PREVIOUSLY ON THE LOOK-ALIKE SERIES: "I'm falling in love with you, Daria." "o/` Subversive teenage roadies...o/` ARGHHHHHHHHH!" "You're going to *manage* Mystik Spiral?" "Anyone spare a summer for a tour?" "Little Drummer Boy took a bullet in the shoulder. [...] And Jesse Moreno survived just past the border out of Louisiana." _The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Season 5, episode 2: "And the B.A.N.D. Played On" prose adaptation by Austin Loomis "Oh, we'll laugh again, someday. But we'll never be young again." -- Arthur Schlesinger, after the death of JFK Sr. ACT 1: BURGUNDY "I'm losing my love of adventure I'm losing all respect for me and myself tonight I wonder what happens if I get to the end Of this tunnel and there isn't a light" -- Ani DiFranco, "Wish I May" In his room, Trent Lane was sitting on his bed, not doing much of anything -- just looking at the opposite wall in a vague sort of way. In fact, it's not even fair to say he was *looking* at the wall, so much as that it just happened to be where his eyes were pointed. His duck-phone went wakwakwakwakwak, and he picked it up. "Hello?" The caller presumably gave a name. "Oh. Hey." Then an offer was made. "Look, if you want to do this, talk to our manager. She..." This time, Trent's silence went on for a while. "No, man, my answer's not gonna be any different." A question was asked. "'Cause the Spiral broke up over Christmas...or didn't Lynn tell you?" And another. "No, our rhythm guitarist's not coming back." A suggestion that might seem like a good idea from the other side. "Replace him? Mr. McGrundy, you *really* should have this talk with our manager." An explanation of the difficulties with that. "No, I *don't* care how much she swears at you; she-- She said that? Whoa." A request for denial or confirmation. "No, man, it stands. Maybe without the swearing, but it stands." An apology. "Yeah, so'm I." He hung up, then resumed staring at the wall. "That McGrundy?" He looked over to where his sister Janey was standing in the doorway. "Yeah." "So it's really over? No more Mystik Spiral?" "We're a guitarist short, Janey. No one's ever gonna be able to replace Jess. And that NCM guy dug a bullet and three bone fragments out of Max's shoulder -- said it'd be months before he played again, if ever." "What happened to 'eyes on the prize,' Trent?" Trent looked at her a moment longer, then went back to staring at the wall. Jane waited a moment for a verbal reply, then lowered her eyes and walked out. He was giving up. Just like that. And with Jesse gone, Jane wasn't sure she could blame him. * * * The Back Alley Name-Droppers' converted ice-cream truck was parked on Chez Cullen's front lawn. Lynn Cullen's Mercedes pulled up in the driveway, and Lynn climbed out of the car with a perplexed frown as B.A.N.D. keyboardist Mara Fitzgerald came charging across the lawn. "You stupid...stupid...and *again* there aren't any good enough swear words!" Lynn shrugged at the diminutive Goth-chick. "Bitch? Cunt? Slut? Imbecilic semen-gargling demon whore from the Ninth Circle?" It took her a moment to come up with anything worse, but she managed. "MTV Legal exec?" "That last one'd do it for me, no shit," BAND frontman and goat-boy Guy Mann observed from where he was leaning against the B.A.N.D.-wagon. "After what went down with Red, you *vanish* on me? *Damn*, freak, what's *with* you?" _I could ask you the same question,_ Lynn thought. _What are you guys doing on my lawn? *Now*, of all times?_ Aloud, she said, "I'm not used to being on speaking terms with you, Mara. Cut me a *little* slack, okay?" "Yeah, well...if you're gonna pull that crap again, wanna at least drop me an e-line?" "*You're* online now." That was unexpected. "Well, yeah; how else d'you expect me to cyber?" On the other hand... "The Nympho-Goth rides again." "Hey," Guy pointed out, "she gave it a decent mourning period, kid. Well, for a guy she dated for, like, a week." "For Mara? Dating *any* guy that long's equivalent to marriage. Or at least engagement while the pre-nup goes through." "Well, hell," Mara insisted, "I'm still gonna mourn and crap. Just...life goes on, I guess." "Obla-di, obla-da," Lynn said dryly. "Speaking of, you said something about me and Leather Boy?" "That's the only reason she noticed you were gone, so you know," Guy pointed out. Casey Wright had joined his bandmates by this point. "Lyn?" the bass-grunt asked in his usual barely-intelligible mutter. "Y'kay?" Once he spoke, they all noticed that Lynn had gone pale. "That...isn't...going to work," she said. "Damn!" Mara snapped. "Why not?" "I'd rather not say. In fact, it's been a very bad Christmas and I really can't talk about it." That ought to drive them off, or at least give them the hint she was in no mood to discuss it. "Yeah...well...call me, okay? We'll raid the hose-beast's liquor cabinet and get 'faced. And I can score some weed off one of Guy's friends." That was as much relenting as she was going to get, it appeared. "Yeah. Sure." Still sounding distant and brittle, Lynn went into the house and shut the door quietly behind her. The trio looked at each other. "Wo." You might not have thought "Whoa" could be abbreviated, but you might not have spent much time around Casey either. "Maybe I oughta go talk to Jane or something," Guy opined. "Shit went *down*." They piled into the B.A.N.D.-wagon. Lynn watched them from the window, her face inscrutable. * * * In her room, Jane was glueing together jagged bits of metal in a sculpture that was almost physically painful to look at -- nearly impossible angles, rust and wicked edges. "Janey!" Trent called up from below. "Goat-boy's here!" "Send him up!" The skinny, blue-haired youth in question came in a few moments later and looked at the sculpture with a blend of admiration and fear. "Now *that* belongs on an album cover, no shit." "Hey. Sorry it's been a while." "Cool, y'know." Guy took a moment to try and figure out how to start the conversation, then decided to plunge in head-first. "Heard you had a bitch of a Christmas." "Where from?" "Lynn. She doesn't give much up like that, but...y'know, watch her for a couple years..." "Yeah. It was 'a bitch of a Christmas.' Can we change the subject now?" "So what's up with your brother? He have a bitch of a Christmas too?" That boy *had* to work on his listening skills. Or maybe his figuring-things-out skills. "Same Christmas. Same bitch. I said *change of subject*." "Got a call from some dude named McGrundy out here in Lawndale. Said he wanted us regular." He waited a moment for her to reply, which she didn't. "Thought the Spiral had that gig," he finally broke down and said. "Not anymore." "Break-up? Damn, girl, that shouldn't stop *anyone*. I mean, when that Lynn chick and her geek of a boyfriend left the Name-Droppers, they kept going, right?" "Yeah, but no one *died*, did they?" She went back to her sculpture. The British have a word for it: gobsmacked. "Okay," Guy said when he could make his mouth work again. "You're telling me someone got *dead* on the Spiral side?" Jane was starting to lose patience and temper. "Yeah, someone got dead. Someone else got hurt. The rest...well, it's called *mourning*, okay; heard of it?" "Well, yeah, but--" "Well, then show some damn *respect*, okay?" Another pause, longer this time. "Hey, look, I...didn't know, right? I just figured...life's gotta go on." Jane didn't trust herself to reply; she was pissed-off on too damn many levels. "I mean, damn, girl, what's that brother of yours gonna *do*, not being in a band anymore? He gonna go civvy? Work in some burger barn in this pissant burg?" "I don't know. That's up to *him*." "And the rest of 'em? I mean, take Lynn, for example. What's *she* gonna do when she's not singing and managing and that? She got something on the sideline for the rest of her life?" Jane had a dreadful thought. She didn't look away from her sculpture, but her hands stopped working on it, and her eyes went wide. "I...think she might have something. It's just not a something she'd..." "Yo, Jane? Did I say something?" "Yeah, I heard words leave your mouth, so I guess you did." After a few moments, she noticed he was still there and realized what she'd failed to say. "Could you leave now?" "But--" Words might have left his mouth, but judging from his behavior, they weren't necessarily getting into his ears. "Leave. *Now*." Guy backed toward the door. "I'll...call or something. Maybe we could do pizza or--" "OUT!" Guy opted to cut his losses and just scram. Jane looked at her sculpture again, then just knocked the whole thing over on the floor, wishing despite herself to be hitting something -- or some*one* -- who'd hit back. * * * Later, at her locker in the halls of Lawndale High, Daria Morgendorffer, the first non-relative Jane had ever called a friend, was putting her books away. Jane, at her side, had just outlined the situation. "And you want me to do *what* about this, exactly?" Daria asked her. "*Talk* to her! Hell, talk to *him*! Do you really want to think about what Lynn's going to resort to without the Spiral?" Daria knew her friend must mean Lynn's Family business. "Jane, she's not that stupid. She's got options." "What if you're wrong? What if she *is* that stupid?" "Then we hope that it isn't entirely genetic." "Look, Daria...she's your sister. He's your boyfriend. You have more pull than I do any way you look at it. And if Mystik Spiral's breakup ever leads Lynn down the road from 'what *else* am I good at?' to her little inheritance back in San Francisco, how're you going to feel if you didn't at least throw *some* roadblock in the way?" "Well..." She wasn't someone to whom profanity came easily, but she could certainly *think* that she'd feel like shit. "And what about Trent? What about all that stuff you told him back around Alternapalooza time about going after something?" "That's different. Think what he's *been* through. Is it my place to push him into a situation where every move he makes up there makes him remember Jesse and what *could* have been? And then there's the other question -- do you even know how he *feels* about Lynn right now?" "I'm *damn* sure I don't like what you're getting at here, Daria..." Daria decided to spell it out anyway, so Jane's certainty could rise to absolute or drop to nil as warranted. "Do you know if he sees Lynn as even partly to blame for Jesse's death, Max's injury and the resultant breakup of his band? Do you know for sure that he doesn't resent or even *hate* her a little? Before she came along, he was the top of the totem pole and, while they weren't doing all that well, they were at least doing exactly what they wanted. Then she came along and--" "You *know* she made them better. You know she got them chances." "And I know that their involvement with her--" "Meant the Mario Puzo US tour and that miserable excuse for a Christmas; yeah, I *know*. But we don't know he feels that way." "So why don't you *ask*?" "Why don't *you*? Given who Lynn is, you should wonder about that more than I do." She had a thought. "And obviously *do*, since it was one of the first things out of your mouth on this." They looked at each other. "What if...what if he has a problem with *me* for the same reason, Jane?" "You remember when he came back to the ranch house from hell? You think he'd have done *that* if he thought you were at *all* to blame?" Daria blushed, but didn't say anything. "Do it, girl. You need to have a talk with him about his intentions anyway." Daria just glowered at Jane, who smirked back almost happily -- she knew she'd won. ACT 2: SERENA "All alone Searched the world until she found me Her destinations unknown I can't believe how she drowns me Well I won't deny, it's all the Little things she said" -- Cold, "She Said" After school in the parking lot, Lynn was throwing her book bag into the backseat of the Merc as Daria approached. Lynn turned and addressed her pleasantly enough. "Hey. Want a ride home?" "Isn't it out of your way?" "Never bothered either of us before." "Well, I was actually going to the Lanes'." "Hrm. If you wanted to talk to Jane, you'd be walking home with her, so it has to be Trent. So, would 'talk' be a bit euphemistic?" "Do I get that ride or not?" She got that ride, through the streets of Lawndale, at a sedate pace. "So spill it." Daria's puzzlement must have shown on her face. "Under normal circumstances, you'd have just walked to Casa Lane to work through the stomach butterflies. The fact that you wanted to ride with *me* means--" "What's going on with the Spiral?" A door slammed somewhere behind Lynn's glasses. "You know." "You *could* rebuild. Reform. Whatever it is you do with a band that--" "That made the band in 'The Wedding Gig' look like they had an easy life?" That closed door now had walls to either side of it -- strong ones, brick or maybe steel, and rising fast. "At least they were *forced* into it. Not to mention that when the bullets started flying--" Daria decided to cut short the incipient rant. "It's different now. That's not going to be a problem." "And where do you suggest we find a guitarist to replace Jesse who won't be seen as the outsider for the rest of the band's career?" "I hear Danny Moreno can play. Was actually teaching Jesse for awhile." "True, but he's in a band of his own now -- when Mystik Spiral got a new member from outside, he decided it was time to strike out on his own. Once they get to an age where they can play brewpubs -- and when Danny gets through his own mourning process -- Processed Brain Food are going to be giving the Name-Droppers a serious run for their money." "Well...*you* play..." "Ah yes." _And I have calluses again, even if they're not quite in the right places for guitar-work._ "Well, if you're so smart, perhaps you can suggest a temporary replacement for Max?" Daria just Looked at her. Lynn realized what she was getting at, and almost had to kick herself for not being the one to think of it. * * * A.P. McIntyre approached not-so-stately McIntyre Manor and saw the converted B.A.N.D. ice cream truck parked outside. Mara, leaning on it, straightened up when she saw him. "Nympho-Goth?" he boggled. "Geek-ball." After the nicknames had hung there a moment, she went on. "I wanna *talk* to you." "Hey, look, if this is about the NASA thing, I--" She grabbed him by the collar and nearly tossed him into the passenger seat of the truck. "*ACK*!" "Now *siddown* and *shaddup*!" "yes'm." She slammed the door with a self-congratulatory smirk. _*Damn*, I'm good._ * * * The A-Tank was parked outside the Zen when the B.A.N.D.-wagon pulled up behind it. A.P., put out, stepped toward the A-Tank and looked back pleadingly at Mara sitting in the driver's seat of the 'wagon. Mara cranked the window down and leaned out. "The eyes don't work on me, Geek-ball!" "They work for Dustpuppy..." Just because she knew he was a geek-ball didn't mean she *wanted* him to geek out on her. "I don't know what you're talking about and I don't even care. *Go*!" "Going! Going!" He turned back toward the A-Tank. "Jeez, why don't you just get a bullwhip?" "Don't tempt me, Geek-ball..." A.P.'s eyes got big, as if trying to fit the mental image into auxiliary storage, and he started toward the van again. This time he hammered on the side door. "Hey, man," Max Tyler's voice said from within, "sign says I can park here 'til nine!" "Do I *sound* like a cop to you?" A.P. wondered. "Oh. *You*." "You gonna open the door?" "Why should I?" "'Cause I gotta talk to you." After a moment, he realized that wasn't doing it. "Look, there's a Nympho-Goth out here and I think she has a bullwhip and I don't really do pain so could you at least let me in and make like I *tried*?" In the ensuing brief silence, A.P. looked apologetically at Mara in the truck. Then the A-Tank's door opened. A.P. looked at it, then back at the truck -- Mara made a "go on" motion with her hand -- then stepped in. The door slammed shut behind him. Little Drummer Boy was sprawled on the floor of the van with his back against the far wall. His left arm was still in a sling, and he looked rather harried. A.P. sat down cross-legged in the corner. "What?" Max demanded. "It's about the band. The Spiral, y'know? I wanted to know if you were gonna come back in, if they start up again." That got a harsh glare. "Hey, look, I don't wanna be a buttinski, but--" "So why *are* you?" "Nympho-Goth is making me." "Why does *she* care? I mean, the Spiral's competition for her." Shrug. "Not my business. But you kinda are. See, I figure that if I talk to you and you *don't* want back, next thing's gonna happen is that they're gonna call *me* in. So I guess I wanna know before that happens if you want that." Max watched him warily. There was fear there, fear that came out in his next words. "I *hit* things, man; things are not supposed to hit *me*!" "What, no one ever tossed things at you onstage?" "Well, usually that stuff hit Nick first... But that's not the *point*! They messed with the Spiral, man! And *we* were the ones that went down." "We did say, right? That that part's over?" "Stuff like that's *never* over, kid. But even if it *is*--" "If it is, you're missing out *big* time, Little Drummer Boy. I mean, I dunno much from the whole Spiral bunch -- I don't pay attention much, y'know -- but I kinda thought that whatever, you'd do it together as much as, kind of thing. Isn't it kinda what you *want*?" "I don't wanna *die*, man!" "You're gonna die *someday*, but it's not gonna be 'cause of *that*. But...well, it'd be like me giving up the 'puters. There's something we all got put here for and tell me you're not here to hit things to music." Argue from facts, that was the key -- "from first principles," he'd heard Kes call it. And A.P. knew that if he let his feelings get into it, he'd end up as twitchy as the guy he was here to talk to. Max wasn't about to argue with that, but still. "My arm, man..." A.P. rolled up his sleeve to show off the scar from where the Jackboot's bullet had grazed him. "This wasn't so bad as all that, but it healed. You're gonna too. Until you do...I can do the hitting things." He realized, finally, that he wasn't sure how LDB'd take being replaced. "Gives you time to make up your mind, right?" Max looked at the unassuming little geek-ball sitting across from him. * * * Trent was just sitting there in the basement. His guitar was leaning against the wall, but he wasn't even looking at it. He heard the basement door open and a pair of boots coming down the stairs. Then a voice said, "Trent?" That answered that. "Oh. Hey, Daria." The boot-noises came the rest of the way down the stairs. As he turned to face her, Daria just stood there, obviously not quite sure what to do. She eventually settled for sitting on the stairs. "You okay?" "Not really." _Okay, that *was* a rhetorical question; I just didn't realize that when I was asking it._ "I...I don't know how to start this, so I guess I should just come out with it." It took her a moment more *to* come out with it, which is understandable given the weight of it. "Do you hate her? Lynn, I mean." "What? No. No, I don't hate her." "You don't think it's her fault?" He opened his mouth to reply. "No; really think about it." He did, at some length from the look of it. "It was her family's fault, not hers," he eventually said. "I don't blame her." "So then why not keep the Spiral going?" "Daria...the Spiral was as much Jess's band as mine. The name was something we came up with together, and when we got Nick and Max on, we did it together." He brooded a moment longer on that. "Daria, I can't just keep it the way it was without him. It's not...I dunno. Fair, maybe." "What about what's fair to *you*, Trent? And to Nick and Max? And to Lynn? Don't you think Jesse would care about that?" "What do you mean?" "You and Jesse worked together on this for how long? A decade? Something like that, anyway. And you did it together -- for yourselves and for each other. Let's say that Jesse just got hurt too badly to ever play again." "Instead of getting shot dead, you mean." "Yeah. Instead of that." _I could have phrased that better._ "If he was here to see you like this, do you really think he'd let you get away with letting the band go?" "No. I guess he wouldn't." "What *would* he tell you?" "That I should keep my eyes on the prize. No matter what." "Then why are you sitting down here, alone, instead of calling Lynn, picking up that guitar, and venting whatever this must be doing to you into music?" _Time to bring up the heavy artillery._ "I don't know if I believe in an afterlife, Trent, but if there is one, and if Jesse's capable of watching us, is this the picture you'd want him to see?" He thought it over for a very long moment. "I guess the punk could do the drumming until Max heals up...if Max still wants it." He thought about it some more. "And Lynn could take the rhythm." Then he did more thinking, enough to have second thoughts. "I dunno, Daria. It just doesn't feel right." "Do you think it's a decision you can make without the others?" Trent looked at her silently and gravely for another long moment. "How'd someone so young get so wise so fast?" Blush. "Most people say that the wisest part of me is what I'm sitting on. And that comes from being raised the way I was." "Come on, Daria. Take a compliment for once." Daria looked down at her boots, blushing even more. "Hey. Daria." She looked up. "Yes, Trent?" "I know you're gonna have to bail in a minute -- I know when you get that red. But before you have to, I just wanted to say...thanks. Really. I couldn't think and you helped make things a little clearer." "Uh. Yeah. Right. No problem. Uh...that 'bailing' thing you were talking about?" "I'll let you know how it turns out." Daria smiled a little, stood up, turned toward the stairs, then stopped. She turned around, trotted quickly toward where Trent was sitting, and kissed him, feeling a certain level of deja vu. She left quickly after that. Trent finally smiled a little, staring after her. ACT 3: RSVP YOUR INVITATION "On the field I can see a fiddler The fiddler on the green and the sad boy I took him too early Would you mind? Would you mind? Would you mind if I take you?" -- Demons and Wizards, "Fiddler on the Green" A little later, Daria was seated on Jane's bed, watching Jane as she poked idly at the remnants of her sculpture with a long metal ruler. What had been an eerily ordered assemblage of lines and angles was now a jumbled mass of jagged-looking metal. "Incipient tetanus shot" was the main artistic statement it made. "And you left it *there*?" Jane boggled. "I got him thinking. I figured my work there was done." "You got him thinking, and then you kissed him, probably wiping *all* logical thought from his mind..." "I don't think one kiss is going to turn any man into a brainless puddle of mush, Jane." "It is if you're doing it right." She decided to move on before Daria could take that personally. "ANYway; you made do with one lousy kiss and then took off just because he *complimented* you?" Daria looked severely sheepish. "Didn't A.P. compliment you at *all* while you were dating?" "Not in any manner that didn't require a translator, no." "I'm guessing 'nrgh.'" "'Nrgh,' 'mnuh' and a particularly emphatic 'wwwheh'." She used to be embarrassed; now she was just amused. Jane raised an eyebrow and gave the sculpture a slightly less tentative poke. Bits fell off. She frowned at it. "And all he said was he'd *think* about it? I'd have thought after a kiss from *you* that he'd do anything short of giving you the moon as a necklace if you asked him to." "I don't wear *any* jewelry, Jane." But that was a purely metaphorical objection and she knew it. "And I didn't want to push things. It's not like Jesse just moved away." "*Tell* me about it," Jane muttered from the depths of her own loss. She poked the sculpture harder, and it fell apart completely. "Dammit!" She looked at the remnants. Presumably, this was why Jane, usually the gagster of their double-act, wasn't in a mood for humor. Daria was starting to get concerned. "Jane..." Jane waved the concern away. "God, I hope they get the band going again. It's *way* too quiet in this house without the rehearsals." "If you tell me you miss Trent's occasional depressed forays into the early '80s, I may have to report you to Ms. Manson." "No, that's what the headphones are for. That way, his God-awful renditions of 'Tainted Love' get drowned out by either Static-X or incipient tinnitis. What I *do* miss is counting how many different dialects or languages Lynn swears at Nick in when he blows a chord." "What's the record so far?" "Eight and a half." "Eight and a *half*?" "American, British, some French that probably came straight out of a Montreal gutter, Spanish, German, Polish, some Asian that could have been Japanese and...maybe Greek but I'm not sure." "And the half?" "Her own personal blend. Sort of a combination of the other eight and a few juicy phrases I hadn't even considered." "All that in the same session?" "In the same *breath*." In a sick way, Daria was actually impressed. "If they do get back together, *record* that." "Gotcha, amiga." _Ought to be amusing..._ "Speaking of She of the Multilingual Profanity, what'd *she* have to say for herself?" "You mean verbally, or otherwise?" "Cut to the 'otherwise.' She's too much like you for 'verbally' to mean much." "She wants it back. She just doesn't want to have to *ask*." "Guilt by the bucketload?" A nod. "They're gonna talk, right?" Another nod. "So we just wait for that?" A third nod, whereupon Jane burst into "song" (or rather, given her singing voice, noises that should bring down the SPCA). "o/` So tired / Tired of waiting / Tired of waiting for you-hoooooo--o/` *OOF*!" The exclamation was the result of Daria throwing a pillow in her face. * * * "o/` Sad voices, they're calling / Our precious girl, she can't be gone / How bitter this morning / When daddy's darling / Went out and started her day... o/`" As Demons and Wizards sang about the fiddler on the green, Lynn walked into her room with a plate bearing a sandwich and a steaming mug. She set them down on the desk next to her school textbooks and sat down at the desk. She opened a history text and started reading. Behind her field of vision, A.P.'s head appeared in the window. "Knock knock!" "I don't do knock-knock jokes." A.P. crawled in through the window, came up behind her and looked at what she was up to, putting a hand on her shoulder in his approach. Lynn cringed a little but didn't say anything. "And I'm as big a joke as it gets." He noticed the book. "History homework?" "No. I'm researching for the third 'Bill and Ted' movie." Having said that, in the flat tones that make it so hard to tell when she's kidding, she picked up a pen and began jotting down notes. "I talked to Little Drummer Boy today." After that had hung there a moment, he added, "He's thinking about coming back when his shoulder gets better." She didn't look up. "If the band gets back together." "Yeah. And I...kinda thought, if things go okay with the rest, that I could...y'know..." "You mean the drumming." "Duh, I mean the drumming!" No reply at all. "So..." The only response was the music and the scratching of her pen on paper. "Wanna help me out here, Purple Peril? Even a dirty look'd at least tell me what you're thinking..." The phone rang -- the land line, not her mobile -- and she got up and answered it. "Hello?" Identification. "Oh. Hey, Trent." Request. "What for?" Explanation. "Oh. I see. Yeah, we could talk about that." Elaboration. "That's actually more convenient than you think." And in conclusion. "Yeah, bye." She hung up and looked at A.P. "Now all *that* look tells me is that you're not blind." "Before we go, I have a question. How much did Mara have to do with this?" "To do with what? Wait -- before we *go*? Go *where*?" "You will tell me on the way." "But where are we *go*...eep!" That 'eep' was a result of Lynn grabbing him by the sleeve and dragging him out of the room. "o/` Just hold my hand / I'll take you there / Your pain will go away... o/`" * * * It ended up in the basement of Casa Lane, with Trent, Nick, Lynn and A.P. sitting around on any available surface, with cans of soda and slightly grim expressions. "So," Lynn asked, "does she love it when a plan comes together?" "She doesn't know it *has* yet, right?" A.P. just checked. "Well, one way or another, I'm sure she will soon enough." She fell silent for a moment, then was all business. "So. The Spiral." "I got to thinking," Trent rasped. "About the band, and everything." "It's gonna be easier now, sure," Nick allowed as, "but without Jesse, you know..." "What I was thinking was that Jess would want the Spiral to go on. A legacy deal. He worked hard to get us where we are, and I guess he wouldn't want all that work to die with him. So we owe it to him to keep the Spiral together." "But we couldn't be Mystik Spiral anymore, right? I mean, we're not the same band." A.P. summed it up. "With me hitting things 'til Little Drummer Boy gets better, and Purple Peril on guitar, guess you're not." Lynn put a hand on A.P.'s. "*We're* not." "We needed to change the name anyway, I guess." Trent had, after all, been mentioning the band's proposed name change for years. "I always liked 'Barfing Anarchists'..." A.P. confessed. "No good. That was one of Jess's." "That could be good, though! Memorial kinda thing..." He noticed the Looks he was getting. "OkayIllshutup." "Guess we could go with 'Criminales,' Nick reflected. "Max'd be cool with that, if he wants back in." "He wouldn't, though. I think the 'criminale' phase is over." "Anyway, we're reformed these days." The moment Lynn had said that, she and Trent shared an inspired look. * * * In her room, Jane had collected the remnants of her sculpture and set them on the table, staring at them as she wondered how to reassemble them. Lynn came in with the look of a woman on a mission. "So how'd it go?" Jane asked at once. "Do you guys spiral on?" "Yes and no. We have an idea but I need something from you." "You need a backup singer?" "If we ever need a dying cat's wail as background noise, we'll call. No, this uses some of your better-known talents. I need a costume designer." Jane raised an eyebrow, then grabbed the metal ruler from the edge of the table and scraped everything sharp off it, back to the floor. Then she hefted *herself* up onto the table and grabbed a notepad and pencil, looking at Lynn expectantly. "Inspire me." * * * In the school art room, Jane was painting very intensely, working from a series of notes and sketches strategically stationed around her on tables, chairs, bits of what used to be the still life -- any surface she could get hold of. Daria appeared in the doorway, then watched for a moment and marvelled at how focused Jane was on her task. "Don't you have a home to go to?" Jane didn't stop painting to reply. "I have a house shaking with missed chords and profanity and a bedroom I can't walk in." After a pause that let her listener wonder if she meant that the way most people would've, she added, "Life is *good*." Daria allowed herself a small smile. "He actually *listened*. Life *is* good." She still had one question, however good life was. "So what's up with your bedroom? Did that health hazard you call a sculpture take on a life of its own?" "Not exactly..." * * * And so they stood in the doorway of Jane's room. Daria was awed. Jane looked proud to the point of smugness. "This place," Daria formally announced, "is a mess." "Yes, it is, isn't it?" "And this is for her?" "Yyyyyyyyyep." "This is something you're going to have to explain," Daria said, with an even odder sense of deja vu than usual. * * * Some time later, Andrea, Mara, Casey and Guy were sitting at a table in the Zen, where they were joined by Daria and Jane. "So why'd Lynn want to meet us here?" Mara demanded. Jane smirked semi-evilly. "She has a *surprise* for you, O Meddlesome One." "Come on," Guy gritted, "what's this *about*? Tell me the freak who runs this place is gonna announce an add-on to the bill and the new and shrunk Spiral's gonna come out on that stage in a minute." "Not exactly..." Daria hinted. "Oh, here we go." That from Jane, as onstage, the lights came up. A.P. was sitting behind the drum kit, wearing a white shirt. In front of him, Nick and Trent, in identical white shirts and black jeans, flanked Lynn. Her dress was white and off the shoulder, with a corset-style bodice edged in feathers; the skirt was loose, edged in lace, and stopped just above knee-level. On her feet were high white Docs, and on her back rode a set of white angel's wings -- the whole ensemble was Jane's work; even the majority who hadn't already seen it being worked on could tell from the proud smirk on her face. Daria was getting her Gioconda on. Mara and Guy were *staring*, obviously unsure whether getting their lower jaws up off the table or pushing eyeballs back into their sockets was the higher priority. Casey and Andrea shared a look, which was the same intensity of reaction coming from them. "Woa." "What *he* said, *DOUBLE*," the Goat-boy added. "That...isn't...right..." Mara announced. "We're the Reformed now," Lynn stated from the stage. "Hence the get-ups. Enjoy the show. First song's...for absent friends and the ones who made it. If you don't know...just enjoy it anyway." With that, she lowered her eyes -- in that one moment, the angel costume fit better than anyone could have expected -- and they began to play. "o/` Back, back, back beyond / The trials and former glories / Time, time, time will tell / A different set of stories / On, on, on we go / Along this road we're paving / Try, try, try to run / From lives we failed in saving "o/` The way is never neat for us / Nostalgia won't be sweet for us / But we don't think about that much these days "o/` Cry, cry, cry, my love / For what your life has taken / Die, die, die, my hate / For all that we've forsaken / Blind, blind, blind the eyes / That saw us when we started / Twist, twist, twist the knife / You planted when we parted "o/` We can't afford to be naive / We've seen too much not to believe / But we don't leave much time to grieve these days "o/` And sometime in the future / You may see us soldier on / We're veterans and we're outlaws / And our innocence is gone / But God, we can't just wallow / 'Cause we know that means you've won / So we just keep on fighting through these days "o/` Deal, deal, deal the hand / And somehow we'll play through it / Rage, rage, rage is ours / We find ways to subdue it / Try, try, though you will / You won't hurt or unnerve us / Know this, know it well / You never did deserve us "o/` We may not live in luxury / Or under shields of destiny / But we can find what tools we need these days "o/` Beyond the theory and surmise / We've finally come to realize / That what we are is all we are these days o/`" As the last chords died, the faces of the Reformed were solemn, while those of the B.A.N.D. representatives were confused. Daria and Jane had simply lowered their heads to say goodbye in silence. ADAPTOR'S NOTES "To all the ones who weren't as lucky." A good all-purpose toast, proposed by Spider Robinson (the guy from whom I got that line about the express train). 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, 2003 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, 2003 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 the Back Alley Name-Droppers are copyright 1999, 2002 Janet "Canadibrit" Neilson, as is this storyline, which was adapted by Austin Loomis (to whom the prose format version is copyright 2003) 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:111,208,313,407,513 BB+ FCT -DT+ q fJ^fj^fD