_The Look-Alike Series_
Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit
Season 3, episode 5: "Admission: Impossible"
prose adaptation by Austin Loomis


ACT I: BOHEMIAN LIKE YOU

"You only see what your eyes want to see
 How can life be what you want it to be?
 You're frozen -- when your heart's not open
 You're so consumed with how much you get
 You waste your time with hate and regret
 You're broken -- when your heart's not open"
	-- Madonna w/Patrick Leonard, "Frozen"

Up in her bright and cheerful room, Quinn Morgendorffer crawled out of 
bed.  Her pajamas were pale yellow baby-dolls with lots of pink hearts 
on the bottoms and a single pink satin heart on the shirt.  She wore 
pink socks, and her hair was in just the rumpled state she hadn't wanted 
her sister and that friend of hers to see when they did that film project 
about a year ago.  She looked at her closet, looked at herself, and 
shrugged as she thought _Does it really matter anyway?_ and left the 
room.
	Down in the kitchen, Helen Barksdale Morgendorffer was sitting 
at the table, feverishly working on her laptop.  A bowl of cereal was 
slowly turning to mush by her right elbow.  Quinn walked in and started 
rummaging through the fridge.  After a moment, she turned around and 
looked at her mother, chewing her lower lip nervously. Then she shut 
the fridge and walked over to the table.
	Before her younger daughter could speak, Helen looked up rather 
tentatively.  "Quinn?"
	"...Yeah, Mom?"
	"I...do you know where Daria actually *is?*"
	"Well...if she's not at her weird art friend's house, then she's 
at..."  An ill-defined anger boiled into her voice.  "...that *other* 
girl's house."
	A maternal sigh.  "I *know* that, Quinn; I already called Jane's 
house. And the `other girl' is called Lynn."
	"Yeah, whatever."  Quinn was just in a mood to be totally bitchy 
about this for some reason.
	Helen was getting tired of this.  "Quinn, I want an address."
	Quinn was frankly stunned.  "*Why?*  I mean, what would you want 
to talk to *that* girl for?"
	"I want to talk to *Daria*, Quinn. It's not right that I don't 
even know where my own daughter is staying."
	"Oh," Quinn turned casually nasty, "then it's fifteen Glen...
Glen...Glen Oaks Court or Glenview Street or something. I don't remember;
I mean, it's not like I was ever going to go *back* there or anything.  
I mean, that other girl's room is more depressing than *Daria's*!  It's 
all *black*!"
	Helen voiced a dismal sigh and went back to her work without 
saying anything more.
	For a moment, Quinn considered going on, but she thought better 
of it.  Contrary to popular belief, she's not *that* stupid.

				      * * *

The holes in the wall of Chez Cullen's living room (Glenview Road, by 
the way) had been patched over with bits of bright blue wallpaper; the 
designs Lynn Cullen, the house's new owner, had spray-painted onto those 
walls during the psycho-volcanic incident that had also resulted in the 
holes were still there, but they'd been added to in shades of purple 
and silver to soften them.  The sofa had been reupholstered with deep 
purple velvet and scattered with black satin throw pillows, though the 
woodwork was still scarred in places.  The annihilated Ikea coffee table 
had been replaced with a large pane of thick smoked glass held up by 
a frame of crudely welded stainless steel pipes.  At the moment, Jane 
Lane was painting a pattern of bright purple roses around the edge of 
the glass.
	Lynn appeared in the doorway and watched for a moment before 
deciding to speak up.  "I thought we were going over lines."  Jane, 
absorbed, said nothing.  Lynn sighed.  "I should never have let you offer 
to redecorate."  After another moment, she walked in and sat on the sofa. 
"I'll never be rid of you now, will I?"
	Jane finally looked at her.  "Getting a bit crowded in here?"
	"Not really.  And with you, I guess it's just art calling.  But 
Daria..."
	"So you *are* worried.  I wondered."
	"Maybe `worried' is too strong a term.  More like..."  She did 
some more thinking.  "No, `worried' about covers it."
	"Does that mean you have some idea about why we haven't said 
anything to her yet?"
	"The phrase `What do *we* know about family?' springs to mind."  
That brought a short pause.
	"Well, we do know about how much it can suck."
	"But, for the most part, we get by *without* family.  You have 
Trent; I..."  She realized she was about to start blabbing information 
that was on very much a need-to-know basis, leading to a very brief pause 
followed by a very swift change of tack.  "Anyway, neither of us can 
stand up and say, `Come on; of course you need your family' without 
sounding like the world's biggest hypocrites."
	_Whoa, *that* was abrupt._  Jane raised an eyebrow.  "Heard 
anything from...anyone?"  Lynn didn't answer.  "Kate?  Jerome?  Lorna?  
Anyone?"
	"Not...exactly," Lynn carefully didn't say too much.  After all, 
she wasn't currently in *direct* contact with any of the *specifically* 
named people.  Still, before Jane could get any further down that line 
of inquiry, Lynn decided to sidetrack it.  "And now that I've got your 
undivided attention..."  She waved the script in her acting partner's 
face.
	"Okay, okay, okay," Jane sighed, resigned.  She thought a moment 
before her next conversational sally.  "Can the nurse have a poodle?  
I'd really like to be in a scene where I'm walking a poodle."
	Lynn rolled her eyes.  _Amateurs._

				      * * *

Helen's SUV pulled up to the curb in front of Chez Cullen.  Helen, in 
slacks and T-shirt, stepped out and looked at the house.  Then she walked 
up the front walk, stopping and looking at the door, trying not to show 
her fear.  Then she reached for the doorbell, hesitated...then pushed 
it.  The sound it made suggested that the bell was slightly dented.
	Helen waited.
	And waited.
	Just when she was about to ring the bell again, the door opened
...and Helen stared.  She'd never met Lynn, but the girl standing at 
the door in T-shirt and checkered boxers, hair askew, blinking blearily 
at her, looked almost enough like Daria to be her twin sister (instead 
of just her half-sister), which made the identification easier.  "Oh," 
said Lynn, slightly muzzy.  "H'llo, Mrs. Morgendorffer..."
	"Please...call me Helen..."  That came out rather distantly -- 
no surprise, as she was still staring.  _My God, she even *sounds* like 
Daria._
	"'Kay."  Lynn needed a moment to think about what to say next.  
"Did you want to come in?  The coffee maker works and it shouldn't take 
long to put the legs back on the kitchen table..."
	_Put the legs back on?_  Helen had just been starting to recover; 
she still *was* recovering, but it was a struggle now.  "Uh, no.  That's
...all right; I...wouldn't want to put you to any trouble..."
	"'Kay."  A fairly long pause this time.  "Sorry; can I help you 
with something?"
	_Nothing to it but to do it._  "Is Daria here?"
	"Hang on."  Lynn turned and went back up the stairs, calling 
out, "Daria?  Your mother's here.  If you want her to piss off, tell 
her yourself.  I'm going back to bed."
	For a moment, Helen blinked at the space where Lynn had stood.  
Then she really *saw* the hallway and looked at it with shock -- it 
looked like the tornado that hit Lawndale last year had come back to 
take a leisurely stroll down the hall, throwing things around as it went. 
_What did she *do* to the house?_
	A moment later, Daria stood in the doorway.  Helen could only 
stare for a moment, trying to get rid of the sense of deja vu.  "Mom."
	"D-Daria!  I..."  She took a deep breath.  "How are you?"
	"Doing fairly well."  After a moment: "You?"
	"Well..."  Helen cast her eyes downwards.  "...not."  Daria 
raised an eyebrow.  Helen looked at her, realizing she'd have to 
elaborate if she wanted to get anywhere here.  "Daria...we want you to 
come home."
	"`We'?" Daria ostentatiously looked around Helen as if for third 
parties.
	"Your father," Helen began morosely, then corrected herself, 
"*Jake*..."
	"Dad," Daria replied, surprisngly gently.  "Maybe not `father,' 
but `dad.'  There's a difference."  Helen's confusion must have shown 
on her face.  "`Father' is about blood.  `Dad' is about family."
	Helen was about ready to snap anyway, and that little pearl of 
wisdom was the camel-breaker.  "Well, you're not doing a very good job 
of showing you realize that!"  The look Daria gave her told her right 
away that she'd lost ground.  She tried another approach.  "Daria...the 
longer you stay away, the more you seem to say that...well, that you 
don't consider...that you don't think you're part of our family anymore."
	Daria fell silent for a few heartbeats.  She clearly hadn't 
considered that.  "I thought..." she began at length.  "I didn't want 
to get in the middle of arguments between you and Dad..."
	That just made Helen even more miserable.  "To be honest, Daria, 
after that first night, Jake and I haven't been in a frame of mind to 
argue."  Daria's eyes widened -- that *was* serious.  "I could make you 
come home.  You're still a minor.  But I won't."  She let that sink in.  
"But it would be a real comfort if you did come home."
	Daria looked at her mother with new eyes, realizing how obviously 
dead serious she was.  This was pretty much the first time anyone had 
ever given this strong an indication of 8needing* Daria from an emotional 
point of view or seeing her as a comforting presence.  Even during the 
Tommy Sherman incident, all the students and teachers who'd come to her 
for grief counseling had viewed her, it seemed, more as a convenient 
shoulder to cry on than as somebody they'd miss if *she* got clobbered 
by a falling goalpost.  And she felt guilty for the sad look in Helen's 
eyes.  With a sigh, she conceded the issue.  "Let me just go pack my 
things and I'll come back with you."
	Helen's face lit up.  She started to move to hug Daria, but just 
managed to catch herself, sensing that that might not be the right move 
quite yet.  Daria went into the house.
	The upstairs corridor, like the downstairs, had been pretty well 
demolished -- Daria hadn't been there for Lynn's bout with the "demon-
rage" (as A.P. called it), and she hadn't yet dared bring the issue up, 
but the visual evidence indicated that her elder sister had been at the 
walls with a nail gun, several cans of dark gray spray-paint and a ball-
peen hammer.  Daria approached Lynn's closed door, which was readily 
identifiable by virtue of being the only one without scars, holes, nails 
or paint added to its decor...and stopped when she saw that her duffel 
bag was already sitting in front of it, fully packed.  For a moment, 
she was worried that she'd hurt Lynn's feelings...then she got a better 
look at the bag.  A house key had been pinned to the shoulder strap -- 
a gesture of understanding, and an open invitation: _Good luck; but 
remember, mi casa, su casa_.  Daria gave the empty air one of her Mona 
Lisa smiles, looked at the closed door and moved toward it -- then 
stopped.  No goodbyes were really necessary.  She shouldered the bag 
and headed downstairs.
	Behind the door, in the Chamber of Dark Mysteriousness, Lynn 
was far -- hell and gone, in fact -- from trying to go back to bed.  
She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the phone in her lap.  When 
she heard the front door shut below, she picked it up and dialed, then 
held it to her ear and waited for the other end to pick up.  When he 
did, her face was set.  "Rust?  Cullen."  She let him acknowledge, then 
said simply, "We start tonight."
	Now that Erudite Emerald was out of the way, Lynn could start 
making her preparations without having to answer awkward questions.  
And with some vague hope that her sister (it still felt weird to think 
of her as that) would be out of the line of fire this time.  And besides, 
in the words of her co-star, Purple Peril walks alone.

				      * * *

Helen was driving the SUV, with Daria in the front passenger "shotgun" 
seat.  "I'll drop you off at home and then I thought I'd drop by the 
office for awhile..."
	In the back of her head, Daria heard a sentence from Lynn's end 
of a certain phone call.  _Because you chose work over me one time too 
many._  As levelly as she could, she said, "Mom...did you even wonder 
why you never saw Kate Cullen again after that first day at the hospital? 
Even though you went to her house just now?"
	That comment instantly took Helen to a place beyond confused.  
"Daria?"
	Quite coldly, Daria went on.  "She left on a six-month business 
assignment to Tokyo two days after Lynn was admitted to the hospital.  
A full two days *before* she regained consciousness."  She paused to 
let that sink in.  "By the time Kate comes back, Lynn will be eighteen, 
and will own that house in her own right.  And she and Kate may not even 
see each other again, much less be on speaking terms."
	Helen, horrified, mulled this over a moment.  Lynn's trashing 
of the Cullen house seemed like a fairly obvious gesture, given that 
information.  She sounded genuinely apologetic.  "Daria...I can't be 
in the house with Jake right now."
	Daria gave her mother a penetrating stare...and saw in her eyes 
that Helen was very badly torn between her desire to do right by her 
daughters and her fear of being in the house with her husband.  She 
decided to cut her some slack, just for variety.  "Yeah.  Just...some 
information."  The stress on that conveyed her real meaning: _Just...
a warning._
	"I understand," Helen said, quite sincerely.
	Daria saw that she did indeed -- both the words and the actual 
message -- and looked straight ahead.  They drove on home in silence.


ACT II: LOW PLACE LIKE HOME

"Now there's no point in placing the blame
 And you should know I suffer the same
 If I lose you, my heart will be broken"
	-- "Frozen"

The SUV pulled up in front of Morgendorffer Home Base.  Daria stepped 
out, then turned and watched as her mother drove off to the offices of 
Vitale, Davis, Horowitz, Riordan, Schrecter, Schrecter and Schrecter.  
Then she looked at the house with a sigh and headed up the walk.
	She came up the stairs and was headed for her room when she 
noticed a door on the far end of the corridor, slightly ajar.  She 
frowned slightly and changed course.
	On the other side of the door was a tiny spare bedroom, decorated 
in slightly dingy yellow shades.  She'd almost forgotten they *had* this 
room; the last time it might have seen use was when the Yaegers were 
over, and her parents had known that one night in there would degauss 
Willow and Coyote's chakras.  Jake Morgendorffer, the man she'd grown 
up with for a father, was sprawled out on the bed in his weekend outfit, 
not so much asleep as passed-out.  There was a gin bottle, mostly empty, 
sitting on the bedside table.  Peeking in through the slightly open door, 
Daria hove a quiet sigh, not sure whether to be more appalled by the 
turn her dad had taken or the cliche involved.  She stepped back from 
the door...
	...and collided with Quinn, who was coming out of her room.  
They looked at each other for a moment.
	"So you came home," Quinn began.
	Daria carefully failed to reply.
	"Maybe things can get back to normal around here now that you're 
back..."
	"Don't," Daria replied coldly.  "Talk.  To me."  She pushed past 
Quinn, went into the padded room and slammed the door shut.
	Quinn looked sulky and hurt; however, there was nobody to see 
it but us narrators.

				      * * *

At one of the free-standing tables in Pizza King, Quinn was sitting 
across from her boyfriend, Ted Dewitt-Clinton, and angrily picking at 
a pizza slice.  (For those of you who were wondering, the author in 
primary charge of recording these events hasn't *meant* to give their 
relationship short shrift since the crashout at Lynn's; she's just been 
kind of busy with other plot developments lately.  The present author 
has not interpolated anything on that front because he shares the great 
S. Morgenstern's opinion that each of God's creatures, even characters, 
is entitled to a few moments of genuine privacy now and then.  At least, 
that's his story and he's sticking to it.)
	Meanwhile, back at the plot, Ted looked concerned.  "Quinn?"
	She didn't look up.  "Hmm?"
	"Is something wrong?"
	"What makes you think *that*?"
	"Well...you haven't actually uttered a sentence of more than 
five words in a week."  He thought a moment, then added, "And you're 
eating the cheese."
	Quinn blinked at her pizza slice, realized he was right and it 
wasn't cheeseless, then shrugged.  "Who cares anyway?  I mean, it's not 
like it's gonna *kill* me."
	"I don't know," he said teasingly.  "Daria never *would* tell 
me what process they use..."  She still didn't react.  "Quinn, are you 
sure you won't tell me what's bothering you?"
	"Family sucks."
	"Is this about your sister?"
	"*Half*-sister," she corrected absently.
	"You're not starting *that* again, are you?" he said in tones 
of fond exasperation.
	"What...?"
	"Quinn, I didn't even know for sure that you and Daria were 
related until those fellows and I...uh..."  He blushed.  "...paid an 
uninvited visit to the booby-trapped house.  After that, I asked around.  
Most people were under the impression that Daria is your cousin...or 
whatever.  A few thought she was your au pair.  One thought you were a
visiting exchange student who was staying an awfully long time.  But 
none seemed to know the truth."  There were a few who remembered the 
assembly in Quinn's freshman year where Daria had cited Quinn as one 
of her inspirations on the path to self-esteem -- naming Quinn as her 
sister -- but they didn't actually *know* for sure.
	"You should try asking again," Quinn muttered morosely.  She 
noticed Ted's bemused look.  "You don't follow the gossip at *all*, do 
you?"
	"Why should I want to, when information from the source is so 
much more accurate?"
	Ted's sheer innocence made Quinn blink, then sigh.  "Well, here 
it is -- from as close to the source as you're going to get it.  Daria 
found out that my dad isn't her dad.  *Her* dad is that other girl's 
dad; Lynn's dad.  So we're only half-sisters."  She sighed.  "And I only 
hope Daria doesn't kill me even more for telling someone else."
	"Who else did you tell?"
	"Tori.  Which means everyone."  She groaned involuntarily.  
"She's so *mad* at me!  And all because I was telling Tori and Dad was 
at the door and heard *everything*!  I mean, how was *I* supposed to 
know?"
	"You weren't."  He took her hand.  "And just maybe, you weren't 
supposed to *tell,* either."
	Quinn gave him an _Et tu, Ted?_ look, then stared down at the 
table with a sad shrug.  "You're probably right.  But I don't know *what* 
to do now!  I mean, she won't even stay in the same room with me long 
enough for me to *say* anything to her!"
	"Well...what would you say if you could?"
	"Well, I...I mean, I'd..."  She realized she wasn't really sure.  
"Oh, shoot."  She looked pleadingly at Ted.  He just watched her, waiting 
for an answer.  And, since desperate times call for desperate measures, 
she thought about it.  "Well...I'd tell her I was sorry, I guess.  I 
should have said that before.  And...well..."  She decided to just say 
*something* and think about it later, so it came out all in a rush.  
"I just want to explain to her that I really *do* like her and love her 
and respect her and whatever else and I'm *glad she's my sister -- even 
*half* -- and I wanted to tell everybody we were *half*-sisters because 
it was the only way I could let everyone know that we were related 
without everyone looking at me like I was some mean bad *liar*!"  She 
caught her breath.  
	Ted smiled at her.  "Well, I bet she'd like to hear that.  *I* 
would, if I had brothers or sisters."
	"But she won't *talk* to me!  I go into the same room as her 
and she *leaves!*"
	"Well...I'm not very good at these things.  I think maybe you 
need to talk to someone who could talk Daria into hearing you out.  
Someone she's close to."
	An idea hit Quinn, hit her with those glass knuckle things, and 
she turned sullen and resigned, so much so that she didn't even care 
if it showed on her face and gave her worry lines.  _There's *got* to 
be another way,_ she thought, knowing all the time there wasn't.

				      * * *

In the same grubby bar where she'd met him last time, Lynn was standing 
at the pool table, considering her next shot.  "I honestly don't see 
what this has to do with..."
	Suddenly and without warning, someone reached over her shoulders 
from behind and pulled a pool cue tightly across her neck.  She bucked 
backwards, the back of her head connecting with her attacker's chin even 
as one boot came down *hard* on his shin and foot.  He yelled, and she 
grabbed the pool cue, wresting it from him -- it was a "him," the sound 
of the yell had confirmed that even as it told her *which* "him" it was 
-- and hitting him across the face with the fat end.  He dropped like 
a rock; she stepped forward, broke the cue over her knee so she was left 
with two jagged pieces, and stood there staring at "Rust," as she'd code-
named him.  "Mind telling me what *that* was all about?"
	"lessn one -- nvr drp yr grd," he said in a slightly choked voice 
-- which was understandable, given his current circumstances.  "nd yu 
ddn't."
	"Can I afford to?"
	"no."  He nerved himself a moment, then went on, "cd yu tk yr 
boot off my wndpipe, plz?"
	She just smirked slightly.

				      * * *

The next day at Lawndale High, Quinn was walking down the hall with Ted 
at her side and a vaguely determined air.
	Ted looked at her with a raised eyebrow.  "You look happier
today."
	"I'm gonna talk to Daria's *other* sister.  That Lynn girl.  
*She'll* be able to get Daria to talk to me, I *know* it."  They came 
around a corner and saw the girl of the hour and her little friends at 
that Jane girl's locker.  Daria and that A.P. guy were watching as Jane 
and Lynn ran their lines as the Nurse and Juliet, respectively.
	"Fie, how my bones ache!" Jane said in a teasing faux whine.  
"What a jaunce have I!"
	"I wish I had thy bones and I thy news..." Lynn grumbled.
	Quinn had lost that resolute air -- in fact, she now looked as 
nervous as she was.  "Maybe I should ask someone about her first."  She 
thought about it.  "And maybe wait until she's alone."  She thought some 
more.  "And maybe borrow some of that armor you're making in Shop.  If 
it wasn't so *bulky.*"
	Ted chuckled.  "You'll be fine."  He remembered something.  "Oh, 
I wanted to get to music class a little early today.  See you later.  
Good luck!"  He kissed her on the cheek and walked off.
	Quinn smiled after him for a minute, pondering the vagaries of 
fate, then looked back to the gang.  The bell rang; Daria, Lynn and A.P. 
headed off in one direction, and Jane came in the other -- Quinn's 
direction.  Quinn tried to stop Jane as she passed.  "Um..."
	"No," Jane replied, not even breaking her stride.
	Quinn followed her.  "But..."
	"No."
	"I need to ask..."
	"Your parents *earned* their three questions -- I answered in 
exchange for my keep.  *You,* on the other hand..."  With that, Jane 
broke into a jog, easily outdistancing Quinn, who just stood there, 
decidedly annoyed.

				      * * *

Stacy Rowe, as a member of the cheerleading squad, wore her uniform at 
school, following the example set by head cheerleader Brittany Taylor.  
Well, as much of the example as she could.  At one point during the crash-
out, they'd gotten to talking about Brittany, and Lynn had quoted a line 
from that Monty Python guy about some mid-evil woman with "huge...tracts 
of land," which Quinn had to admit summed up Brittany's major features 
quite nicely.  None of the other cheerleaders could *hope* to match that 
without help from Dr. Shar.
	But despite her change of wardrobe, Stacy was still wearing her 
hair in those two braids, just like she had when she was secretary for 
the Fashion Club, and she was still friends with Quinn, just like she'd 
been Quinn's only real friend in the club (sometimes sticking up for 
her as much as ten seconds at a time before Sandi glared her back into 
"her place"), and, what was most important at the moment, they still 
sat next to each other in the back row of O'Neill's class.  "Oh, I 
remember *her*!" Stacy said.  "She was a cheerleader for like, a day!  
Then she just quit!"
	"Just like *that*?"  Quinn was amazed.  "Lost all the popularity 
potential?"
	"I think Britt said something about having lost her bouncity-
bounce."  She considered that a moment.  "I didn't think she ever *had* 
bouncity-bounce."
	"Well, she's so much like Daria that I doubt it."
	"Anyway, she's not going to *eat* you or anything."  She thought 
some more.  "I don't think."  She paused again, then spoke, suddenly 
all anxious.  "But you *will* be careful if you talk to her, won't you, 
Quinn?  I've...heard things."
	"What kind of...no.  Never mind."
	Stacy looked taken aback at the thought of Quinn turning down 
gossip, but before she could say anything, O'Neill spoke up.  "Okay, 
class, let's begin our discussion on _The Catcher in the Rye_!"
	Stacy and Quinn picked up their books with a sigh.

				      * * *

Lynn was at her locker, books scattered around her feet and a garbage 
can by her side; she seemed to be trying to tidy up as Quinn approached.  
"I want to talk to you."
	Lynn didn't even look around -- she just started stacking her 
books neatly at the bottom of her locker.  "Fine, if I don't have to 
listen."
	"I want to talk to you about Daria."
	"She still pissed off with you?  Good."
	"I need to talk to her and she won't stay in the same room as 
me.  I need *you* to tell her to hear me out."
	Lynn kept tidying industriously. "Let me think.  No."  If she 
thought between those two sentences, it went by *very* fast.
	"Why *not*?  She'll listen to you!  And you *have* to help me; 
this is *your* fault anyway!"
	That stopped Lynn dead.  "Excuse me?"
	"Well, it is!" Quinn insisted defiantly.  "I mean, if you hadn't 
got yourself attacked, Daria wouldn't have found out about being related 
to you and none of this would be happening!"
	"You don't give Daria a lot of credit for intelligence, do you?"
	Quinn hardly even noticed that.  "And even if you *did* have 
to get yourself hurt, if you hadn't woken up, Daria wouldn't have written 
all those stupid little notes for Dad to find and she could have talked 
Dad out of believing what I'd said on the phone and...Why didn't you 
just *die*?"  She realized what she'd just said and stopped, horrified 
at herself.
	Lynn's face was impassive, but for one brief moment, her eyes 
showed hurt and guilt more than she'd like anyone, let alone Quinn, to 
see.  Then she shut down entirely.  Quinn, who'd seen Daria do *that* 
before, got really scared.
	"Are you done?" Lynn asked, way too calmly.
	"Look, I..."
	She was less calm now.  "Are.  You.  Done?"
	"yes..."
	"Then get out of my face."
	"But I..."  Lynn dumped the rest of her books into her locker, 
shut it a little harder than strictly necessary and walked away.  Quinn 
watched her, stammering.  "But...but I wanted to say I was *sorry*!"  
She got no reply from Lynn's retreating back.  "Oh, crap."


ACT III: HATE, KILL, DESTROY

"Love is a bird, she needs to fly
 Let all the hurt inside of you die
 You're frozen -- when your heart's not open"
	-- "Frozen"

"Kill, kill, hate, hate!  Murder, murder, mutilate!  Go TEAM!"
	-- traditional cheer of the Illuminati University Fighting Fnords

Up in her dark and mysterious room, as Therapy?'s "Hate, Kill, Destroy" 
blasted very loudly from her stereo, Lynn was throwing a switchblade 
knife at a dartboard hanging on her wardrobe door in a manner reminiscent 
of Morgan Freeman in _Seven_.  As she pulled the knife out of the 
dartboard, Andrew Philip McIntyre appeared in the window.  "Hey..." he 
began cheerfully, only to be interrupted by a *thunk* as the knife became 
embedded in the windowsill.  He looked at it, wide-eyed, then resumed 
his train of conversation, albeit rather weakly, "...ho, purple peril."
	"Salutations, Maverick."  Lynn stepped over to the window, pulled 
the knife out of the sill and stepped back.
	A.P. pulled himself into the room, proceeding with caution.  
"It's...been awhile since you used *my* nickname, Purple Peril."  There 
was another *thunk* as the knife hit the dartboard.  "I thought you'd 
given that up."
	"No, just giving it a rest."  She stepped to the dartboard, 
pulled knife out of the triple-20 space, and stepped back.  "I didn't 
really want Daria and Jane to think we were some sort of secret society.  
They might have felt left out."  She hove the knife at the dartboard.  
*Thunk*; bulls-eye.
	"Oh.  Um.  Okay."  He surreptitiously turned down the stereo.
	Lynn stepped to dartboard, pulled out the knife, and stepped 
back again.  "Was there something you wanted?"  She cocked her arm back 
to throw again...
	...and A.P. grabbed her wrist.  "Yeah -- for you to stop *doing* 
that.  You're making me nervous."
	They looked at each other for a long moment, A.P. still holding 
her wrist.
	Surprisingly, she gave way first, sighing and looking away.  
He let go, and she tossed the knife on the bed.  "Anything else?"
	"Well, I *was* gonna say we should go through the lines but...
you *really* don't look in the mood."  Lynn sighed and sat on the bed.  
"So who?"
	"Excuse me?"
	"Who were you aiming at?  That was a dartboard on the wall but 
someone you really wanted to off in your mind."
	"Don't *say* crap like that!" Lynn screamed, suddenly livid.  
"You know I wouldn't ever kill anyone!"
	A.P. was stunned.  "Um...figure of speech, Purple Peril.  Of 
course you wouldn't kill anyone."
	A sigh.  "Sorry.  I've got a lot on my mind."
	Dead silence.  A.P. looked at Lynn strangely.  She ignored him.
	"So...who's pissing you off so badly?"
	"Me.  Now are we going over lines or not?"  She got up and went 
over to her desk, rummaging in a desk drawer for a script.  A.P. watched, 
confused and not a little worried.

				      * * *

The next day, Quinn was at her locker, looking glum, when a hand grabbed 
hold of her by the ear.  "*Ow!  Hey!*" she yelled, getting no response 
whatsoever.  Her assailant dragged her, still yelling, away.

				      * * *

At Daria'slocker, Jane finished the sketch she was working on and showed 
it to Daria.  It was a depiction of Quinn, staked out over an anthill 
and coated with something that would have been more obviously (instead 
of just probably) honey if the sketch had been in color.  Daria raised 
an eyebrow with a small smirk.
	"So you don't hate her all that much," Jane observed.
	"Excuse me?"
	"I was using that kind of like Rorschach.  Your reaction measures 
how much you actually hate Quinn."  She waited a moment before deciding 
Daria wasn't going to bother asking.  "If you'd smirked harder, I'd have 
said you were probably on the verge of actually doing that to her.  If 
you hadn't smirked at *all*, I'd have said you were completely indifferent
to Quinn and that's worse than hating her.  If you really didn't *care* 
about her..."
	"Jane, I don't want to talk about Quinn.  Hell, I don't even 
want to talk *to* Quinn."
	Jane heard indignant screams, in a familiar shrill tone, coming 
down the corridor.  "Why do I have a feeling you don't have a lot of 
choice right now?"
	Lynn came around the corner, dragging Quinn by the ear.  She 
nearly tossed Quinn in front of Daria and stood there, her expression 
and tone indicating that anyone who argued with, or even interrupted, 
her was going to eat a bowl of fist.  "This is stupid.  You," she pointed 
to Quinn, "talk.  You," now she indicated Daria, "listen.  You," this 
last to Jane, "come with me."  To reinforce all that, she grabbed Jane 
by the wrist and started to walk away, but turned back to Quinn at the 
last moment.  "You owe me."  She made her exit, accompanied by a very 
stunned Jane.
	Daria stared at Quinn.  "What the hell...?"
	"Is that...how she *helps* people?" Quinn boggled.
	"Depends on whether or not she likes the people she's helping, 
I suppose."  She gave Quinn a moment to consider that, then went on, 
"Now what do you want?"
	Quinn started ticking off points on her fingers.  "One: I'm sorry
for gossiping about you to Tori.  I shouldn't have told anyone -- well,
maybe Ted, 'cause he's my boyfriend and I trust him, but...anyway.  Two:  
I only told Tori so she could tell the rest of the school about you being
my half-sister because I wanted to be able to take back some of the lies I
said -- about the cousin and the au pair and...stuff...I wanted to admit
you're my sister because I like and love and...well, *respect* you and you
*are* a good sister -- some of the time.  But I didn't want to tell
everyone about how I'd lied.  It was a really good excuse to say hey," she
shrugged, "I really *am* related to her.  Just not so much."
	Daria raised an eyebrow.  "And has the revelation salvaged your
popularity, or wrecked it?"
	"Turns out no one really cares," Quinn sheepishly confessed.
	Daria looked at Quinn long enough to make the younger sister 
feel extremely uncomfortable.  Long enough to make her think about it.  
In some way, she should have known all along.  At that party Brittany 
threw that the two of them had gotten invited to, those three boys that 
used to fight over her all the time -- Joey, Jeffy and...Jonathan? oh 
well, *nobody* remembered *his* name -- had found out that Daria was 
"Quinn's brainy sister.  People say we look alike."  They'd told her 
they'd never hold it against her; she couldn't help being related to 
Daria, and having *that* in the family just made it more of a personal 
triumph, her being so attractive and popular.  She'd heard it, but she'd 
thought they were just trying to be nice.  And even if she'd believed 
they were serious, she'd known for sure that Sandi would never let it 
slide.  And so the lies had persisted.
	"You made a mistake," Daria cut into her reflections.  "Life 
goes on.  Apology accepted."  She let that sink in.  "And thanks.  You're 
not that bad a sister either.  Sometimes."  She walked away.
	Quinn stared after her for a moment.  When she could make her 
mouth work, she asked, "You just...just *said* that?  It was *that* easy 
for you?"
	"Think about what *else* I've had to admit to lately."
	Now Quinn felt about one day old and one inch tall.  And naked.  
Live on Fashion Television.  With clown makeup and a really embarrassing 
hairstyle.  "Oh."

				      * * *

Daria and Lynn were sitting on one side of their usual booth at Pizza 
King, Jane and A.P. on the other.  Daria, Jane and A.P. were gawking 
at Lynn, who was trying to ignore it, with no appreciable success.  
Finally, she looked up from her pizza with vast irritation.  "I am not 
a zoo exhibit, so stop staring at me."
	"Sorry, Purple Peril," A.P. replied, "but that...thing Art-Smart 
Scarlet just told us about counts as a true Twilight Zone moment."
	"I knew you were worried about Daria," Jane added, "but I didn't 
think you'd *do* anything about it."
	Daria was stunned.  "You were *worried* about me?"
	"Way to go, Lane," Lynn muttered sullenly.  "Tell everyone I 
have a soul and blow my rep completely."
	"I mean, Narcissa actually asked you for help," A.P. babbled 
on.  "And you *gave* it to her."  He struggled silently for a moment 
with the complexities of language.  "I mean, *Narcissa!*"  Another bout 
of silent battle with words.  "I can take you throwing knives at me -- 
sorta -- but this..."
	"She threw *knives* at you?" Jane blurted.
	"Well, *a* knife, anyway.  And I don't think she wanted to hit 
me or I'd be a chalk outline by now."  Nobody answered for a moment.  
"I was hanging off the ivy trellis when she..."
	"*What?*"
	"Well, certainly there's no point in my being here if you're
going to talk about me as though I'm not."  With that, Lynn got up.
	"Lynn..." Daria interceded.
	"I'm not offended or anything.  Honestly.  I just...have 
someplace to be right now."  She made another exit.
	Daria looked at Jane and A.P.  "Great, guys.  Just great."
	They had the good grace to look sheepish.

				      * * *

In the padded room, Daria was lying on the carpet, staring at the good 
ol' ceiling, when there was a knock at the door.  "Who knocks without?"
	"Without *what?*" Quinn asked from the other side.
	A sigh.  "Never mind.  That joke's too old and tired.  Come in."  
The door opened and Quinn entered, shutting the door behind her.  Daria 
sat up.  "What's the situation down there?"
	"Mom's not home.  Dad's..."  Another sigh.
	"Forget I asked."
	"Daria...we're not gonna, like, try to hang out and stuff, are 
we?  Because, like, I know all that stuff I said at school was like, 
we're sisters and stuff, but...well, your friends make me nervous."  
She seemed to need to nerve herself before going on.  "*You* make me 
nervous."
	"As you and your friends do me."  She thought a moment, then 
decided she might as well say it.  "Don't worry about it, Quinn.  We 
move in very different circles and since we're both happy where we are, 
why change it?"
	"But...I..."
	"Peace in the house is one thing.  I think it's good that at 
least some of the inhabitants of this house are on speaking terms.  
Friendship outside the house...We're not built that way."
	Quinn seemed relieved.  "Thanks, Daria.  I don't want to make 
you mad at me again, but..."
	Daria just waved her out in an it's-okay kind of way, and Quinn 
left, taking the hint.  Daria sat on the floor a moment longer, then 
got up and went to the phone.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw 
the clock on her trundle table -- 22:32.  She picked up, dialed, waited 
three rings...and got the answering machine.  "Hello; you have reached 
Lynn Cullen's private line.  I must be able to at least tolerate you..."
	A frustrated sigh.  "She should be home by now.  Where the
hell..."
	"...or merciless revenge.  Alternately, you can call my mobile 
phone and be verbally abused all the sooner.  The number's..."
	Daria was almost too stunned to grapple for a pen, but just 
managed to get one in time.  "*Mobile phone?*"

				      * * *

In the bar, Lynn was standing in front of the dartboard, knife in hand, 
waiting.
	"Double fifteen," Rust called out.  Lynn threw.  The knife hit 
double fifteen.  Lynn retrieved the knife and went back to her firing 
position.  "Bulls-eye."  Throw.  Thunk.  Bulls-eye it was.
	And her pocket started ringing -- well, actually, bleeping out 
a tinny rendition of "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life," but let's 
not spoil the moment with a lot of technical mumbo-jumbo.  Lynn sighed, 
pulled the cell-phone out of her pocket and pushed the TALK button.  
"Cullen."
	"Hey, Lynn," came her sister's voice.  "What are *you* doing 
with a mobile phone?"
	"Well, you never know when these things might come in handy.  
What can I do you for?"
	"I just...wanted to say thanks," Daria replied.  "For making 
me talk to Quinn."
	"No problem."  Lynn gave a Mona Lisa smile which quickly morphed 
to a smirk.  "Anyway, that means I get to call in favors off Narcissa, 
should I need to."
	"Opportunist," Daria muttered in tones of fond exasperation.
	"Pragmatist," Lynn corrected.  She noticed Rust was starting 
to get impatient.  "Look, I really have to go.  I'm kind of in the middle 
of something.  See you at school."
	"Okay, see you."
	Lynn pocketed the phone and went to retrieve the knife from the 
dartboard.
	"You done?" Rust asked.  Lynn raised an eyebrow, retrieved the 
phone from her pocket, thumbed the OFF button and put it back.  "Okay, 
better.  Now let's try moving targets."
	Lynn nodded and got into a throwing stance.

ADAPTOR'S NOTES
	Sorry I didn't catch you on this sooner, Jan, but "secondment" 
is very much an Anglicism.
	References to Daria's speech (from "Esteemsters") and Brittany's 
party (from "The Invitation") both seemed to fit.
	"One day old" (etc) references the comment by John Self, the 
protagonist of Martin Amis' 1984 novel _Money: a suicide note_, that 
"Without money, you're one day old and one inch tall.  And you're nude, 
too."
	I think there was more, but if so, I forgot it.  Oh well, maybe 
in a remaster.
	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.  
Lyrics to "Frozen" are copyright 1998 WB Music Corp./Webo Girl Publishing 
Inc. (administered by WB Music Corp.)/No Tomato Music (all affiliates 
of ASCAP).  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, A.P. McIntyre and "Rust" 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 her 
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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