles and Fang might show up, then sighed.
"I've been hanging around Lynn too long if I expected *that* response."
	As Daria exited the room, her sister Quinn entered it.  "Good 
morning, Quinn.  I..."
	Quinn replied at high speed.  "Can't stop -- running late -- 
out tonight -- bye!"
	"Quinn, wait!"  Quinn stopped.  "How's your boyfriend...Todd, 
isn't it?"
	"It's *Ted*; we're fine.  Mom, I've gotta..."
	"No details?  Quinn, you always used to..."
	"Bore you to death with all kinds of silly old details and aren't 
you glad I don't do *that* anymore when you're trying to work -- look, 
I've gotta go and I *promise* I'll make curfew tonight but don't cook 
for me thanks bye!"  And she was gone.
	Helen looked at the paper shielding Jake from the world, then 
shook her head in defeat and sighed.

				      * * *

Later, at Lawndale High, Jane Amber Lane stood at her locker, looking 
strangely at Daria, who was standing next to her.  In dubious tones, 
Art-Smart Scarlet observed, "Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition."
	"Thank you," Daria replied.  "It felt incomplete."
	Lynn, Daria's look-alike, arrived looking vaguely murderous.  
She passed Daria and Jane, who looked at her warily before Jane shut 
her locker and she and Daria approached Lynn, who was tossing books into 
her locker hard enough to make them bounce off the back wall.
	They were now close enough to see why they should reconsider, 
but probably too close to do so unnoticed.  "Uh-oh.  I know that shade of
maroon."  The last time Jane had seen it on Lynn's face was when Angela Li
(of dishonored memory) had put up a wanted poster for the Flack-Jacket
Mafia.
	"Um...Lynn?  Are you okay?"
	Lynn sounded suspiciously calm as she replied.  "Currently 
indisposed.  Please hold."  She took a deep breath, then yelled out, 
"*Crapcrapcrap!*"  She punched the locker next to hers, took another 
deep breath, and was instantly calm again.  "Better.  May I help you?"
	"Is asking what's wrong only going to open a Pandora's box of 
hatred and crush your fragile psyche, causing you to take out a semi-
automatic rifle and cause the hallowed halls of Lawndale High to run 
red with the blood of the masses?  If so, just give me ten minutes to 
get out of firing range and make sure CNN covers it so I can watch later."
	"Ha," came the dry reply.
	"Seriously, what happened?"
	"Mom came home.  Briefly.  Left a note, marching orders...and 
some quote-unquote `interesting' literature for me to have a look at.  
If we had a wood-burning stove, those documents would be kindling by 
now."
	"And *that's* what's causing the red rage?" Jane was impressed.
	"Must be some note," Daria added.
	Lynn extracted the note from the pocket of her purple field 
jacket.  "You read it.  I may do something drastic if I have to look 
at it again."
	Daria took the note, uncrumpled it, and scanned it briefly.  
Her eyes widened.  _Yeah, I can see why that might get her back up._  
She read it aloud, mainly for Jane's benefit.  "`Lynn: sent your 
transcripts to Grove Hills and they want you there for the weekend.  
Relevant documentation attached.  It's a school for the intellectually 
gifted so give it a chance.  I'll be calling from Boston to make sure 
you get there -- grounding until graduation if you don't show.  Back 
in two weeks.  -Mom.'"  Something didn't jell.  "But...your science 
grade..."  _Straight C because no high-school science course will let 
her specialize in pain._
	"She told them my average showing was due to boredom.  They fell 
for it."
	Jane was confused.  "But why would she want to transfer you in 
the middle of the school year?"
	Daria decided to check something.  "You'd laugh if I said honest 
concern for your intellectual development, right?"
	"Until I died," Lynn replied in grim yet deadpan tones.
	"Oh.  Then what?"
	"A.P., you guys, and the band, comma, removal of myself from 
bad influence of."  She sighed.  "I'm going to *have* to be a genius 
to figure out a way of getting them to toss me out that doesn't involve 
something Mom could punish me for.  There's no way in hell she could 
ground me, given how little time she spends at home, but she *could* 
make my life a living hell."
	"Don't worry.  At Grove Hills, you only get in if you're 
possessed of an overinflated ego to match your IQ."
	"You too, huh?"
	"Jodie and I were invited to take a tour of the place.  The 
grounds were impressive but the kids were...less endowed with the finer 
personality traits."
	"Read: they were aggressive, overbearing little snots," Jane 
helpfully clarified.
	"Thank you; that about covers it. -- Anyway, it was actually 
going fairly well until Jodie's sense of righteousness took over from 
her nice side for awhile."
	"Read: she tore the king aggressive, overbearing little snot 
a few new orifices when he tried to look down his nose at her, and he 
got her -- *and* Daria -- blackballed."
	"I think the only good thing about that whole trip was that it 
marked the start of Jodie's descent into the realm of not giving a damn 
about what other people thought of her and therefore introduced her to 
the joys of cynicism."  _And thereby, in the long run, saved her sanity, 
and possibly her life._
	"Hmm..." Lynn mused.  "D'you think that means I'll become more 
cynical after the tour?"
	"That's too scary to even think about," Jane replied.
	"Well, at least the Merc's finally fixed.  Although it *would* 
be something to see the aforementioned aggressive overbearing little 
snots' eyes pop when I pulled up on Amethyst in full biker regalia."
	A.P. McIntyre, Lynn's longtime partner-in-crime and (for the 
last few weeks) Daria's boyfriend, arrived, looking beaten.  "Hey, 
Erudite Emerald, I'm gonna have to take a rain check on that flight-sim 
rematch.  My weekend's in the can 'cause Dad conned some school for 
snotty intellectual types into considering me..."  He noticed the growing 
smirks from Daria, Jane and the Purple Peril.  "What?"
	Lynn got a sly look.  "Need a lift?"
	The Psycho-Maverick looked at her curiously for a moment, then 
the penny dropped and he gave her an evil grin.

				      * * *

Helen was sitting on the living room sofa in her weekend ensemble of 
T-shirt and shorts, talking into the cordless phone.  "No, Eric, I've 
got it covered."  Eric Schrecter blathered on for a while.  "No, the 
Henderson brief will keep until Monday."  Eeber eeber yabble.  "Eric, 
I've set this weekend aside for my family..."  So and so, this and that.  
"I'll make it up next week, Eric.  Good bye."  She hung up with a sigh.
	Jake entered, weighed down by his golf bag.  "Golf!" he hollered 
and left again.
	Then came Quinn, holding her compact and putting on lipstick.  
"Date!" she shouted as she breezed through.
	Finally Daria, bearing a duffel bag.  "Jane's," she stated flatly 
as she made an almost-immediate exit. 
	Helen, like her plans, was thrown for a loop.  "But..."  She 
sighed, looked at the phone, then sighed again and pointedly looked 
away.  _My plans may have been shot down in flames, but the firm of 
Vitale, Davis, Horowitz, Riordan, Schrecter, Schrecter and Schrecter 
can flaming well get along without me for the weekend._  She hesitantly 
picked up the TV remote and clicked the TV on.
	"Little green men from Mars...or Ireland?  The St. Patrick's 
Day Invasion, next on _Sick, Sad World_!"
	So, this was that show Daria and her friend seemed to spend most 
of their time watching.  Helen stared at the TV with an expression of 
horror mixed with morbid curiosity.


ACT 2: GROVE HILLS DEAF TRIP

Lynn's Mercedes pulled up in front of Grove Hills.  The car didn't look 
out of place at the school, and the school didn't look too dowdy for 
the car, but the driver and her passenger suspected that was going to 
be the only area in which Grove Hills meaningfully outdid Lawndale High.

				      * * *

Jane's left foot was bare, and the toes were coated with blue paint -- 
she was lying on her back on the floor of her room and dabbing the 
canvas.  Daria watched her with dim amusement.  "What exactly are you 
trying to achieve here?"
	"Well," Jane explained, "in the Orient, they do this kind of 
massage that involves someone walking on your back -- something about 
the way toes grip a surface instinctively when you step down.  I want 
to see how that translates onto canvas."
	"And if all else fails," Daria observed wryly, "you could get 
a starring role in a nature special on the blue-footed booby.  Or a 
remake of _My Left Foot_."
	Jane lashed her foot in Daria's direction, flicking paint, which 
Daria dodged easily.  Jane bent forward to put more paint on her foot.  
"So...care to wager on the outcome of Lynn and A.P.'s visit to Snob 
Central?"
	Daria thought a moment.  "Minor property damage, no casualties, 
blackballing after two and a half hours."
	"Major property damage, at least one call to the authorities, 
blackballing after four hours."
	"Ten bucks?"
	"Done.  And what should we do with the rest of our day?"
	"Well, firstly I anticipate spending a while helping you figure 
out how to get blue oil paint off your toes..."
	Jane looked dubiously at her foot.

				      * * *

Inside Grove Hills, Lynn and A.P. approached a willowy honey-blonde of 
late teen years, who was standing with three kids about their own age 
-- one Asiatic female, one dark-haired Caucasian female and one A.P. 
immediately pegged as "my other evil twin" (though he managed not to 
say that out loud, since [a] the resemblance wasn't perfect, given this 
guy's blockier face, and was in fact limited to wardrobe and hair, and 
[b] the Peril was still in major denial anyway about A.P.'s resemblance 
to Hefner's Folly, an understandable reaction to the notion that she'd 
once dated somebody who looked like *that* specific sleazebucket).
	"Hello, and welcome to Grove Hills," said the honey-blonde.  
"I'm Marina."  Lynn and A.P. introduced themselves, and Marina went on, 
"I'd like you to meet Lara, Graham and Cassidy."
	The three Grove Hills students eyed Lynn and A.P. cautiously.  
Lynn and A.P. looked back at them with faces that plainly said, _Oh, 
we've heard about *you* three..._
	"Hi," Lara led off.
	"How's it going?" Cassidy added.
	"Lara," Marina interjected, "why don't you fill Lynn and A.P. 
in on the many advantages of a Grove Hills education."  Quickly, before 
Lara could repeat the observation about shrill recruiters that Daria had
mentioned, Marina added, "And maybe leave out the personal remarks."
	"Well...um, you're not surrounded by nearly as many stupid people 
as you would be at home."
	"Starting with your parents," Graham inevitably added.  The three 
laughed briefly at what was quite possibly the only joke they knew, but 
were driven to silence by the grim looks on the faces of Lynn and A.P.
	"I might agree with you," Lynn allowed as, "if my parents weren't 
divorced and constantly out of the country."
	"I can understand the recruiter being on a script," A.P. chimed 
in, "but what's *your* excuse?"
	The Grove Hillers glared at Lynn and A.P.

				      * * *

Helen was slumped on the sofa, staring at the TV with a totally unplugged 
look.  Right at the moment, it was showing some talk show or other -- 
a not-too-attractive woman in a good suit interviewing a plump housewife 
type.
	"So after you read his journal," the hostess summarized, "you 
went to your son's friend's house and caught him and several of his 
friends sharing a crack pipe?"
	"Yes," the housewife confirmed.  "At first I felt bad about 
going through his room, but when he stopped confiding in me about 
anything, I felt I had no choice."
	"So you don't feel at all guilty?"
	"He was killing himself and I saved him.  The ends justified 
the means."
	Helen had perked up by this point.  She switched the TV off and 
looked up towards the stairs in a speculative way.

				      * * *

In the Grove Hills student meeting room, the orientation video was on.  
"At Grove Hills," the narrator oozed, "you can contemplate Proust in 
our spacious dorm rooms, converse in Latin over a delicious meal..."
	"Play sniper-target with the students from our scenic bell 
tower," Lynn whispered to A.P., who chuckled.  Several surrounding 
students looked at them nervously.
	Eventually, the lights came back up, and there was Marina, who 
said, "I hope everyone enjoyed our little film."  Various assenting 
noises were overridden, at least from our heroes' perspective, by the 
matching disgusted snorts from Lynn and A.P.  Unfazed, Marina went on.  
"Um...great.  Um...I think a super way to start this meet and greet 
session would be to..."
	"Tell a little about our goals in life?" A.P. interjected.
	Marina was caught totally off stride.  "Um...yes.  That's right."
	Quite casually, A.P. rattled off the Reader's Digest version 
of his goals.  "Crush Microsoft, slaughter Bill Gates, and maybe conquer 
Earth.  Before I hit thirty."
	"Writer, rock musician or Death Row executioner," Lynn added 
in her deadest pan, "depending on who you talk to."
	Marina looked nicely stricken.

				      * * *

Helen entered Daria's room cautiously and stood a moment, undecided, 
in the center of the room.  Then she squared her shoulders and walked 
toward Daria's closet door.  She entered the closet, and the coat hangers 
jingled as she pushed them aside.
	Then she saw it.
	And she was horrified.
	"Oh, dear God..."

				      * * *

Jane, fully shod, came back into her room and tapped Daria, who was 
absorbed in _Everything You Ever Wanted to Know about Chemical Warfare 
but Couldn't Ask for Fear of Arrest!_, on the shoulder.  "I ordered 
pizza.  Did you bring the video?"
	Daria looked up.  "_Re-Animator_?  Damn, I forgot all about it.  
I'll go home and pick it up."
	Jane waved dismissively.  "It can wait until after pizza.  We 
still have _Attack of the Radioactive Kung-Fu Howler Monkeys_ to watch."
	"_Attack of the Radioactive Kung-Fu Howler Monkeys_?"
	"I don't know exactly what the plot is and I'm not sure if I 
want to know, but Lynn got it off A.P. for me because they both said 
it was the worst movie of all time."
	"Oh, well, if it has novelty value..."

				      * * *

Lynn was standing with Lara, Graham and Cassidy.  Her body language 
fairly shrieked, _Five more minutes of this and I go postal._
	Graham, oblivious to this as he was to most other social cues, 
continued his long, boring, snidely self-congratulatory anecdote.  "So 
I said to her, `Quo vadis?'"  He, Lara and Cassidy laughed.
	Lynn had just reached her saturation point.  "Straight to hell, 
God willing."
	There was a stunned pause.
	Graham couldn't seem to believe his ears.  "*What* did you say?"
	"You asked where you were going.  I think you heard my reply.  
Or do I add `deaf as a stone post' to your rapidly growing list of mental 
deficiencies?"
	"How...how *dare* you call me mentally deficient?" he sputtered.  
"I...I have a 165 IQ!"
	"Oh, is that all?" Lynn asked in her best dismissive tone.  "Oh 
well -- they say it's not what you have, it's how you use it."
	Cassidy's interest was piqued.  "What do you *mean,* `is that 
all'?"
	"Oh, well, if I was the competitive type, I might mention that 
my own IQ runs about 15 points higher than that.  And I'll refrain from
mentioning my cohort's score for fear of poking too large a hole in your 
fragile little egos."
	Lara, Graham and Cassidy gaped at Lynn.  She stared back with 
no discernible expression.  Graham finally recovered, going red with 
rage.  "I'll see you never set foot in this school again!"
	"Oh, good.  Torching the place on acceptance would have been 
*such* a waste of kerosene."  And she walked off, leaving the Grove Hills 
trio to stare at her.

				      * * *

Daria approached the Morgendorffer front walk from one side as Quinn 
approached it from the other.  They met in the middle and looked at the 
SUV parked in the driveway.
	"I can't believe she's actually home," Daria boggled quietly.
	Quinn was nervous.  "Do we go in?  She'll *ask* stuff!"
	"Hmm..."  Daria paused for thought, finally shrugging.  "Well, 
we'll go in quietly.  I suspect Mom's wading hip-deep through legal 
documentation and won't notice us if we're careful."  The sisters 
shrugged at each other and then headed up the walk.

				      * * *

Helen's upper body was wedged under Quinn's canopied bed.  She emerged 
with a pink notebook in her hand, a dust bunny caught in her hair and 
a pair of nylons stuck to her shoulder.  She sat on the bed and let the 
notebook fall open where it would.
	"Muh-*om!*"
	Helen looked up in shock to see Quinn and Daria staring at her 
from the doorway.  She dropped the notebook like a hot rock.  "Quinn, 
I..."
	Quinn took a step backwards, then left the doorway.  Helen could 
hear running footsteps descending the stairs, followed by the front door 
slamming.  She looked at Daria.
	"I'll be in my room.  Dusting for fingerprints."  With that, 
Daria turned around and walked out of the doorway.
	Helen stared at the spot her daughters had just vacated, then 
buried her face in her hands.  "Dammit, dammit, dammit..."


ACT 3: I'M STILL ALIVE

"Nor mouth had, no nor mind, express'd
What heart heard of, ghost guess'd;
It is the blight man was born for;
It is Margaret you mourn for."
	-- Gerard Manley Hopkins, "Spring and Fall: To a Young Child"

In the Grove Hills chemistry lab, A.P. was fiddling with the chemicals.  
He took a dropper of colorless liquid and added drop after careful drop 
to a fizzing blue liquid.  At the third drop, the door slammed open, 
surprising A.P. into emptying the whole dropper into the blue stuff, 
which started to steam and bubble alarmingly.
	"Screw this place," the Peril announced, "we're leaving."
	A.P. instantly panicked.  "Um...I'm gonna have to deal with..."  
He gestured at the blue stuff, then looked where he was pointing.  "Aw, 
hell, it's melting the glassware!"
	Lynn sighed, grabbed a large beaker, filled it with cold water 
and, obviously thinking to dilute and cool the liquid, threw it at the 
beaker of blue stuff.
	"Not..." A.P. began, but it was already too late.
	THOOMP!  Large globs of blue foam hit the windows.

				      * * *

Daria was digging under her bed, shaking with concealed fury.  She came 
up with a video box and headed for the door, which was suddenly blocked 
by Helen, now minus the nylons and the dust-bunny.  She sounded quite 
desperate when she said, "Daria, we have to talk!"
	"Why don't you go back to trying to find the writing on the 
wall."  She saw Helen's horror-struck expression but didn't much care.  
"And before you ask, it was the previous occupant."
	"Daria, I'm *sorry!*  But I..."
	"Couldn't gain our trust and confidence by more normal methods
and took the easy way out," Daria replied in tones cold enough to cut 
their A/C bill in half.  "Good one, Mom."
	"You never tell me *anything*..."
	"Maybe if I thought you'd listen, I *would.*  Do you remember 
the example I used when I told you about my science project?  About 
negative reinforcement?"
	Helen had to think back.  "You said..."  _What did she say?  
`Like...say, you have a friend who responds to everything you say with, 
``That's great!''  This insincere reply is the same whether you saved 
a life or killed a bug, and thus becomes ``negative reinforcement,'' 
causing you to withdraw from that person or persons.'  And what did *I* 
say?  `That's grea -- uh, that's fantastic!'_  "Oh."
	"You don't really listen.  You don't really *talk* unless it 
involves your job.  How can I confide in someone I barely know, let alone 
trust, just because there happen to be blood ties there?  At least Dad 
tells us what he feels..."  _Okay, rants about.  Same difference._
	Helen was aghast.  "You cannot seriously be saying that you trust 
Jake more than me..."
	"I know him better, it seems -- why not?"
	Later, Helen would have to admit that blind rage was her only 
excuse for letting slip the secret.  "For God's sake, Daria, he's 
probably not even your father!"
	There was a cold, loaded silence after that announcement.  Helen 
clapped a hand over her mouth, but the damage was done.
	Daria stared at her mother.  "Excuse me?"

				      * * *

As the Merc pulled away from Grove Hills, A.P. repeated, "I *tried* to 
tell you..."
	"Shut up," Lynn warned him.
	The greeters stood at the front doors watching them go.
	"My God, am I glad *they're* gone," Lara sighed.
	"They'll *never* be able to get that gunk off the lab walls," 
Cassidy noted.
	"And did you hear what that girl *said* to me?" Graham snapped.
	Marina allowed herself a small smile.  "Yes, I did."  _Payback's 
a mother, isn't it?_

				      * * *

Through the miracle of narrative time, we rejoin the scene in the padded 
room only moments after we left it, with Daria staring at Helen, who was 
standing in the doorway, looking frightened.  "You had an affair," Daria 
accused.
	Helen started pleading for understanding.  "I needed space.  
Law school had burned me out.  I went to a resort in the Catskills for 
a vacation and...I met Jerome."
	"And had an affair."
	"I found out his wife wouldn't let him touch her -- she was three 
months pregnant at the time and didn't...Well, he and I..."
	Daria desperately needed her mother to say it.  "Had an affair."
	"Yes, all right, had an affair!"  She sighed.  "Oh, you wouldn't 
understand -- it was very special.  Kate -- that was his wife; we'd 
gotten to know each other a bit before this came out -- found out about 
it and tried to tear my hair out over dinner in the hotel dining room 
one night.  Next day, they were both gone.  I went back to Jake two days 
later and we went on as normal.  When I found out I was pregnant, I 
assumed you were Jake's, but..."
	"I don't take after him," Daria observed coldly.
	"Well, no.  I passed off your traits as coming from the Barksdale 
side -- anyone who's seen Amy realizes you're related."  She started 
pleading again.  "It'd kill Jake to know..."
	"But I don't think it would surprise anyone."  That came out 
slightly more cruel than it perhaps needed to, but just at the moment, 
Daria didn't give a flying fig at a rolling donut.  "I'm going to Jane's. 
I need to think."
	"But..."
	"You don't want me here right now -- trust me.  I'll be home...
well, I'll be home."  She brushed past Helen on her way out.  
	Helen heard footsteps going down the stairs, then the front door 
shutting like the covers of a book.  At that sound, Helen leaned on the 
door frame and began to cry.

				      * * *

Daria walked down to the sidewalk, then stopped and turned to look at 
the house for a moment.  Half-relieved that she no longer had to worry 
about what might lie behind that genetic Door Number Three, half-afraid 
of what was in its place, she whispered, "I'm not a Morgendorffer."

				      * * *

The doorbell rang, and Jane burst into the front hall to answer it.  
"It's about time!" She said as she opened the door.  "Where...?"  She 
stopped dead when she saw, not Daria, but Lynn and A.P., their clothes, 
hair and faces blotched with bright blue goo.  She just stared at them 
for a moment.  When she could trust herself to speak, the first thing 
her mouth thought of to say was, "What the *hell* happened to *you?*"
	Lynn and A.P. looked at each other, seemed to struggle...then 
gave up and, with one accord, burst into hysterical laughter, leaning 
on each other for support.  Jane just stared at them.
	"What is it with people and blue crap today?"
	Lynn and A.P. wheeled, saw the half-amused expression on Daria's 
face, and laughed even harder.
	Jane stepped past Lynn and A.P.  "What kept you?"
	"Ah..."  Daria sighed.  "Parent crap.  One day I'll tell you."  
She stepped into the house.  Jane stared after her, then at Lynn and 
A.P., who were still laughing.  Then she rolled her eyes and dragged 
Lynn and A.P. into the house.  The door slammed behind them.

				      * * *

A small amount of light filtered into Jane's room through a crack in 
the curtains.  In her usual sleepwear of scrub-shirt and boxers, Daria 
was sitting cross-legged on her sleeping bag, a notebook in her lap, 
chewing the end of a pen.  After a moment, she started to write.
	_So it seems that my El Paso fabrication actually had some truth 
to it after all.  And to think I made all those evasive comments to Jane 
when she asked about it...yet another cosmic punishment for being too 
ironic.  I'm not sure how to tell Jane and Lynn.  Or when.  I know I'll 
have to sometime, but for now, I think I need time to think it out._
	(Daria imagined the scene across town, where a probably-confused 
Stacy Rowe was trying to comfort a likely-sobbing Quinn.)
	_I'm still not sure why I'm so surprised.  It's not like with 
Quinn, where the shared Barksdale/Morgendorffer traits hit you like a 
slap in the face with a wet fish.  In her, it's obvious from her general 
cluelessness and naivete that she's Jake Morgendorffer's daughter.  I 
couldn't be more different from Dad if I tried.  But it still surprises 
me.  Seventeen years of being told a thing will do that to you, I guess.
	_And that leads me to one important question -- what *is* my 
father like?_
	She looked across to Jane, sprawled out a la Trent on her bed.  
_Maybe he's something like Jane's dad -- artistic, clueless and self-
centered.  I know I get like that when I'm writing._
	Then her gaze fell on the head of hair, the shade "Peppermint" 
Patty Reichardt (speaking of her own mop) had once unfairly described 
as "mousy-blah," poking out of another sleeping bag.  _Or maybe he's 
like Lynn's dad -- smooth-talking, conniving and completely disinterested 
in family ties.  That wouldn't surprise me, given how I am._
	Down in Casa Lane's living room, she knew A.P. was asleep on 
the sofa.  _I suppose he *could* be like A.P.'s father -- surly, 
undemonstrative and utterly disappointed...Ugh.  Bad V.C. Andrews 
plotline thought there.  Probably best to leave this one filed under 
J for `just let it lie.'_
	There was something in her mom's account of the adultery that 
had sounded familiar, but she'd been too shaken up by the revelation 
to think what.  She was almost reminded of it for a moment there, but 
she hadn't calmed down enough yet to face it.  She decided to sleep on 
it -- if she couldn't remember it in the morning, it probably wasn't 
worth it.
	She shut the notebook, slid it into her duffel bag along with 
the pen, curled up in her sleeping bag, took off her glasses, and shut 
her eyes with a sigh.


"`Son,' she said, `have I got a little story for you
What you thought was your daddy was nothin' but a...
While you were sittin' home alone at age thirteen
Your real daddy was dyin', sorry you didn't see him
But I'm glad we talked'
Oh I, oh I, I'm still alive"
	-- Pearl Jam, "Alive"

ADAPTOR'S NOTES
	"You think I'm kidding" (as Lynn and Jan both say) about Jodie's 
life being saved by the events of "Grating Expectations."  Daniel Suni 
would disagree -- check out his "How Deep It Goes" for details.
	If you look carefully, you can see the handful of places in the 
second season adaptations where I set this up (I was the second person CB
told, after Diane Long, when she decided to become an El-Paso-ite).  I may
add a few more whenever I remaster the first season adaptations.
	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.
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