_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Season 3, episode 3: "An Irony of Errors" prose adaptation by Austin Loomis ACT I: HEY, AQUALUNG "Into this house we're born Into this world we're thrown Like a dog without a bone, an actor out alone" -- Jim Morrison, "Riders on the Storm" Lynn Cullen's "dark and mysterious and possibly suicidal but no one can be sure" room was now marginally tidier than it had been right after she experimented with a sledgehammer as an interior design tool, but not by much. (Let me hasten to assure those of you just joining the season, or indeed the series, already in progress that the hammer had not been applied to the room itself; the messiness of the room was due to semi-benign neglect.) Lynn herself was lying on the bed with her feet propped up on the Kurt Cobain poster, reading _We're Not Gonna Take It: a Postal Worker's Guide to the Last-Stand Shootout_ and wearing nice big headphones, when her look-alike and half-sister Daria Morgendorffer walked in and sat down on the bed. "Um...Lynn?" Daria led off. "Could I ask you something? About ...Jerome?" Their father raised a number of questions in Daria's mind, and she figured Lynn was the best person to answer them. If she *would* answer them. "Lynn?" After another pause, Daria started to get slightly annoyed. "Lynn, I'm dumping A.P. and eloping to Antigua with Upchuck. I thought you should be the first to know." Then she really looked at Lynn, and noticed the headphones. This led her to a realization. _Lynn didn't hear any of that. In fact, she probably doesn't even know I'm in the room._ After a moment, Daria yanked the headphone cord out of the socket on Lynn's stereo... ...and they were both nearly deafened as Martin Barre's familiar chords ripped out of the speakers, covered by the voice of Ian Anderson at much too high a volume. "o/~ SNOT RUNNING DOWN HIS NOSE! o/~" Lynn and Daria both jumped. As the man a lot of people think *is* "Jethro Tull" sang of greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes, Lynn grabbed for the remote control and turned the volume down. "o/~ Hey, Aqualung/Drying in the cold sun... o/~" "You could have just grabbed the book if you needed my attention," Lynn pointed out. "No," Daria ruefully replied, "that would have been intelligent." "So...you've got me. What?" Daria looked Lynn straight in the eye...and froze up. "Um... how do you think you did on your English essay?" _Damn._ "Not really sure. It depends on how good at reading between the lines he is. Either it'll get a cursory glance and the usual A, denouncement as the words of the ultimate heretic, or one of O'Neill's more classic `episodes.'" _Okaaay..._ "And which are you hoping for?" "Well," Lynn mused, "from a purely academic standpoint, obviously I'd like the A but..." She didn't finish; she just smirked. She didn't *have* to finish. Daria, filling in the blanks quite deftly, rolled her eyes and sighed. * * * The next day in English class, the board was covered with vague quotes, comments and character names from Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet_. Daria's boyfriend, Andrew Philip McIntyre, looked cheerful, which got her attention. "You don't normally look this happy when we get major essays back." "I'm quietly confident," A.P. replied. "My Cliffs Notes have never seen such a workout! That essay is my ticket to...well, at least a C..." "Have you ever considered just asking Daria and me for help on English?" Lynn suggested. "Ye-es...but when you talk books, I can't understand *you* two either." Fortunately, before they could explore this any further, Timothy O'Neill hisownmushyself entered with a handful of papers and started handing them out to students. "I've marked this week's essays and I must say, I'm seeing some real improvement!" A.P. looked at his essay and sighed. "D+? Well, it *is* an improvement...kinda..." O'Neill walked back to the front of the room holding a sheaf of paper. "But one essay showed some real independent thought, and I thought I'd share it with the rest of the class." Lynn looked around and realized she was the only one without an essay. "Oh crap..." Wimp-in-the-Willows launched into a "dramatic reading" mode that would have been familiar to anyone who'd been there for Quinn's briefly famous essay _Academic Imprisonment_. "`*No* teacher could get across the messages and meanings in Shakespeare's plays because, for the most part, there *weren't* any. How could there be, when the esteemed Bard was in the habit of rewriting whole scenes to appeal to the audience? _Romeo and Juliet_ was the _Buffy_ or _Xena_ of its time, appealing to the same core group of people who want excitement, romance and bloodshed rather than logical, believable plot or subtext. It might have saddened Shakespeare to know that his tale of star-crossed love, family rivalry, swordplay, wrath and death had been reduced to a period piece with no basis in the "modern day" by curriculum-enslaved English teachers who would cut a work of drama to pieces until it has lost all semblance of life. None of Shakespeare's plays were meant to be seen as "literature" per se; theatre doesn't work like that. Shakespeare wrote for the stage, and his work should stay there.'" Lynn noticed the looks she was getting from the class. "Well? It's true, isn't it?" O'Neill seemed severely inspired. "You're absolutely right, Lynn! I couldn't agree more." Daria, Lynn and A.P. shared a Look. "Let's try to bring the beauty of Shakespeare home to the student body! We'll perform _Romeo and Juliet_ for the school! I expect everyone in this class to at least turn out for auditions -- that'll be your next assignment! How better to prove you know your material than be able to act it onstage? And now let's all thank Lynn for her exciting suggestion!" Lynn was showing a mildly panicked expression. "Excuse me... that wasn't a suggestion; that was an observation. Or, more accurately, me casting aspersions on your teaching methods." Daria, by now, was resigned to watch history (the Young Adult Coffeehouse and the student film projects) repeat itself. _It's supposed to be "the first time as tragedy," but so far, like everything else in Lawndale, it's *always* been as farce._ "Don't bother. It never works." She noticed the baffled look on Lynn's face. "Just don't ask." Lynn noted Daria's expression, then dropped her head onto her desk with a loud *thunk.* "Now," O'Neill gushed on, "we'll split you into teams..." * * * On stage in the Lawndale High auditorium, A.P. sat with Ted DeWitt- Clinton, reading Mercutio's description of Tybalt. "`More than Prince of Cats, I can tell you. He's the courageous captain of compliments. He fights like you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance and proportion; rests me his minim rests, one, two, and the third...'" He lunged with an imaginary sword, lost his balance and fell over. "Damn." * * * Daria stood at center stage, her face impassive as usual. In standard Daria monotone #1, she spoke the play's opening line: "`Two households, both alike in dignity...'" "Perfect!" O'Neill called out. "Next!" Daria raised an eyebrow. _Perfect?_ Then she shrugged and walked off. _Whatever creams your marshmallow._ * * * Kevin and Brittany were reading from their scripts at a pitifully slow pace Daria hadn't seen since Tiffany's attempt to counsel her. Brittany was making an unsuccessful attempt at a "dignified lady" voice. "`Saints do not move...though grant for prayers' sake.'" "`Then...move not,'" Kevin replied, "`while my prayer's effect I take.'" And he and Brittany started making out. "Um...thank you for that wonderful display of Shakespearean passion," O'Neill presently said, nervously. After another while, when they just kept going: "Um...please take your Shakespearean passion elsewhere." No response; knowing them, they'd probably forgotten they were onstage. "Kevin? Brittany?" And a whistle blew out in the auditorium. Kevin looked around, dropped Brittany and went racing off toward the Tommy Sherman Memorial Goalpost. Brittany scowled, got up and stalked off after him. In her seat, Daria was holding the whistle she usually used to get Kevin and Brittany off her locker. Everyone was staring at her. "Carry on," she told them. After a pause, she addressed the question in their eyes. "I want to get out of here before _Sick, Sad World_ starts." * * * Mack and Lynn were onstage now. "`Shut the door, father,'" she began morosely, "`and when thou hast done so,/Come weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help." "`Ah Juliet,'" he replied as Father Laurence, "`I already know thy grief; It strains me past the compass of my wits. I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, On Thursday next be married to this Paris.'" "`Tell me not, friar,'" she replied in cold desperation, "`that thou hear'st of this Unless you tell me how I may prevent it. If not, Do thou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife I'll help it presently!'" With that, she pulled a switchblade out of her pocket, snapped out the blade and held it to her throat. Mack was somewhat taken aback -- he'd never expected something like *this* from Little Miss Monotone -- but she went on, not giving him time to keep up. "God joined my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands, And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo sealed, Shall be the label to another deed, Or my true heart with treacherous revolt Turn to another, this shall slay them both.'" There was a pause, while Mack tried to make his jaw stop scraping against his knees like that, before she yelled, "`Be not so long to speak; I long to die/If what thou speak'st speaks not of remedy!'" The rest was silence, punctuated only by ragged breathing -- Lynn's, completely in character. Mack looked like he'd been slapped. In the seats, O'Neill looked ecstatic. Daria, Jane and A.P. looked somewhat impressed (though Daria and Jane looked a bit surprised as well). "Bravo!" O'Neill gloried. "Bravo! Next, please!" Lynn instantly snapped out of "Juliet mode," pocketed her knife, and left the stage, with Mack still staring at her. * * * Daria, Jane, Lynn and A.P. walked down the hall, Erudite Emerald and Art-Smart Scarlet shooting little sidelong looks at Lynn as they went. They finally stopped at Daria's locker. The staring left Lynn confused and slightly defensive. "What?" "I didn't know you could act," Jane said simply. "You heard her do the French Taunter," the Psycho-Maverick boggled, "and you didn't know she could act?" "Good point. But you know you're going to regret that, don't you?" In answer to the Purple Peril's querying look, Daria explained, "In general, Lawndale High students are a bit short on talent. And anyone who breaks cover and shows some semblance of it tends to get thrust into the spotlight against their will. It makes the school look good." "Bitter, bitter experience has been my teacher," Jane confirmed loftily, remembering both the poster contest and her tenure on the track team. "Aren't you overreacting just a bit?" Lynn wondered. "That was under Ms. Li. Do we really have to worry about Ms. Li anymore?" Daria and Jane looked a little sheepish. Indeed, it wasn't like Angela Li was going to claw her way out of her grave. Probably, anyway. Still, that bullet going through her heart had been one of the first signs that she had a heart to damage; it was going to take both of them a while to get used to the idea she *could* die by any other means than sunlight or fire, let alone that she *had.* "Yeah, well...I'm just surprised, is all. I mean, what happened to `requires facial expressions'?" She and Daria had, after all, both been there to hear that comment on Lynn's first day at Lawndale High. A shrug. "I only said that to finish the job of breaking O'Neill. Actually, I like the stage. Gives me an outlet for the emotion I don't like showing in real life." Her tone was slightly mocking, but there was something deadly serious in her eyes, and so the subject was dropped by mutual silent consent. "Well, anyway," A.P. intervened, "it's better for me that it was a stage thing -- I just don't get Shakespeare. I mean, none of the words make sense! They're either too long or too old or spelled weird..." "This coming from the man who spells `crowded' with a U and `apology' with two Ps." "Yeah, whatever. And then there's the plots..." Just then, Quinn Morgendorffer, Daria's half-sister on the other side, approached with a stride that said _I'm not afraid_ and a look on her face that replied _Yes I am._ "Daria..." she began. All four turned and looked at her. Jane, Lynn and A.P. only showed slight contempt; Daria's look, on the other hand, could have killed with little effort. Quinn could feel her throat tightening up like those really old military guys with the boring uniforms in the _Star Wars_ movies; she made an abrupt U-turn and nearly ran back the way she'd come. Whatever she'd been intending to say -- maybe an apology for the way her careless gossiping had wrecked the Morgendorffer household (perhaps irrevocably) -- would go unsaid for now. The gang turned back to their conversation as if they hadn't been interrupted. "I mean, some of it's kind of cool...but it's just so hard to believe! I mean, you've got fairies and little schemes an idiot would see through and long-lost twins popping up all over the place..." A.P. realized what he'd just said as he caught the pointed looks from Jane and the look-alikes. "i'm gonna shut up now." Daria, Jane and Lynn nodded _Good idea_ at him. ACT II: WISH YOU WERE HERE "With every mistake, we must surely be learning Still my guitar gently weeps" -- George Harrison, "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" Two days later, Jane was reading a notice pinned to the bulletin board in the hall; when Lynn passed, Jane smirked evilly at her. "Hey, it's the leading lady herself!" There was mild horror in Lynn's voice. "You're kidding." "And I get to be the Nurse." Jane bowed. "Your humble servant." Lynn rolled her eyes. "You don't need the extra credit, though. Why do it?" "Mainly because you *do* need the extra credit. If I back out, who knows who you might wind up acting alongside? You *could* wind up sidekick to Brittany." Jane considered this briefly...and somehow managed not *quite* to shudder visibly. "Thank you. I mean it. Thank you." "So who else got shanghaied into this?" "Kevin and Brittany are Lord and Lady Montague...O'Neill had the sense to keep them together this time." "Do I want to know?" "Rumor has it that Brittany's car broke down about fifty miles over the border to Fremont." _Okaaay..._ thought Lynn. "And Quinn got turkey legs thrown at her." _The *hey?*_ "Never mind. Anyway..." Jane looked at the list again and winced. "Upchuck's playing Paris." Lynn looked queasy at the prospect, as who wouldn't. "Do I even want to know who's playing Romeo?" Jane, not having checked that yet, peered at the list. When she spoke, she spoke slowly. "Look for yourself." Lynn did, and her eyes went understandably wide. * * * In the cafeteria, they were all four eating together as usual. Lynn was picking at her food, studiously not looking at A.P., who'd gone into speed-rant mode. "Idon't*believe*this! Imean I*hate*Shakespeare! Ican'tact! I'mno*good*atthatromancecrap! Idon't*do*words! Ididn'teventry*out*forRomeo! Whatwashe*thinking?*" "He said that your Mercutio wasn't worldly enough," Lynn muttered sourly, "but you had the perfect blend of enthusiasm and innocence to play Romeo." A.P. made a kind of choked "Gah..." noise and dropped his head on the table. "You couldn't just bow out?" Daria asked almost tenderly. A.P. looked up at her. "TurndownextracreditwhenI'mamicronshort offlunkingEnglish? Areyououtofyour*mind?*" He sighed and came down to normal conversational speed. "I mean, at least this way, I have someone to help me through it." He turned to Lynn, pleading but nervous. "Right, Purple Peril?" Lynn had the look of a small, helpless animal caught in a snare. Jane watched shrewdly. After a moment, Lynn sighed. "Yeah." Jane nodded to herself. "So now all we've got to do is get you involved in this, Daria." "Who says I'm not?" Daria boggled. "You saw the list." "You made Chorus but..." It hit her. "You mean you're *taking* it? But you're the *original* `requires facial expressions so I won't do it' woman! And you don't need the extra credit either! Not that I'm not glad to have you aboard, but why not sit out?" "And break up the Dream Team?" Daria snarked. "I wouldn't dare." After a moment to nerve herself, she added, quietly, "Anyway, rehearsals will be a good excuse to stay out of the house." Jane looked at Daria sympathetically. Lynn and A.P. poked at their lunches, tense as bowstrings and pointedly not looking at each other. * * * In the basement of Casa Lane, Lynn was systematically taking an amp apart, as her bandmate Trent Lane looked at her in some concern. "We can't practice without that, Lynn." "I'll put it back together later." She thought about that a moment. "But I'm not sure if I can promise it in working order." "I'm usually not that good at these things but...something's bothering you, right?" She shot him a look, and he explained. "When you're upset, you destroy things." "Yeah, well...there's something therapeutic about chaos." "So what's the problem?" "I don't want to talk about it." She thought some more, and decided a reversal of subject would make the point. "So how are you coping these days, anyway? What with Daria and A.P. getting along so well?" He shrugged. "I'm thinking it's about time I let it go." "Not that easy, though, is it?" she noted, ever observant. "No, it's not." He sat on top of the amp case, looking just as resigned as he sounded. Lynn stood up, looked at him sympathetically, and gingerly patted his shoulder. "Well, these things take time..." They looked at each other for a moment. The silence developed a decided charge, whether positive or negative would be more A.P.'s area of expertise. Lynn startled out of it after a moment and took her hand off Trent's shoulder. She dropped cross-legged on the floor and started poking at the amp's innards again. Trent looked at her thoughtfully. "Hey...Lynn?" She feigned distraction. "Mmm?" "You like that horror movie stuff, right?" She continued to emulate absorption in the amp components. "Mmm." "That _Scary Movie_ thing is playing at the MultiMoviePlex." After a moment, he sprang the trap. "Want to go?" She shrugged. "I was going to go see it next week. Maybe see if Daria, Jane and A.P. wanted to..." "No...I meant you and me. Tonight." She looked up at him, stunned. "I mean...like a date." She went instantly wary. "Trent..." "Like I said...it's time I let go." Lynn considered him carefully, remembering that she had something of her own she wanted to let go of. Finally, she sighed. "Sure." In response to the expectant look on Trent's face, she added, "What, *now?*" "Carpe diem?" She sighed, dropped her screwdriver and got up. * * * Up in the kitchen, Jane was poking through the fridge. She looked at a carton of milk, winced at the sell-by date and carried it to the sink. As she went to dump it, she heard her brother's voice coming from a doorway. "I'll be ready to go as soon as I find my car keys." Then she heard Lynn. "Rough estimate -- two weeks, given your room." She heard Trent's coughing laugh, then footsteps on the stairs. Lynn entered the kitchen to find Jane staring at her. "Where are you two going?" Jane wondered. "Out," Lynn evaded. "What, you mean *out*-out? As in *date*-out?" "Maybe." "What about A.P.?" That was when Lynn reached her saturation point. "You mean my half-sister's boyfriend? What about him?" _Oops._ "Well, yeah, but..." "Daria and A.P. have been going out without so much as a hitch for about six months. And I, for one, am glad they're happy." _She means it, but..._ "Okay, so try telling me that you're not going out with my brother to get your mind off the fact that you're going to be doing the onstage romance-thing with A.P." Lynn glared at her, but said nothing. The ensuing awkward silence was broken by heavy steps down the stairs and Trent's arrival in the kitchen. "We ready?" He looked from Lynn to Janey and back again. "Whoa. What's going on?" "Nothing," Jane hurriedly assured him. "Ready when you are, Trent," said Lynn. Trent looked a bit dubious, but shrugged and walks out, followed by Lynn. Jane just stood there for a moment, shaking her head sadly. _This can't turn out well..._ * * * Meanwhile at Pizza King, Daria was sitting across from A.P., watching with bemused concern as he shredded a piece of pizza with his fingers. "How are you not getting cheese burn?" she wondered. "Calluses," he explained. A.P. being A.P., it took him a moment to realize that wasn't enough of an explanation. "You mess around with Bunsen burners, hazardous chemicals and soldering irons enough, you get tough hands." He sighed and threw the slice on his plate. "This *blows.*" "A.P....it's just a play." "*Just* a play? Huh. I mean, there's gonna be kissing! I'm gonna have to spew lovey-words and she's gonna spew lovey-words back and there's gonna be kissing. I'm gonna pretend to off myself out of love for her and...and..." "And there's going to be kissing. We've covered that." "How the hell am I supposed to do all that -- all the lovey-word- spewage and the pretend-offing and the kissing and crap -- and not let on that..." He decided not to go there. "And I can't even drop out because of my crummy grade and if *she* drops out I'm gonna flunk anyway because I can't do this without her help..." He trailed off, dropping his head on the table and groaning. "This *blows.*" Daria looked at him sympathetically and came to a reasonably momentous decision. "A.P....maybe this isn't the time but..." He raised his head slightly to look at her. "We're breaking up, aren't we." He considered that. "I think we'd better, because -- you're great and everything but...I guess you deserve someone who *doesn't*..." "...Wish he was with the other sister." He dropped his head back on the table at that. "It's okay. I understand. And you deserve someone who doesn't sometimes wish she'd picked the narcoleptic guitarist." "Well, so much for *that* idea," he sighed into the table. "What idea?" "Taking your mind off it by dating someone else. Doesn't work; doesn't even come close." Then he had another of what passed, with him, for thoughts. "I'm probably prying but...you gonna go after Sir Naps- a-Lot?" "You *are* prying. And I'm not sure yet. We've talked about this before. He may be less of a slacker now, but still..." She didn't finish that sentence. She didn't have to. Even A.P. picked up on that. "Oh yeah. The potential Purple Peril thing." "Well, you know, if Jane knew about this, she'd probably move heaven and earth to sabotage that potential `thing'..." A.P. raised his head again, alarmed. "You're *not* gonna tell her. You *can't.* I'd *never* live it down. And she'd tell Purple Peril and..." He sighed and slammed his head back into the table. "Would it be that bad a thing if she knew?" "Did you want Sir Naps-a-Lot knowing that you liked him way back when?" Daria had to sigh. "Touche." A.P. looked up, this time to stay. "Well...love officially sucks." "Here's to it." They "clinked" their soda cups together, then turned to their pizza slices, looking glum. ACT III: EYESIGHT TO THE BLIND "Pleased t'meet you, hope y'guessed my name But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game" -- Mick Jagger & Keith Richards, "Sympathy for the Devil" Trent's blue Plymouth was parked in Lovers' Lane, with a nice view of the abandoned quarry. Inside it, Trent and Lynn were sitting side by side, looking straight ahead, not moving. "So...what'd you think of the movie?" Lynn asked at length. Trent, caught on the spot, hemmed and hawed, "Uh...it was cool." Lynn gave him an _Okaaay..._ look and shut up. The silence became downright palpable. At length, Trent became uncomfortable with it. "Um...are we *supposed* to talk?" "Probably not," Lynn allowed as. She considered. "But we don't seem to be doing...anything else, either." The silence came back. "Weird, isn't it?" "What is?" "We've...um..." Trent flailed his hands helplessly, blushing like a bonfire. "I'll spare us both the crude terminology and just say 'got physical.'" "Yeah. Thanks." Another moment of silence. "But we didn't plan to, exactly. And now that we *do* plan to...we're not." Some more consideration. "Why is that?" A sigh. "Maybe because we know this isn't working. I'm not her, Trent." _Even if you *did* call out her name at the absolute worst moment for it._ "And I'm not him -- whoever he is." Lynn's shock must have shown on her face. "Sorry. You're easier to read than you think." "Yeah...well..." She sighed again. "No. You're not him." A long silence this time. "Sorry, Lynn. I shouldn't have asked." "Why did you? Or is that a stupid question?" "No, it wasn't like that. It was...the little differences." "You mean like putting mayonnaise on French fries in Holland?" Trent chuckled at the _Pulp Fiction_ reference. "Sort of. It's like...well, I was supposed to rig some music for Daria and Janey's class project last summer..." "I've heard." He winced ever so slightly as he confessed, "I just never got it together. And she didn't crack the whip enough to stop me from slacking...even when it cost her a really good grade." "You do know why she went easy on you, don't you?" "Don't," he pleaded miserably. Lynn was instantly contrite. "Sorry." She thought a moment, then realized the question was worth asking. "Where is this going?" "You'd never let anyone get away with that. You don't get intimidated. You make things happen if they have to happen and the rest of the world be damned." More silence, but not so much of it all at once this time. "Little differences," Lynn repeated his observation. "Maybe we're rushing things." "Maybe." "Maybe we could try again...sometime." "Maybe." Trent sighed. "Maybe I should take you home." "Yeah. Thanks." Silence. Trent reached for the ignition key...then stops. "Why'd you say yes?" Lynn blushed furiously. "Well...remember that question I wouldn't let you ask a few days after the dance?" Trent remembered it -- _When I...Did you...?_ -- but he was still kind of lost as to why she brought it up now. "Yeah..." "I agreed to this...because the answer to *that* question was yes." Trent stared at Lynn, pleased, flustered and amazed all at once. Lynn seemed to be trying to retract herself into her jacket like a turtle into its shell. After a moment, Trent started the car. "Maybe another time." "Maybe." The Plymouth reversed away from the quarry edge, then they drove away. * * * It was a dingy pool hall/bar sort of place. Lynn was sitting at a rickety table, with what looked like (but wasn't) a plain Coke in front of her, staring into space, looking miserable. She heard footsteps approaching and knew it was her contact, the one she'd first met at the Zen. "Got your message, Rust. What do you want?" The man called "Rust" -- we might as well call him that, just to be calling him *something* -- seemed amused again. "So you came up with a nickname, Cullen. Nice." Lynn shrugged. "Ooh. That's a `love sucks' face if ever I saw one." "Get bent." "Hey, I'm trying to commiserate. I know how it feels." "Are you me?" "No-oo..." "Then you don't know how it feels. Now will you please just tell me what it is you want and then go away?" "Wanted to tell you, on behalf of Mr. Smythe, that you now own 15 Glenview Road. Dad clinched the deal this morning." Lynn sighed. "Well, great." "Are you sure it was a good idea to tell your mother that...?" Lynn sounded downright evil as she finished his sentence for him. "What, that Dad was involved, ergo I am in touch with him? Don't worry; I've explained how I'd discredit her if she started talking... and what I'd do to her when the dust had settled. And she knows what I'm capable of." "Rust" was slightly frightened by the casual way she'd said that, given what he knew her to be talking about. If he'd had any doubts that this girl was Jerome's daughter, that tone would have erased them on the spot. "Right." He took a moment to nerve himself before asking the next question. "So...you going to keep sitting on those talents?" Lynn sighed. "Do I have a choice?" "Sure...but you'd be a less helpless target if you didn't." The look Lynn shot him would have made a lesser man shrieking flee...then she just gave a philosophical shrug. * * * The next day in English class, those involved in the play -- Daria, Jane, Lynn, A.P., Mack, Kevin, Brittany, Upchuck, Ted and a few of the vaguely familiar faces we've seen around, like that portly red-haired girl and that blond kid with the pierced eyebrow -- were gathered and milling about idly, waiting for O'Neill to show up. Daria was at one corner of the room towards the back, reading _Future on Ice_, a collection of cool short stories compiled by Orson Scott Card. Jane was nearer the middle, doodling in the margins of her script. Lynn and A.P. were at the front, desks pulled close, talking. "Oh," the Peril said gently. "That sucks." "Ah, it's not a big deal," he assured her. "It's not like I got dumped or anything. And we're staying friends. It was...um..." "Is `amicable' the word you're groping for?" He shrugged. "Probably. It was just that...well, we have fun and everything when we're going out but sometimes when we talked it was like trying to reference a string pointer in a memory segment with a floating point variable stored in it." Lynn put that little bit of geekspeak into context. "That would mean that you weren't quite compatible." "Yeah." Lynn looked at A.P., who looked nervy and evasive, took his condition to mean he was a bit blue over the break-up, and tentatively patted him on the shoulder. "Well...if you need to talk or anything..." He blushed. "Yeah...sure...right..." Jane and Daria were both watching Lynn and A.P. with interest at this point, albeit for different reasons. Lynn and A.P., on the other hand, were struggling against a feeling of total awkwardness. Lynn waved her script. "We should..." A.P. gave up, relieved. "Yeah. Oh, I wanted to ask about something. What the hell does it mean when...? Hold on, let me just..." They bent over the script as A.P. started leafing through it. Daria and Jane both shook their heads in total disappointment, then went back to what they'd been doing. ADAPTOR'S NOTES The phrasing "look-alike and half-sister" is deliberate. Keep in mind, Daria's still getting used to being related to Lynn. Yes, there *are* similarities to J's plotline, but there are enough differences that I'm not worried. (Part of me would like to see the Kinsingtons mentioned as acquaintances of Jan, as counterpoint to that cameo in "Why Don't You Get a Job?" The rest of me reminds that part that this is CB's series and she doesn't have to do anything her muse doesn't want her to.) If I knew for sure what was going on with Rust, would I spoil the surprise? On the other hand, if I *didn't* know for sure, would I admit to it? 8-) The phrase "shrieking flee" comes to me from my good friend, Thomas Wilde, aka "Wanderer." He's never written any Daria fanfic, but he's a fan nonetheless. Check out his homepage, Elsewhere, at http://www.dimfuture.net/elsewhere. Obligatory legal blap: Daria Morgendorffer was created (as were the rest of the Lawndale characters) by Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis Lynn, and she and her neighbors are copyright 1993, 1997, 2000 MTV Networks, a Viacom company. (As Michelle Klein-Haess has pointed out, work-for-hire sucks the yolks from ostrich eggs.) Monty Python quotes and characters are copright 1970, 2000 Python (Monty) Pictures Ltd. They are here used, without the permission of their creators or owners, in the not-for-profit context of fan-fiction. The characters of Lynn Cullen and A.P. McIntyre are copyright 1999, 2000 Janet "Canadibrit" Neilson, as is this storyline, which was adapted by Austin Loomis (to whom the prose format version is copyright 2000) with permission. All other characters, locations and incidents (of which I don't think there are any, actually) are either imaginary or used fictitiously. Any coincidence of names is regretted, and any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or wandering the night in ghostly torment is either purely satirical or not my fault. As a "substantially transformative" derivative work, this story is protected by the Supreme Court's decision in re Campbell v. Acuff Rose Music. It may be freely redistributed as long as this copyright notice is maintained intact, but may not be in any way redistributed for profit without the permission of the legal owners of all concepts involved. The present author hereby gives permission for any and all keepers of Daria fanfic pages to archive this work (as if I could stop them). Any publication of this story for profit without the express written permission of Austin Loomis, Janet Neilson and MTV Networks (like any of that'll happen, especially the last) is strictly prohibited, and violators, if I ever decide to track them down, will be strung up by the thumbs, beaten about the head and shoulders with a free-range carrot, and then handed over to corporate lawyers who will do terrible things to them. On purpose. Austin, and good day. Al D T0 W- Q Fw^Fr O+ Ow+OH+Of m c- MV+ F:111,208,313 BB+ FCT -DT+ q fJ^fj^fD