LAST TIME, ON THE LOOK-ALIKE SERIES: "You want *me.* To join the cheerleaders." "The ultimate freedom. Blissful ignorance." "Look, she's just doing the least Smythe-like thing she can think of." "Are you going to finish that sentence or am I going to have to Heimlich it out of you?" _The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit with Ben Yee Season 4, episode 5: "The Prisoner of Zelda" prose adaptation by Austin Loomis Cast: Lynn Cullen, Stacy Rowe, Daria Morgendorffer, Jane Lane, A.P. McIntyre, Fred McIntyre, Tom Sloane, Quinn Morgendorffer, Trent Lane, Jesse Moreno, Nick Campbell, Max Tyler, Carol McIntyre, Anthony DeMartino (non-speaking), Timothy O'Neill (non-speaking), Mr. Hopper (non- speaking), Mark "Shooter" Renfield "It's the Legend of Zelda and it's really rad Those creatures from Ganon are pretty bad Octoroks, Tektites, Leevers too But with your help, our hero comes through" -- annoying rap-flavored _Legend of Zelda_ advert, c. 1987 ACT 1: WAKE UP "You can't run from your own legs, you can't hide from `Bob.' 'Cause he's *dumber* than you. He packs more 'Frop up his exit wound than you do. His face has been mimeographed and stuck up in more places than yours has. You can't hide from J.R. `Bob' Dobbs! *Heunh!* Help me somebody! She ain't got no legs! Preacher, my legs are on fire! Pull the lever, down ya go..." -- the rest of Janor's big Dokstok rant from "The Third Fist" "Too accurate?" Stacy seemed to become intensely interested in her shoes. "Yeah." "Then make it *in*accurate." With that, Lynn walked away, headed for where Daria and Jane were standing, across the hall, and stood there a moment, waiting for someone to say something. Daria and Jane just kind of smirked at her. "If you *really* wanted to subvert the cheerleaders," Jane pointed out, "you could have used that to your advantage, you know." Lynn shrugged and gave a half-smile as they headed off down the corridor. "You can't make someone be a nonconformist. All that achieves is making them a conformist of a different color." "In Stacy's case, Perilous Purple?" Daria winced. "Ooh. That was *bad,* Jane." "Soooooo...you're *not* going to be a..." "Most interesting term I heard last week was `pom-pom slut.'" "You talked to *Sarah?*" Lynn blurted -- that'd obviously been a dead giveaway. "Chubby girl? Too much hair?" "Looks kind of like Bernie from `Waiting for Bob' except without the glasses and bisexual tendencies." Blank looks. "I see I'm going to have to get you onto online comics. Anyway, yeah, she coined *that* one back in junior high. What have I missed, being..." Daria raised an eyebrow. "On the Dark Side?" "Actually, I think that's supposed to be the Bright Side. And if that *is* the bright side, you can *have* it." "*We* never even came close to *wanting* it." Now Daria aimed that eyebrow at Jane. "Well, *I* didn't, anyway." "Yeah, yeah, rub it in," said the former track star. "Hey, I don't make an issue about your vanity causing you to walk around the school *blind* one fine spring day..." Furious blush. "Shut up, Jane." Lynn decided this was getting off-topic. "Before World War Three breaks out in earnest...what *have* I missed?" "A.P., we hope." A deep sigh. "Yeah. -- How pissed off is he?" "Funny," mused Jane, "but he doesn't seem to be that pissed off at all." That gave Lynn slight cause for hope. "Really?" "Yeah; but then, he's barely been around. I think the last time I saw him outside school was the Homecoming game." Hope gave way to mild worry. "Two *days* ago?" She fell to thinking out loud. "Maybe someone should check on him..." "Why don't *you* do it?" Daria suggested. "You can combine that with whatever apology you feel necessary for any pain you caused him while trying to run from your own legs." When Lynn had paid a call on Tuxedo Slack to pick up the shopping money, he'd put the arm on again re getting Daria into the Family business. She'd demurred again, and Slack had responded with a long and bizarre rant from some sort of parody of a crackpot religion -- something about how "you can't run from your own legs...'cause they're what you're using to run from 'em *with!*" Lynn'd mentioned it passim in the course of explaining Family matters to her friends, and it'd become an occasional in-joke. Not one they used any more than they had to, though, and Lynn's downcast expression was all the explanation anyone could have needed for *that.* "No. No, I don't think so. Not yet, anyway. I..." Daria and Jane took one look at her and decided a subject change was in order. "Come on," Jane insisted. "This calls for a celebration and cheer-me-up session." "Wan Foo Mai Tai out on the highway," Daria suggested. "Followed by _Heathers_ in honor of your return to the *right* Dark Side." Lynn allowed herself a weak smile. "That sounds great. Thanks." * * * A.P.'s criteria for choosing a videogame as distraction had been: no guns (that was what he was trying to get *away* from), no overcute, but at least one actual character. So that was how he came to be in his room, playing the original _Legend of Zelda_ on his old 8-bit Nintendo Entertainment System, tapping buttons and looking grim and determined... until the boopity beepity music changed as he lost his last heart. "Awwwwwwwwww crap..." He turned to his computer, clicked, clicked again, read, scrolled down... "Aha! *That's* how you do it." He restarted from his last save...and there was a knock on the door. "Yeahwhat?" "That freak friend of yours is on the phone," said his dad. He sighed as he hit Start to pause it and got up. "*Which* `freak friend'?" He opened the door. Dad was standing there holding a cordless phone. "How the hell should I know? I don't keep track. And we got you your own phone line so we wouldn't have *our* line tied up. So can you start giving people *your* number?" "Dad, I'm online. They probably couldn't get through." He grabbed the phone. "Thank you." He slammed the door in dad's face and put the phone to his ear. "Yeah?" "Rust here." A.P. was flabbergasted. "What the hell do *you* want?" "To talk to you about...Cullen." Instant bring-down. "What about her? I haven't talked to her in days. I think she's been avoiding me." Tom sighed. "Look, she *needs* you. And you need *her.* They want you too, you know." A.P. decided to play dumb. "Come again?" "I don't have to tell you this," Rust explained as patiently as he could. "Merritt's people went after you specifically once -- they could do it again. Now, none of you will let me watch you after school so you're going to have to do it yourselves. And any *one* of you splitting off from the others gives them a good target to hit at." "Will you back off and leave me alone?" "Mav--" "I told you, *you* don't call me that. And you *don't* tell me what to do. Now *back off.*" He pressed the cut-off button on the cordless, opened the door and threw the phone out into the hall. "ANDREW!" "There's carpeting! -- And he calls again, tell him to..." He stifled himself. "Just tell him I'm not home!" He slammed the door shut and leaned against it with a slightly frightened sigh. Then he got a determined look on his face and went back to the game. (In his room, Tom looked at the phone a moment longer, then hung up. "Ohhhhh crap," he observed.) * * * The next day, Daria approached Lynn at her locker and tapped her on the shoulder. They both turned to look at A.P., who was stacking books absently with one hand as he read over a bunch of printed sheets held loosely in the other. "Going to talk to him?" Daria asked. Lynn seemed nervous for some reason. "Maybe not right now. He looks..." The stack of books in his locker fell over, dumping other pieces of locker detritus and a moldy-looking gym sock on the floor. "...busy." A raised eyebrow. "If he didn't think you were avoiding him before..." "Daria...maybe this is for the best. If it's obvious that we're not...well, just not...then he's not a target anymore. Maybe that's what he *wants.* I mean, he didn't exactly try very hard to get hold of me last week." "Lynn--" "If he wants to talk to me, he will. If not..." Leaving that hanging, Lynn shrugged sadly, shut her locker and walked away. Daria scowled after her a moment, then headed for A.P., who'd resumed his stacking but had apparently forgotten about the dumped locker detritus. She picked up the gym sock between her thumb and forefinger with an _ewwwwwww..._ that probably showed on her face, then waved the thing under his nose. He coughed. "Bleck! Gah! Get..." He dropped the printout and grabbed the sock. "What gives?" "Your hard-won relationship with Lynn, from the look." Piku piku. "Come again? Remember, Inarticulate Boy?" "I'll give you the `I Can Read' version. She won't talk to you unless you talk to her first because she has the crazy idea that maybe you're staying away from her on *purpose.* Because you're afraid of being a target." She tried to put a "hint-hint" tone into her voice. "Crazy. Right?" He could probably have sounded less convincing, but he'd have had to try damn hard. "Yeah. Right. I mean, I've just been busy." Daria grabbed the printout and read it. "A map of Hyrule. Uh- huh. *This* constitutes busy." He grabbed it back. "Hey, I gotta have some R and R too, you know." The bell rang, and A.P. stuffed the sock back in his locker, pushed it shut -- with an effort -- and left Daria to scowl after him. * * * In the cafeteria, A.P. was going over his printout and scrawling notes on a pad. Jane looked at him, then peered over his shoulder and looked at what he was writing. "You do realize that, if you prepared this hard for the SATs, you might score above a 300 in the verbal?" "Bug off." Silence except for the scratching of his pencil on paper. "Now I know why all your teachers insist you type your essays." "Bug. Off." Silence except for the shuffling of papers, then more pencil-scratching. "Y'know--" He slammed his pencil on the table. "What part of `bug off' don't you *get?*" "Okaaaaay...when do the steroids start giving you the promised extra muscle? You've got the mood swings down..." He had the grace to look sheepish. "Sorry, Art-Smart Scarlet. Guess I got a little distracted." Jane arched an eyebrow. "Mmhmm." "So can I go back to this now? No offense but I'm trying to get past this hydra in--" "Y'know, I don't think I want to know. Go right ahead." He turned back to his papers and was instantly immersed. Daria approached and sat down across from Jane. "Let me guess. He's lost in Hyrule." "He's lost his *mind.*" "And you only noticed this *now?*" "I'm serious, Daria. The blow-up I just got for interrupting him made his little vent back in Florida look *tame.* Someone's doing the Egyptian River Cruise, *big* time." Daria raised an eyebrow. "We are remembering that it could be worse, right?" "HOW? He can't do sports, he's not into chess and he thinks that the Matheletes are...I think *he* said `rut-stuck' but he probably meant `limiting.' And anyway, that Clarence guy freaks him out." "And so say all of us. -- He could have done Taxidermy." "He said he could think of a lot better uses for preservatives." Daria turned when she heard that badly stifled misery. Jane leaned to look over Daria's shoulder. Lynn, for it was she, had a tray in her hands, but had stopped about two feet from the table. She looked at A.P. -- who hadn't even looked up -- then turned and walked away. She approaches a table nearby, where Tom was sitting, watching the group from a distance, and said something. Tom looked surprised, but gestured to the seat in front of him. Lynn sat, obvious resignation in every move she made. Daria and Jane looked at each other. "Now *that's* the real Dark Side," said Jane. "Mmhmm..." ACT 2: FEELINGS "I look inside myself and see my heart is black I see my red door, I must have it painted black Maybe then I could fade away and not have to face the facts It's not easy facin' up when your whole world is black" -- Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, "Paint It Black" Nok nok nok. "Come in!" Daria opened the door to Quinn's room. "Quinn, I...gihh!" She facefaulted. She'd once written in her diary that Quinn had "a dream room. Caused by eating too much cotton candy before bedtime." Now, it looked like the factory where that cotton candy was made -- after someone with either a very sick sense of humor or an overdeveloped sense of cruel irony had fixed a couple of lumps of C4 to the machinery. Every available surface was covered with every conceivable item of clothing, all in various shades of pink -- every imaginable shade and a few Daria would rather not have had to confront. Quinn was standing in the middle of it all, picking up items and looking at each one intently for a moment before placing it in one of three piles -- one of very pale pinks, one of very deep pinks (on the top of that pile, Daria could see the pink leather jacket Quinn had picked up in Mississippi), and one of various shades between -- several of her smiley-face T-shirts were visible in that one. "I *know* how this looks," Quinn stated flatly, "but however much I like pink, that Tom freak had a point -- some shades just clash *horribly* with my hair." She held up a long-sleeved medium-rose top with a butterfly applique on the front -- Daria couldn't remember whether that was a Mississippi acquisition or something that'd been there all along and decided it didn't really matter. "Now what do you think about this one? I mean, it's deep enough to not clash *too* badly with my hair and of course, with 80's retro coming back, butterflies are *totally* the thing to wear and--" Daria was still somewhat stunned at all the pink, but managed to interject, "Very...nice, Quinn." Quinn kept working away. "Now I *know* you don't want fashion advice and pink does *terrible* things to your skin tone anyway but that Lynn girl has a *slightly* pinker tinge to her skin than you do..." Slowly but surely, Daria was getting over her initial sugar- shock. "And why didn't you think of *that* during--" "I don't want to *talk* about that!" Very sharp tones. "And anyway, it was kinda dark in there and I couldn't really see shades all that well." She took a moment to switch back to bubbly mode. "So anyway, I thought you could kind of give these to her, maybe see if she could use any of it -- I'd give it to Stacy but she doesn't seem to wear anything but that *cheerleader* uniform and..." She picked up the larger, more variegated pile and tried to hand it to Daria. Daria let it drop on the floor. "I think -- or at least I *hope* -- that the day Lynn starts wearing pink is the day Hitler, Hoffa, Jack the Ripper and Satan make up a bobsled team. -- I need some advice on something." Quinn was already turning back to the sorting. "Stick to the green but *lose* the orange -- it makes that golden tone in your skin look *sallow*..." "*Not* fashion, Quinn." A sigh. "The manipulation of the opposite sex." Quinn dropped everything at that. "OOOH! Who?" A horrible thought struck her. "Not that Tom freak -- *please* not that Tom freak..." "No, not that Tom freak." _That would be *much* too surreal._ "Jane's older brother?" Daria was starting to get fed up. "It's *not romance,* Quinn. I just need to know how to make a guy do what you want." Back to the task in hand. "That's *easy,* Daria. You just need to know where to hit them!" Daria raised an eyebrow. "As I recall, last time you hit someone, you aimed a bit high for that." "DARIA! That's so *crude!* -- Anyway, what I *mean* is that you have to know their weak spots. From a...you know, `them' perspective!" "You mean psychological manipulation." "I *do?*" Daria sighed her why-do-I-try? sigh, which Quinn ignored. "Look, if you want to make a guy do anything you want, there are two ways. You sweet-talk them...and with you, that's not an option, I know...or you threaten them with something. Take something they really like away from them until they wise up!" This gave Daria furiously to think. "Hmm." "Y'know, if you explained who the guy is and what you need to make him do, I *could* help more." Daria's reluctance to trust Quinn with sensitive information must have shown on her face. "You *know* I'm not going to blab, Daria. I mean, I *know* what happened *last* time." She decided to be kind. "I know, Quinn. -- Just...I don't think it's such a good idea just now. It's not really anything to do with me and I might get into some trouble just for sticking my nose in. Do you want to go down with me?" Quinn blinked. "Guess not." "Well, thanks for the advice anyway, Quinn." A little smile. "It's okay. Nice to know I'm smart at *some* stuff." Daria turned to go. "Wait!" Daria turned back; Quinn rummaged a moment through the mixed pile she'd tried to hand Daria, coming up with the dress she'd worn to the Jackson Pollock Memorial Dance. "Would you at least *try* to get her to wear this? If she takes up the hem a few inches, it'll make that A.P. guy's *eyes* pop out when she wears it." Daria's face went a little sad, and she turned around again and made her exit without a word. That helped Quinn figure out why Daria had been asking the questions she was; she was stunned, then nearly angry as she threw the dress back on the pile. _Some people just *cannot* get out of their own way._ * * * Down in the Dungeon, Trent was leafing through a notebook, with Jesse looking over his shoulder. Their facial expressions went pretty much in unison -- facefault, wince, facefault, *severe* wince, nausea, ordinary wince, loud blink, facefault... Finally, Trent slammed the notebook shut and he and Jess, still in unison, shuddered. After a moment of silence, Jesse came out with a "WHOA" that was somehow more heartfelt than usual. At that, Lynn looked up briefly from where she was sitting, on a stool in the corner, absently tuning Trent's new Ibanez. "No good?" "Cool." A moment to think about phrasing. "But..." Trent cut to the chase. "Are you okay?" For a moment, Lynn just sat there, eyes closed, obviously trying to rein in her temper. Then she went back to tuning the guitar with an outward appearance of calm. "You have no idea how much that particular question pisses me off. -- I'm fine." She checked her watch. "Excuse me. I have somewhere to be right now." She put down the guitar, stood up and left. Trent and Jesse exchanged looks. "It's the geek." Jesse just nodded. * * * The A-Tank pulled up in front of McIntyre Manor, and the entire band piled out and approached the front door. Trent rang the bell. After a long moment, the door opened, and a tall, pale woman with long hair the same shade of red as the punk's blinked at them from the depths of an impossible calm. "Oh, hello," she said. After a moment, she added, "My husband told me to tell door-callers..." She paused for thought. "`We don't want storm windows, we have my corporate health plan so we don't need insurance, and if it's those pinko freaks, we've already given.'" Another moment. "Was there anything else?" Trent wondered if this woman was really hearing the words coming out of her mouth. "We just wanted to talk to A.P." Complete lack of comprehension. "Andrew?" "Oh, right. His message went along the lines of..." She thought some more. "`Anyone comes knocking, tell 'em to bug off, I'm busy.'" Nick jumped in at this point. "He didn't mean *us,* ma'am." A curiously languid blink. "No?" Trent was with it. "No *way,* Mrs. McIntyre. He told us to come on up and no need to call up to tell him we're here. He's expecting us." "Oh." A curiously empty smile. "All right then, come in." She wandered into the house. The guys paused in their tracks a moment and looked at each other. Max was the one to ask it. "What planet is she *on,* guys?" "No *wonder* Mom didn't faze him." Trent noticed the looks he was getting from the guys. "Never mind." * * * A.P. was at the console, tapping away, when the door opened and he didn't look up. "We want to *talk* to you, geek," said a familiar rasp. A.P. flicked his eyes toward the door, where Sir Naps-a-Lot, Leather Boy, Poppa Bear and Little Drummer Boy were hovering in a -- starts with O, means "menacing" -- an ominous sort of way. Then he hit Pause and looked at them. "Why?" Trent threw a notebook at him. "Read *that.*" A.P. made no move toward the notebook. "What is it?" "Your girlfriend's latest lyrics." He glumly handed it back. "Not interested. Wouldn't really get half of 'em anyway." "You would. *Believe* me." Trent handed the notebook to Max and looked at the game. "Hey. I used to have one of these." "Goodie," A.P. snarked. After a moment, he perked up a little. "Hey, do you know how to get past these medusas here?" "What is *with* you, man?" "Since when has that been any of your damn business? How the hell did you get in here anyway?" Trent exchanged a look with the other band members. "We could beat nine shades of crap out of him," Nick suggested. "Maybe a few knocks to the head will snap him out of this." "I'm game," Max piped up. "Nah," said Trent. "He's not worth it." "If you're gonna talk about me behind my back," A.P. muttered, "do it where I can't hear you." He had a thought. "Maybe Dominica -- Purple P..." He trailed off with a sad look, leading to a slight tack change. "I hear it's nice there this time of year." He turned back to his game. Trent looked at the others, shook his head as if to say _I give up,_ and walked out. Jesse and Nick followed him, but Max lingered a moment longer, watching A.P. from the doorway. Then he wound up, preparing to toss the notebook at the back of A.P.'s head. "Don't even *think* it, man." "Fine." Max turned and left. "But you really *suck,* you know." * * * Scenes from a week in Hyrule: In history class, Mr. DeMartino, his eye bulging at least as large as usual, slapped a paper down on A.P.'s desk, giving him a cold stare. A.P., still flipping through his _Zelda_ cheat-sheets and maps, didn't even look up. Eventually, DeMartino sighed and gave up. Daria looked at A.P. -- and at his paper, marked F -- with some concern, but Lynn wasn't paying attention. Her own paper -- marked with an A+ -- was entitled "Guerrilla Combat and its Effects on Vietnamese Society," and she was leafing through _Tools of the Trade: How to Find Your Ideal Weapon_. Seeing this, Daria went a bit pale. In his room, A.P. was on the NES. The light from the screen was the only light in the room. Well, except for the digital alarm clock he kept in his closet with the air-mattress, shining through the open door. It said 3:28 a.m. In English class, A.P. was asleep at his desk. O'Neill stopped at A.P.'s desk, looked at him a moment and, obviously not having the heart to wake him up, slid a paper under his folded arms. The mark was a clearly visible F. Jane, sitting in front of him, looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. _Not even *he's* usually *this* bad..._ In his room, A.P. was still at the NES. The door opened and Carol looks in, concern fighting through the Valium haze. Fred looked in over her shoulder, shook his head in utter despair and walked away. In math class, Mr. Hopper -- a short, plump, black-haired gentleman with a handlebar mustache and the obvious capacity for a wicked grin -- walked up to A.P.'s desk with a puzzled, slightly worried look on his face. A.P. was asleep at his desk again. Hopper shrugged, then turned around to Daria and jerked his head at the recumbent McIntyre. Daria gave a little nod, and Hopper hands her A.P.'s paper as well as her own. She looked at it -- it was graded C. Her eyes widened. _This will end in fire._ ACT 3: WISE UP, SUCKER "It's been one week since you looked at me Cocked your head to the side and said `I'm angry' Five days since you said to me `Get it together, come back and see me'" -- Barenaked Ladies, "One Week" Out in the parking lot, Lynn was approaching the Merc. As she went to open the trunk to ditch her book bag, Daria approached, saying, "You have to talk to him." "Excuse me?" "He's flunking *out.* Over a stupid *video game.* Does this not bother you?" "Flunking? Be serious." "Flunking as in *really* flunking. As in, `getting Cs in Math' kind of flunking." Lynn looked at Daria as if seeing her sister for the first time. "You're not kidding, are you?" "Do I *look* like someone who's kidding?" "You *never* look like someone who's kidding -- even when you *are.* It's one of our many common traits. Why do you think `You think I'm kidding' became such a tag line for me?" Daria opted to ignore that in favor of the task at hand. "He's miserable. He's just keeping himself too busy to notice how miserable he is. No one's had any effect so far and you're the one most likely to be able to smack some sense into him. *Literally,* if necessary." "Daria..." A sigh. "Daria, this is my fault. The last person in the world he wants to talk to is me. -- Anyway, I have something to do tonight -- and it's going to take awhile." "Would I regret asking...?" "Probably." Then she thought about it and decided she owed Daria honesty. "The student has outclassed the teacher...so now she's going to teach the teacher." After a moment, she realized how opaque that was. "Warlock taught me some tricks Rust never caught onto so we're doing a sort of Hogan's Alley thing. Only this is snipe-run." Daria was too stunned to articulate. "You're..." "Not talking about this. I can't get away from it, I may as well go full throttle, right?" Lynn shrugged. "Later." She shut the trunk, went around to the driver's side, hopped in and drove off with total disregard for any seat belt laws. Daria just stood there and stared for a moment, still shocked. To no one in particular, she said, "She's..." That trailed off. After a moment, in harsh tones, she announced, "That *does* it." * * * Daria rang the McIntyres' doorbell. No answer. She rang again, holding the button for a good thirty seconds this time. Then she waited another minute. Still no response. She stepped back from the door and saw the way leading into the backyard, and inspiration struck. You could see it wash across her face like a wave coming in. Upstairs, unaware, A.P. was sitting cross-legged on the floor, still immersed in Link's quest. If he'd been aware of anything else, he'd have heard a *clunk* from outside his window, then a scuffle. Then he'd have seen Daria's face appear in the window and heard her knock. When she got no reply, she sighed, carefully digging into one of her pockets. At length, she pulled out a laminated library card, jimmied the lock on the window and forced it up carefully. Then she clambered inside, pocketing the card. "Hey A.P." Though his mind was still stranded somewhere in Hyrule, A.P. managed enough awareness to reply, "Hey ho, Erudite Emerald. What's new?" "You're flunking English, you're flunking History, you pulled a *C* in your last math quiz and your best friend and supposed girlfriend was, the last time I saw her, getting ready to pull a Hogan's Alley with `Rust.' Does *any* of this impress you?" "That's nice." Daria was disgusted to realize that A.P. still wasn't paying attention. "*Nothing's* getting through to you, is it?" There was a five-second pause while he didn't reply; she just watched him with disgust plain on her face if he'd been looking. Then she started digging through his cabinets, coming out with a smoked beaker filled with a clear colorless liquid. With a mischievous tone in her voice and a very Lynn- like smirk on her face, she asked, "A.P...what's this stuff?" He looked up, but *very* briefly, just long enough for visual identification. "Sulfuric acid. Be careful with it; it's *evil* stuff." If A.P.'d been paying enough attention to notice her still- mischievous tone, he'd have been as scared as he needed to be. "High concentration?" But he was still oblivious. "The kind of low pH you only find in industrial chem labs..." With that confirmed, Daria stepped over to his gaming console, uncorked the beaker and poured the stuff directly into the air vents. Things began to throw off smoke. "GAAAAAAH!" "*Now* will you listen to me?" As it happened, he wouldn't; he was now focused on the problem at hand, which had him rummaging through drawers. "Safety goggles... water to acid -- shouldn't but..." He pulled on some safety goggles, found a large bottle of distilled water and looked at it. "No. Basic. Something basic..." He found a bottle of sodium hydroxide, looked at the bottle of H2SO4 Daria was still holding, made a few quick mental calculations, then measured out a quantity of the NaOH and poured it onto the steaming mess that had formerly been his NES system. That done, he could now bring his full attention to bear on Daria. "What the *hell* did you do *that* for? Dad would *kill* me if that'd done any damage to the furniture!" "It seemed to be the only way to get your attention." "Next time, *unplug* the thing - it'll do less damage!" "Get this straight, A.P. I *wanted* to do damage." Piku piku. "Come again?" "She's right. Random acts of violence can be fun. And useful. Now listen to me. We don't like this. *None* of us like this. But we are coping. Which is more than we can say for *you.*" "I--" Daria wasn't finished. "First she went too far to get out. Now she's going too far the other way. And if she goes, I'm probably next. And I don't *want* to be a Consigliora to a crime lord...*or* lady...do you understand me? Not to mention wanting to see Lynn get past her twentieth birthday alive." "But--" "Do you care about her at *all?*" "Duh!" "Then start proving it." Daria moved towards the window, then stopped. With her back still to A.P., she reached into her pocket, pulled out a dollar bill and laid it on the table. "The Neidermans down the block are having a garage sale. Going price for their old Nintendo is fifty cents. Consider the rest damage pay." With that, she clambered out the window, and A.P. heard shuffling as she descended the ladder. He looked at the remnants of his machine, then at the dollar bill on the table, then vented a deep sigh. * * * In her room, Lynn, in a tight black long-sleeved top with a Kevlar vest over it, plus black jeans and her SAS surplus boots, was crashed out on her bed, fast asleep. There was a tapping at the window. Lynn made a blurry, bleary noise. The tapping became more insistent. Lynn grabbed a pillow and held it down over her ears. The tapping grew louder still. Lynn groaned. "'S three inna mrnin'..." she half-bleared, still mostly asleep. "H've sm rspect, dmmit..." If she'd been awake enough, she'd have heard someone's weight shift on the trellis outside the window... then an ominous *creeeeeak*, followed by a *crack*. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" screamed a voice from outside. There was a *thump*, and, after a moment, an "Owwwwwwwwww..." Lynn's only reaction was to burrow deeper into the pillow with a small sigh. * * * The next day in Pizza King, A.P. was morosely shredding a slice of pizza as Daria and Jane looked at him with some concern. "She actually pulled it. I don't *believe* she actually pulled that. I mean, she *knows* I still use that way up!" He seemed to deflate. "I screwed up. I'm no *good* at this relationship crap!" "We're not saying 'I told you so' here, are we?" Jane asided to Daria. "No. Not appropriate." Daria addressed her next to A.P. "You're not so bad. We've *all* been through hell lately. You're allowed to go a *little* easy on yourself, you know." And then along came Tom. The trio glared at him, but he made his approach to the table anyway. "Are you sane?" he asked A.P. That got him a Look. "I mean for *you,* sane." "Guess so," A.P. allowed as. "No more Zelda-mania." "Good. Now go talk to the Peril -- I told her to meet me at Biers but I don't think she'll mind if *you* turn up instead." A.P. got up. "Don't screw this up, Maverick. I don't think I can take much more of her being angry and depressed." This time, A.P. didn't contest Rust's use of the callsign; he just dashed out of the restaurant. Daria and Jane looked at Tom for a moment. "Tell me you did that just for brownie points," Jane half-pled. "Because I really want to keep hating you." Tom allowed himself a sheepish grin. "If it makes you feel any better, I could lie." The grin faded. "Seriously, that girl scares me when she's upset." He sighed. "Annnnnnd I'm an incurable romantic; so sue me." Daria and Jane looked at each other, eyebrows raised...and, through that crude quasi-telepathy that develops between best friends, reached a decision. Daria was the one to articulate the first part of it. "We expected there to be three of us here. So we ordered too heavy." "...Want to help us polish this bad boy off?" Tom looked at them, not entirely certain how to take this. Then he shrugged, gave a grateful smile and sat down across from them. Daria shot him a smirk almost Jane-ian in its evil. "You get the half with A.P.'s toppings." Tom looked at the pizza -- tuna, onions, capers, artichoke hearts, cayenne peppers, shrimp and all. "Ew." Daria and Jane shared a smirk. * * * Lynn was sitting at a table Biers, looking even more impatient than she felt, when hands reached around from behind and covered her eyes. She tensed a little, but didn't do anything rash -- just covered the hands with her own. "Salutations, Maverick," she breathed. A.P. leaned down. "How'd you know it was me?" "There's a lingering odor of capers, cayenne peppers and seafood in the air. You've been having pizza. -- Anyway, Rust wouldn't dare." A.P. uncovered her eyes and moved to sit down across from her. There was silence for a moment. They both tried to break it at once. "Look, I'm sorry I..." They stopped, looked at each other and chuckled a little. "Do we forgive each other in unison too?" Lynn asked. "Or just kiss and make up?" "Uhhhhh..." Then she leaned over and kissed him, making the point moot. At the bar, Shooter spoke into his cellphone. "Hey Aph. You might want to hear this. H got something right. A Yenta act, of all things." Excited squeaking from the far end of the phone line. "Yeah, yeah, calm down and I'll tell you about it..." "Three days since the livin' room We realized we both were to blame, but what could we do? Yesterday you just smiled at me 'Cuz it'll still be two days till we say we're sorry" -- "One Week" ADAPTOR'S NOTES My first adapt of the new year, century, millennium. Good to go. Whenever "Tour of Bloopers" comes out, you'll notice it includes a version of the scene where Slack tells Lynn about the run-from-your- own-legs quote. That's because I was already thinking of this version. This paragraph exists because I was worried the version in ToB might see print first, and because I always like to have something more in my endnotes than just the... 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, A.P. McIntyre and (presumably) Mark "Shooter" Renfield are copyright 1999, 2000 Janet "Canadibrit" Neilson. This storyline is copyright 2000 Canadibrit and Ben Yee and was adapted by Austin Loomis (to whom the prose format version is copyright 2001) with their permission. All other characters, locations and incidents (of which I don't think there are any, actually) are either imaginary or used fictitiously. Any coincidence of names is regretted, and any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or wandering the night in ghostly torment is either purely satirical or not my fault. As a "substantially transformative" derivative work, this story is protected by the Supreme Court's decision in re Campbell v. Acuff Rose Music. It may be freely redistributed as long as this copyright notice is maintained intact, but may not be in any way redistributed for profit without the permission of the legal owners of all concepts involved. The present author hereby gives permission for any and all keepers of Daria fanfic pages to archive this work (as if I could stop them). Any publication of this story for profit without the express written permission of Austin Loomis, Janet Neilson, Ben Yee and MTV Networks (like any of that'll happen, especially the last) is strictly prohibited, and violators, if I ever decide to track them down, will be strung up by the thumbs, beaten about the head and shoulders with a free-range carrot, and then handed over to corporate lawyers who will do terrible things to them. On purpose. Austin, and good day. Al D T0 W- Q Fw^Fr O+ Ow+OH+Of m c- MV+ F:111,208,313 BB+ FCT -DT+ q fJ^fj^fD