_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Season 1-2 Interstice/Holiday Special: "Rue Britannia" prose adaptation by Austin Loomis Chapter 1: Getting There Is Half The Fun In her room, Jane Lane, artiste extraordinaire and pizza fiend, was throwing art supplies into a bag and talking on the phone. "Oh, come *on!* You *promised* you'd talk to him!" In her own room at the other end of the phone, Lynn Cullen, the Purple Peril, was online on two windows at once -- an IRC channel and Subversion_Is_We.co.uk. "And I meant it. I just needed some information before I did so. I just talked to Aunt Lorna over IRC -- well, if you call that talking -- and I have a proposition for Trent that might just cheer him up." Jane continued sorting through her closet, throwing clothes haphazardly into the bag. "Ooh...that sounds kinky!" she mused with her trademark evil smirk. "I guess the Daria resemblance isn't only skin-deep *after* all!" Lynn was vaguely pissed off, but decided to let it slide. This time. "And you just get wittier and wittier every time I talk to you. -- I meant a career advancement opportunity that doesn't involve him becoming a toll collector on a highway...which I happen to know is his worst fear." "How do you know *that?*" "A few choice mutters from the back of the Mercedes during the road trip. You know as well as *anyone* that the narcoleptic is more talkative asleep than awake." Jane chuckled at that truth. "So...apart from the obvious, what do I pack?" "Rain gear." Jane looked in confusion at her luggage. "*Rain* gear?" "Yes, rain gear. It rains a lot in England at this time of year." Jane considered this. "I don't think I *have* rain gear. What do I do?" Lynn shrugged. "Drown." * * * The door to the basement of Casa Lane opened, and Jane and Lynn stood in the doorway. From far below, Jane's older brother Trent was playing something mournful, but loud enough to shake the walls. "He's been doing this for *how* long?" Lynn yelled over the noise. "Since Daria talked to him a few weeks back," Jane yelled in reply. "You promised; now *do* something!" She gave Lynn a shove forward that nearly knocked her down the stairs. Lynn glared at Jane, then completed the descent. She heard the door slam behind her -- barely -- over the music. _Now I know how a fly in a Venus flytrap feels,_ she thought. Aloud, she said, "Hey, Trent?" There was no reply. She realized Trent couldn't hear her over his own tortured axe-work. She got louder. "Hey, Trent!" Still nothing. She resorted to yelling. "HEY, TRENT!" Continued absence of dice. _Either I shout myself into apoplexy or..._ She pulled the plug on the amp. Trent's guitar riffs turned into muted twanging noises. He looked around and saw Lynn. "You know, you really ought to have some sort of signal so I don't have to do things like this." "Hey, Lynn," Trent replied in his usual low, raspy tones. "I meant to ask," she led off casually, "who's your manager? I mean, who books the gigs?" Trent had to think about that one a moment. "Dunno," he finally concluded. "I mean...whichever one of us gets to the bar first, usually." "Right," she continued, still casual, "so if I was to act as your manager on a gig, it would be kosher? So long as you were all in agreement, of course." He seemed puzzled. "I guess, but..." "Good," she decreed with a businesslike nod. "If you're all agreeable, you'll be touring London starting in three days." That one stunned him senseless for a moment. "*What?*" he blurted when he could trust himself to speak. "Through a contact of my aunt's in London, I've managed to land Mystik Spiral a gig as a support band on Camden's grunge bar circuit. If you all wanted to. I mean, it could be a big break for you...if you want to take it." He remembered something. "Aren't you, Janey and Daria going to London at the same time?" "Yep. A.P. decided to come along at the last minute, too. Accommodation free if you want to stay with my Aunt Lorna and the rest of us in Soho." Now he was torn. "Um...I..." Lynn was starting to get annoyed. "You're not going to bail on a really big opportunity just because some girl that ditched you happens to be going along, are you? I thought you and Daria were staying friends." He had the good grace to look shamefaced. "We are." Lynn raised an eyebrow. "Well, if one of *my* friends was avoiding me and even throwing away a chance of a lifetime to not be in the same country as me for a couple of weeks, I'd have some *serious* questions to ask that friend. -- Now are you coming or not?" "Um...I'd look really stupid if I said no *now,* wouldn't I?" Lynn's only reply was another raised eyebrow. "And it *would* be pretty cool to play in another country," Trent mused out loud. Lynn smirked; she knew she had him. "Yeah. We'll do it. I gotta go call the guys." He put down his guitar and headed for the stairs. "Just don't forget to *pack!*" Lynn called after him. * * * A couple days later, they'd all gathered outside Casa Lane. Lynn, Jane, and their friends Daria Morgendorffer and A.P. McIntyre were standing by Lynn's mother's Mercedes while the four members of Mystik Spiral were loading their gear into the van they affectionately called the Tank. Its owner, Max Tyler, approached Lynn, looking stressed to the point of panic. "Are you *sure* she'll be okay in the airport long stay lot? I mean, I nearly lost her once and I *can't* face that again!" "Did you ever take the Tank to a mechanic?" she asked him calmly. "Why? She works..." A sigh. "Max, the engine's held together with audio equipment and duct tape." She shrugged. "Never mind; your funeral. And the van will be *fine* in the long stay lot. Would I be trusting the Mercedes in it otherwise?" "And what do you have rigged in case someone *does* try to steal it?" Jane wondered slyly. "It would scare you to find out," A.P. replied smugly. "She contracted me to rig the security." Jane decided to let that one lie. "So, come on, Daria. What were your family's parting shots before you left the house?" Daria thought it over, then summed up. "Dad handed me some cash, told me in the most vague terms possible to watch out for perverts, and started rambling about his military school days just after telling me how travel broadens the mind. Mom handed me some cash, told me that she would turn any would-be rapist into legal mulch and made me promise to call on Christmas Day and New Year's Day...reversing the charges, of course. If the phones work. Quinn handed me some cash and a list of the duty-free perfumes she wanted, told me to find the Fashion Cafe and take pictures of any famous models, and very quietly told me to have a good time." "Is that what *all* parents are like?" "Pretty much," Lynn allowed as. "Okay, if we're all packed and ready...wagons ho!" And they were into their vehicles, and the Mercedes pulled away from Casa Lane, followed by the Tank. In the Mercedes, Lynn was driving, Jane was riding shotgun, and Daria and A.P. were in the backseat. Lynn turned to Jane. "So did he finally stop the romantic slush?" "Yes," Jane groaned, "but then he and the rest of the band holed up in the basement and started practicing day and night. They did that for the last three days. I had to sleep in the pottery bunker to get away from the noise." "Have they improved since I last heard them?" A sigh. "Not noticeably." In the back, Daria and A.P. were sitting a bit tensely, obviously twitchy about the prospect of touching just yet. "So," A.P. asked Daria, "nervous?" "Yeah. Um...I'm not that great a flier." "Got any Dramamine?" "I'm not *that* bad." "Oh," A.P. replied, clearly taken aback. * * * In the Tank, Max was driving, and Trent was riding shotgun -- slumped against the window, fast asleep as usual for him. Rhythm guitarist Jesse "No Shirt" Moreno and bass player Nick "Proud Papa" Campbell were sitting on the trunk in the back, leaning against opposite walls of the van housing, likewise dead to the world. Max, who hadn't noticed that he was the only one still awake, was starting to get bored. "Hey, guys, what say we play the picnic game again? -- Guys?" He realized why they weren't answering him. "Aw, come *on,* you guys!" * * * The departure lounge of Carter County Airport was a typical example of its faceless breed, yet another reminder of why no human language has ever produced, by process of natural evolution, the phrase "as pretty as an airport." Lynn stood at a carousel of paperback books in front of the little periodicals stand in one corner. Jane was in another part of the lounge, sketching a rather obese man overflowing out of one of those uncomfortable plastic contoured chairs they often have in airport departure lounges. Max, Nick and Jesse were in three such chairs, giving a demonstration of their "eyeball dexterity" -- which is to say, they were asleep. This left Daria, A.P. and Trent to stand around looking nervously at each other. Trent decided to start a conversation. "So...Daria..." "Yeah?" she replied. Trent stumbled for something to say, finally deciding on, "How's school been?" "We got Ms. Li arrested and they had to start Christmas vacation a week or so early." Trent had no response to that beyond "Oh." Now it was Daria's turn to stumble. "You got any new songs prepared for your London debut?" Sir Naps-a-Lot perked up, for him anyway. "Yeah! We got this new one I wrote about a month ago called `Death to the...'" He trailed off with a "whoops" expression on his face, an expression explained by the title's final word. "...`Techno-Weasels.'" Daria, who could guess what must have inspired a song with a title like that, was instantly uncomfortable. "Oh." There was an awkward silence. A.P. decided to try and restart the conversation, oblivious to the role his past actions had played in its stoppage. "Hey, what sort of PA you guys running?" "Um...dunno," Trent failed to commit. The Psycho-Maverick seemed disappointed. "Oh." After a beat, he hopefully suggested, "Hey, I can have a look at it for you if you want! Boost the power and fiddle around with the circuitry and you could blow the roof *right* off any venue!" "Um...no. Thanks." _Not that I don't trust you,_ Trent said without words, _but I don't._ The triangle eyed each other nervously, their body language clearly showing that none of them wanted to leave the other two alone together, lest some unwanted act of sex or violence ensue. Meanwhile, Lynn was spinning the carousel and muttering, seeming oblivious to the irritated-looking saleswoman standing behind her. "The ghost-writer currently known as V.C. Andrews..._The Green Mile_ in one volume -- someone's found yet *another* way to screw Stephen King fans... Courtroom drama...Chick-novel..." "Have you *decided?*" the annoyed saleswoman asked. Lynn calmly picked up a book. "Yes." There was a loaded pause. "*Yes?*" the saleswoman wondered at length, having gone from annoyed to exasperated. With her deadest pan, Lynn replied, "I have decided that airports are where all crappy novels go to die." She handed the book back, then spotted Daria, Trent and A.P. having their staredown. Her face took on an expression that clearly said "uh-oh" and she moved to join them. "Hey, Lynn," said a relieved Erudite Emerald as she saw her look- alike approaching. Lynn raised an eyebrow, as if to say _I understand._ "Hey. Tell me you brought something to read on the plane. There are no decent books to be had *anywhere* here. And even once we get to New York, it's about seven hours' flying before we get to London. And you can't rely on the in-flight entertainment to be...well, entertaining in *any* respect." "Me...without a *book?*" Daria rasped in a dead-on imitation of Fashion Club coordinating officer Tiffany Blum-Deckler. "That is *so* wrong..." Lynn was curious. "What'd you bring?" "_Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance_..._I Never Promised You a Rose Garden_..._The Life of Galileo_ by Brecht..._The Acid House_ ...and _The Sickest of Sick, Sad World_. -- You?" Lynn felt her heart sink into her socks. "_Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance_..._I Never Promised You a Rose Garden_..._The Threepenny Opera_ by Brecht..._Trainspotting_...and _The Best of Subversion Is We_." A.P. had to chuckle at that. "Man, you two really *are* practically the same person!" Daria rolled her eyes, while Lynn seethed briefly. * * * Almost before you knew it, they were into the air. Jane was sitting by the window, watching the takeoff. Daria was in the center, sunk back into her seat as far as she could go, with her hands tightly clutching the armrests. Lynn was on the aisle, wearing a set of headphones and reading _I Never Promised You a Rose Garden_. In another row, this one of five seats, A.P. was on the far left, wearing a set of headphones and reading a copy of _PC Pro_; Max, Jesse and Nick were in the middle, still asleep and snoring loudly; and Trent on the far right, glaring at A.P. Then he put on some headphones and dropped off to sleep himself. * * * "This is your captain speaking. We're approaching some storm activity and there's likely to be some turbulence. We ask you to keep your seat belts fastened..." To say there was "some" turbulence is like saying Angela Li had been "a little" interested in maintaining control -- I mean "discipline" -- at Laaawndale Hiiigh, or that Daria was "mildly" cynical about the idiots in general and the sister in particular with whom she had to share what might otherwise have been a perfectly good planet. Which is to say, the plane was bouncing rather badly, actually. Jane was looking out the window with a fearful, but also slightly excited, look on her face. Daria went a slightly lighter shade of green than her jacket, grabbed the airsick bag from the pocket of the seat in front of her, leaned forward and quietly availed herself of it. Lynn kept casually reading her book. A.P. had assumed the safe, curled-up position one's supposed to take if the plane is crashing -- what experienced fliers call the KYAG position, because it basically consists of putting your head between your legs to Kiss Your Ass Goodbye. Mystik Spiral, of course, slept on; those boys could sleep through an apocalypse if the Nine-Headed Horse didn't neigh too loud. * * * "Welcome to New York La Guardia Airport..." In yet another faceless airport departure lounge, Daria was slumped in a seat, looking slightly green. A.P. was sitting beside her, pale and in slight psychological shock. Jane was sketching a burning plane wreck. Lynn was quietly reading her book. There was no sign of Mystik Spiral. Jane looked up from her sketchpad. "Where are they? I'm *starved!*" Daria was appalled. "How can you want to eat after that flight?" she asked weakly. Lynn shrugged. "That was nothing. You should see the turbulence you sometimes get over the Atlantic." Daria groaned and put her head in her hands. Trent, Jesse, Nick and Max returned from their foraging, bearing a few bags with a familiar burger restaurant's logo emblazoned on them. "We got food!" Trent announced. Lynn raised an eyebrow. "Depending on how discerning you are..." Daria looked up briefly, groaned and put her head back into her hands. A.P. didn't even look over. Without looking, Jane grabbed at a bag, set it down on the table, rummaged through it one-handed while still sketching, pulled out a handful of French fries, and stuffed the battered tuber-strips into her mouth. Lynn raised her eyebrows and took one of the greasy bags. "It's either this or airline food...hmm. Tough call." With that, she threw the bag of grease into the nearest garbage can. * * * Another row of three airline seats. Once again, Lynn was on the aisle, Jane by the window and Daria in the middle. "There should be decent food on this one, anyway," Lynn assured them. "They have to feed you well if they're holding you hostage on a plane for a few hours. And free drinks." A stewardess approached, wheeling one of those little beverage carts. "What would you like?" she smiled. "Bacardi and Coke, please. No ice." The woman nodded and ducked to her cart. Daria and Jane turned to stare at their friend. In chorus, they inquired, "*What?*" "We're on British Airways and consequently under British jurisdiction. Eighteen's the legal drinking age." She punctuated this with a "shut up" glare. "Oh...right!" Jane replied gleefully as the Purple Peril's point sank in, then turned to the stew. "Vodka and orange juice, please." "Got any tea?" Daria whimpered weakly. The stew gave her a strange look, one that clearly said, _Are you *kidding?* Of *course!*_ Lynn raised an eyebrow. "Remember what I told you about British jurisdiction?" * * * Chapter 2: The Necessary Whirlwind Tour "I can't believe how really in London we are." -- Crow T. Robot The airport arrival lounge on the other side of the Atlantic was even more faceless than the departure lounges -- I couldn't even tell you whether it was Heathrow or Gatwick. Lynn was guiding Daria and Jane -- who were both staggering and a bit green, if for slightly different reasons in each case -- towards a youngish woman in a large purple sweater (or "jumper" as they say across the pond) and black leggings. She had auburn hair and glasses and, in general, bore the same basic resemblance to Lynn that Amy Barksdale does to her favorite niece (Daria, isn't that her name?). Behind them, A.P. and Mystik Spiral were wheeling luggage carts, most of which were laden with musical instruments. "Hi, Aunt Lorna," Lynn said to the woman in the purple jumper, confirming Daria's guess as to her identity. "Just Lorna," Lorna Smythe replied, further confirming her resemblance to Amy. "Bad flight?" "In a way. There was some pretty bad turbulence and I don't think Daria flies well. But Jane discovered the joys of a lower legal drinking age and the fact that no one in England cares anyway and..." "Wasted?" Daria and Jane now looked greener and a bit panicked. Lynn blindly shoved them both toward, then through, a door marked LADIES. "Inelegantly," she wryly confirmed. Lorna smirked at that. "Right. They can recover on the way into the city. If you lot want to see Trafalgar Square, you'd best do it today. I don't know when they shut it for the New Year preparations. -- Too bad you're not as alike as you seem, eh?" Lynn winced a bit at that. * * * The girls were kind of jet-lagged, so seeing the sights of London felt less like something that was actually happening to them and more like a montage in a film they were watching. First they were in Piccadilly Circus, with all its neon billboards -- perhaps one of the most famous of London sights. Then they found themselves in Trafalgar Square. Jane was standing on the back of one of the stone lions. Daria and Lynn were standing on either side of the lion, arms folded, silently saying, _And I'm supposed to be impressed, right?_ Jane spread her arms and turned her face towards the sky -- and at that moment, the shutter went KA-KLIK as a Polaroid snapshot captured the instant for eternity. Daria and Lynn looked at all the second-hand bookshops on (or, as the British say, in) Charing Cross Road and looked impressed -- for them, anyway. At the Tate Gallery, Jane clung to the doorframe like a drowning woman, refusing to leave, hanging parallel to the ground as Daria and Lynn each held one of her boots and pulled her away. KA-KLIK. Trent, Jesse, Nick and Max walked into the Virgin Megastore in Tottenham Court Road, then just stood there like pilgrims who'd finally reached Mecca. At the guard posts in front of Buckingham Palace, Daria and Lynn were each standing ramrod-straight beside one of the fuzzy-hatted guards, mimicking their famous posture. Jane was waving a hand in front of the eyes of one guard, who didn't even flinch. KA-KLIK. Daria, Jane, Lynn and A.P. were standing across the road from Big Ben, with the clock whose bell gave the tower its name quite clearly visible. A.P. looked at his watch. Daria, Jane and Lynn raised eyebrows and pointed upwards. A.P. followed their pointing hands with his gaze, realized their meaning, and slapped his forehead with a mouthed "D'oh!" Trent, Jesse, Nick and Max were walking along Abbey Road, just like the Beatles on the album cover. Max was in bare feet just like McCartney -- even though he's the drummer and Paul was the bass player, Max is also the self-appointed "criminale" of Mystik Spiral, and this demanded he walk barefoot when no one else would. A black cab came speeding toward them as they reached the middle of the road, forcing them to scatter to avoid being hit. Trent shook a fist at the cab while Max grabbed one of his feet and screamed in pain. KA-KLIK. Later, on a nearby bench, Lynn was patiently picking bits of glass and gravel off Max's bleeding foot as he whimpered in pain. Nick stood nearby with a first aid kit. Lynn held out a hand, and Nick handed over a bottle of disinfectant and some cotton balls. Max panicked and tried to run away, but Jesse and Trent held him down. Max screamed as Lynn applied the disinfectant to his delicate skin. Daria, Jane and A.P. shook their heads in utter despair. At St. Paul's Cathedral, Jane had set up an easel and was busily painting. A crowd of tourists had gathered around her. Daria was sitting on the steps reading _The Acid House_ -- she looked bored. Lynn was standing nearly in front of Jane. A pigeon landed on the Purple Peril's head and she stood there with her arms crossed, looking annoyed. KA-KLIK. In Leicester Square, Daria, Lynn and Jane came up to a souvenir shop and looked at the window. There was a Fashion Cafe logo on it -- the place had obviously closed down. Daria raised her camera and took a picture of the fate of the Fashion Cafe, sure to bring bitter tears to Narcissa's eyes. All three girls smirked, then they moved on. In Soho's Carnaby Street, center of the fashion scene back in the Swinging London of the sixties, the entire gang walked out of a shop and looked expectantly at Lynn. She reached into her bag and pulled out a long, striped, knitted hat in varying shades of purple with a purple pom-pom on the end. Sighing, she put on the hat. Everyone smirked or laughed at her. KA-KLIK. * * * In Soho, Lorna opened a small door, painted green, set between a couple of storefronts, and went in, followed by the gang. The flat's lounge area was a large cleared space with two highly mismatched sofas, several battered armchairs, and a huge rosewood coffee table. Everyone looked around but Lorna, who made for a hallway across the room, talking at high-speed. "Right -- I'm meeting David in an hour -- make yourself at home -- lots of bedrooms so no problem -- Lynn knows where everything is; she'll show you around -- there might be no food but there's lots of restaurants -- money in hidden panel in coffee table -- see you lot later -- have fun -- bye!" The bedroom door slammed behind her. "What was *that?*" Daria boggled. "She gets like that sometimes," Lynn explained. "She has some musical connections and makes a hobby out of dragging bands out of nothingness by fair means or foul. But she's also the original serial date-queen." "She is the lovechild of you and Quinn. If such a thing were possible." _Or a cross between Aunt Rita and Aunt Amy._ "Oh, please. You have tapped into my worst nightmare." "So now what do we do?" Jane wondered. Then she saw that Trent, Jesse, Nick and Max had collapsed onto a sofa and were sleeping more peacefully than you'd think its surface area would allow. "Stupid question." "I could use some food," A.P. opined. "Right," Lynn nodded. "Let's check the food situation." So they proceeded to the kitchen, where she opened the fridge door and peered in. "Two dried-up strips of bacon...a bag of green sludge that used to be spinach...and the dregs of a bottle of red wine. -- Anything in the cupboards?" "A bag of lentils," Jane reported, "an empty box of Pop Tarts and a scummy looking bottle of ketchup. -- *We* have more food in our house than this." "I think the bread mold's taking over in this box," Daria observed. "What about good old-fashioned fish and chips?" A.P. wondered. "I mean, we *are* in England, right?" "True," Lynn shrugged. "How hard can it be to find fish and chips in London?" * * * Pretty damn hard, as it turned out. By the time they gave up the search somewhere in Leicester Square, it was dark and they were all four very disheartened. "What's with all the Indian food?" Jane wondered. "India was a colony, you know," Lynn pointed out. "Yeah, well," A.P. muttered, "so was Canada and you don't see them selling reindeer meat." "McDonald's everywhere," Daria sighed. "That's the West End for you," Lynn shrugged. "So busy catering to the tourists that they forget that even a tourist sometimes wants to partake of the culture in which they have immersed themselves. Look, let's just hit Garfunkels. Plain, average food. We'll get British some other time." * * * And so, after getting dinner, they walked through the flat's front door into the lounge area, where the members of Mystik Spiral were still sleeping on their sofa. "There are six bedrooms in this place," Lynn told them. "Lorna gutted the whole floor of this building and turned it into a huge apartment. One of the rooms is hers. One is mine -- I think Lorna hopes to have me move in with her some day so she'll have someone to keep food in the house. -- You two mind sharing?" "Not like we haven't done it before," Jane shrugged. "Crap," A.P. muttered. "Tell me I don't have to share with any of those guys." "Take a sofa...if the guys don't stay there for the rest of the trip." * * * The next morning, Daria and Jane came out of one room, and Lynn out of another, into the flat's lounge area, where Mystik Spiral were *still* asleep on the sofa. "They're breathing, right?" Lynn wondered. Nick let out a deep, evil-sounding snore. "And a better response I have never heard," Daria observed. "Can we get breakfast?" Jane asked. "I don't think I can brave that kitchen again." * * * So they went to the Borders cafe/bookstore in Oxford Street, to have coffee and eye the books. "Well," Daria allowed as, "I've got to admit it -- it's not so bad here. -- While you're not going nuts over the architecture, the art, the..." "I'm *sorry* about that already!" Jane snapped. "I mean, what do you *expect* from me?" "For you to drive me crazy. What else?" They left their coffee cups and walked toward the bookshop proper. Daria stopped at a shelf and pulled a book off it on her way. "See anything you like?" "The new Irvine Welsh. Thought it'd make a good read on the trip home. But I've got to start with my Christmas shopping -- it's only a few days, after all." "Yeah, no kidding." When they got to the cashier's counter, Lynn was standing there waiting. "Stephen King was here doing a book signing awhile ago, and they have a few signed copies of _Bag of Bones_ left. It's sinfully expensive, but I never claimed to be an angel." Jane picked up a copy of the book and read the price. "That's not so bad." "Have you seen the exchange rate lately?" She pulled out a personal organizer, tapped some buttons and showed Jane the readout. "That's what it cost in *dollars.*" Daria looked over Lynn's shoulder. Sudden, horrified looks crossed their faces. Daria slammed the Welsh down onto a table, and the three of them departed in a big tearing rush. * * * Back in the flat's lounge area, Daria, Jane, Lynn and A.P. were eyeing each other nervously. Trent, Jesse, Nick and Max had the dazed look of someone who's just come out of a coma. "I take it you've noticed too, A.P.," Lynn observed, and her friend nodded grimly. "What's up with the exchange rate?" Jane boggled. "And why is everything so damn expensive?" Daria added. "The pound's doing pretty well these days," Lynn explained. "Bummer," Jesse muttered. "I was planning on doing my Christmas shopping here," Daria half- sighed. "No kidding," Jane chimed in; "I mean, how are we going to get presents for family and...?" She trailed off, blushing. "Um..." Lorna burst into the flat. "Right, everyone enjoying their holiday? Good. I'm going to a party with the corporate crud so I have to get ready. I..." She noticed the wary looks and trailed off. "What's wrong?" "It's a Christmas thing--" her niece began, but got no further. "Eight kids plus adult -- nine presents -- limited funds -- I understand." She sat down cross-legged on the floor. "One -- I will not be requiring gifts from *all* you people. Club together and find me a bottle of whisky or something. Two -- if you don't want to spend all kinds of money, do the Secret Santa thing. Anyway, remember you lads have a gig tonight. Lynn has your itinerary and she's my second in these matters so listen to her. -- Oh, and try to get Lynn up on stage with you sometime. I can never make her use her potential. Maybe you have a better shot." She got up and made her exit. Trent was curious. "Potential?" Lynn blushed. "Nothing, really. I showed a propensity for music in my formative years. My mother killed it by making me go into the Oakwood High School marching band. I..." She sighed. "I don't want to talk about it." The Spirallers stared at her curiously. Daria and Jane looked at A.P., whose panicked face clearly said _*Do* something!_ "Secret Santa?" Daria wondered. Lynn stifled a relieved sigh. "You put a slip of paper with your name on it into a hat. Whoever draws your name buys you a present." "Sounds cool," Trent mused. "Anyone got a hat?" Everyone looked at Lynn. "It sticks in your mind, that hat, doesn't it?" she sighed. And so her hat with the pom-pom was passed around, and each of the gang pulled a piece of paper out of it. When they were all done, Lynn looked at her slip of paper -- it said _Trent_. She sighed and shook her head. Trent's, as it happened, said _A.P._. He bit his lip and scowled. Continuing around in that vein, A.P.'s said _Max_. His eyes widened, and he thought, _What the hell do I do *now?*_ Max's said _Nick_. He got a really evil grin on his face and looked sidelong at Nick. Nick's said _Jesse_. He shrugged -- he'd had something along those lines in mind for years. Jesse's said _Jane_. He stared at it with his usual "the lights are on, but the music's too loud" expression. Jane's said _Daria_. She smirked evilly, knowing _*That's* easy!_ Daria's said _Lynn_. She frowned in puzzlement, then shrugged. _How hard can it be?_ "Now that we've finished that," Lynn spoke up, "we have a gig to get to. We'll use Lorna's van." She reached into a hidden panel in the coffee table, grabbed a set of keys and threw them at Jesse. "Load it up but do *not* attempt to drive it." And Mystik Spiral went out to stack up their equipment. "Whoa!" Jane was suitably impressed. "Aren't we the almighty general today?" "She's *always* like that," A.P. shrugged. * * * Chapter 3: Debut Outside the flat, Trent, Jesse, Nick, Max and A.P. were loading up the van, and Daria, Jane and Lynn were watching. "So who *is* going to drive?" Daria wondered. "I mean, they drive on the other side of the road here." "I'll take the wheel," Lynn volunteered, "and any corresponding blame if we wreck the van. Fret not. How bad can it be?" "Famous last words," Jane warned. "The rest of you will have to take taxis -- tell them the Camden Barfly. -- Who wants shotgun?" Jane and A.P. looked expectantly at Daria, who sighed and gave a little half-shrug half-nod of apathetic assent. * * * Later, with her eyes tightly shut as Lynn swerved the car around, she would regret the hell out of that decision. The Purple Peril was doing some regretting of her own. "I should have paid more attention to Lorna when she drove on roundabouts..." "We're going to die..." Daria whimpered. "We're *not* going to die. -- It's a well-made van. In a crash, it dies before we do." Daria groaned at that and tried to curl up into a fetal ball on the seat. Lynn bit her lower lip, then honked the horn, rolled down the window and leaned out. "GET OUT OF THE ROAD, YOU LIMEY GITS! -- AND IF YOU'RE GIVING ME THE PEACE SIGN, YOUR HAND GOES THE OTHER WAY!" "What's a git?" She seemed to remember encountering the term in a half-remembered Monty Python skit -- either the short plump guy or the skinny singing guy as someone whose legal name was A. Snivelling Little Ratfaced Git -- but that sort of in-depth knowledge of Pythonia was more up Lynn's alley. "Best you don't know. -- TAILGATE ME AGAIN AND I'LL MAKE YOU *EAT* THAT FREAKING STEERING WHEEL!" * * * Mystik Spiral, Jane and A.P. stood in front of the Camden Barfly pub, which was rapidly filling. They were starting to get impatient. "Do you think there was an accident?" Jane worried. "I mean, how does *she* know how to drive on the right?" "That's *not* the kind of accident I'd be worried about," A.P. mused. Before Jane could ask him what he meant by that, the van pulled up in front of them. Daria staggered out before the engine died, panting desperately. "Roundabouts...tailgating lunatics...shouting...profanity...road rage..." "I thought so." The Psycho-Maverick turned to Lynn, who was already out and walking around the van. "Did it again, right?" "Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same," Lynn calmly replied. "You see how they drive here." "Worse than Boston?" She had to think about that. "Hmm...tough call. -- *Definitely* worse than Turkey." "Oh man..." A.P. breathed, stunned. "Never mind that for now. I'm feeling better." "Given the amount of tension you let off," Daria muttered, "I'm not surprised." Lynn shrugged that off. "Come on, let's unload. These guys have a gig." * * * Inside the Barfly, Mystik Spiral took the stage and started playing a hard and fast lead-in, then Trent began to sing. "o/~ Binary brainwashed Worshipping the penguin You can lock it all down But somehow they can get in They invade you They're a virus Clawing at us all From the world of C-double-plus! o/~" Jesse joined in on the chorus. "*Death*...to the techno-weasels *Death*...to the techno-weasels *Death*...to the techno-weasels Or who knows what they'll do... They may make a techno-weasel out of *you!* o/~" This led into an instrumental break with hammering drums, over- blown guitar work, and slightly off-key bass riffs. Backstage, Daria, Jane and A.P. looked bemused, while Lynn, for some reason, looked deeply mortified. "This is better than his usual stuff," Jane commented, looking at Daria as she said it. "Hey, I've barely talked to him!" With one accord, they all turned and looked at Lynn, who just shrugged. "He asked." "He knows about C++," A.P. remarked. "I should be impressed, but..." Lynn went defensive. "Hey, he asked." "I'm actually surprised he used the Linux penguin reference," Daria confessed. Now Lynn seemed downright embarrassed. "Like I said, he asked." "And you do *everything* he asks?" Jane smirked evilly. "I hate you." The band finished taking it to the bridge, and Trent leaned toward the mike again. "o/~ Surf the Internet / Fry your head / The virus wouldn't spread if the weasels all were dead! o/~" He and Jesse repeated the chorus, calling for the death of the techno-weasels before they could infect the audience, and Max ended the song with a nice overblown drum solo. There was very slight, polite applause when they were done. "Thanks. We're Mystik Spiral...but we're thinking of changing that name. This next song's called `Mr. Normal.'" As they ripped into that minor classic out front, the situation backstage continued to develop. Daria had wandered off someplace. Jane and A.P. were looking at Lynn. "You *know* who that song was about, don't you?" the Psycho- Maverick asked his old partner-in-crime. "Shut up," Lynn jauntily replied. "And you helped with the lyrics anyway." "Shut *up.*" A little less jaunty that time. "You like him, don't you?" "Shut UP!" That one was downright peeved. Jane couldn't resist jumping in. "Following the trend, Daria- like?" For a moment, Lynn looked like she was going to hit Jane. Then, without a word, she turned on her heel and walked away. Jane was merely confused, but A.P. looked actively horrified. "Oh, man, *that* was stupid, Art-Smart Scarlet." "What?" "I can do that to Purple Peril because I know the limits. I've known her for years and I know *just* how far she can be pushed before those active volcanoes erupt. You hit one." "Well, why didn't *she* hit *me,* then?" "She's temperamental but she's not *stupid.* She tries really hard to keep from doing things she'll regret later." Jane was mildly pleased that Lynn cared that much about her. "Oh." "She'd *hate* to get kicked out of the country for decking one of her friends." That deflated Jane's hat size in a hurry. "oh." "o/~ Hey, Mr. Normal, it was *you!* o/~" * * * After the set, outside the Barfly, the gang was assembled around the van. Trent and the others looked happy. A.P. and Jane were looking warily at Lynn, who looked reckless. Daria was a bit nervous about all the punker/Rocker/Goth types milling around. "Now *that* was cool," Trent rejoiced. "Did you hear the response?" "They clapped for you," Lynn dryly replied. "How *very.*" Trent looked at her, wounded, and she turned away. "So," Jane wondered, "now what do we do?" "I kind of thought we'd go back..." Daria admitted. "On a Friday night?" Lynn scornfully dismissed the notion. "Well..." Jane raised a further question. "What's with the leather and hair-dye exodus?" "That would be the Electric Ballroom," Lynn explained. "Lorna told me they have some rock night called Full Tilt on Fridays. I say we go for it." "Will Lorna mind?" Daria worried. "Will Lorna notice? Will Lorna even be *in* tonight?" "Looks cool," Trent rasped. Lynn smiled. "Come on, Erudite Emerald!" A.P. pleaded. "Could be *great* writing material in this for you!" Daria sighed, resigned to either going with them or walking back to Soho. "All right." "Yeah!" Jane woohoo'ed. "We party until someone *dies!*" She looked pleadingly at Lynn, who gave her a cold, scornful look in reply. Jane's shoulders slumped in a penitent way. "Okay, people," Lynn exhorted the troops, "let's go." * * * The Camden Electric Ballroom was loud, darkly colorful and full of the most freakishly dressed people the high schoolers had ever seen. Daria and A.P. were a little overwhelmed, but Trent, Jesse, Nick and Max seemed to take it in stride, presumably having seen sufficient levels of weirdness on Dega Street to prepare them. Lynn and Jane wore identical expressions that silently said _whoa, cool!_ "Drinks?" Lynn asked. "I don't..." Daria started to reply, but trailed off, a vicious look suddenly appearing on her face as she said, "Fine." They shouldered their way to the bar. Lynn stared at Jane for a moment, looking irritated, then got a sly look on her face. _*This'll* show Jane we're not alike..._ she thought, looking at Daria with a challenge in her eyes. "Want to try a little competitive drinking?" "Excuse me?" "You heard me. Let's see who hits the floor first." Jane, knowing *exactly* what had prompted this, prayed neither of them would turn her way and see her looking as horribly guilty and wretched as she (rightly) imagined she must. The look got even worse when Daria looked at Lynn with an equal air of challenge and said, "Fine." Lynn leaned over the bar and hollered, "*Two double Bacardi and Coke!*" She turned back to Daria. "Whoever pukes or passes out first, loses." "What are we playing for?" Lynn raised an eyebrow, silently replying, _We both *know* what we're playing for. Or should I think `whom'?_ Aloud, she wondered, "Does it matter?" "No," came the firm answer. The drinks arrived, and Lynn paid for them. She took one and passed the other to Daria. "Here's to Misery Chicks." They looked at each other archly for a moment, then Daria said to herself, _If that's the way she wants to play it._ "To Misery Chicks." And they knocked back the drinks in one swallow. Daria coughed, sputtered and nearly gagged, not being used to strong drinks. Lynn, unaffected, simply smirked a Daria-esque Mona Lisa smirk. * * * Upstairs in the mosh pit, Trent, Jesse, Nick and Max were cheerfully throwing themselves around to the strains of Ministry's "New World Order" when A.P. elbowed his way through the shoving mob to Trent's side. "Hey ...Trent..." he panted, "where's...Jane? And...Daria? And...Purple Peril?" "Bug off, geek," Trent snapped. "I'm...*serious!* I can't find them! And I'd be worried if I were you..." Trent shot him a scathing look and followed him off the dance floor. Jesse, Nick and Max, who hadn't even noticed the discussion, kept on dancing. * * * Out in the hall, the music was still playing, but more softly, as Trent pinned A.P. to the nearest wall. "Where's Janey?" he helpfully demanded. "Look, let me explain. Jane's kind of...upset right now. All three of the girls are. God knows how it started, but they started a drinking contest. I was keeping an eye on them but..." He gestured at the gaudy crowd around them as if begging Sir Naps-a-Lot to understand. Trent seemed awfully calm as he summed up the situation. "So Daria...and Lynn...and Janey...are somewhere in here. On their own. Getting bombed." Then he exploded with a fury that would have made Anthony DeMartino flinch. "And you *let them out of your sight?*" A.P. nodded miserably. "Worthless geek punk!" "Hey, shut up! At least I knew something was wrong!" "You little..." "Hey, look, do we really have the time for this? -- There's a chill-out room upstairs." * * * The Japanese have a wonderful saying: "First the man takes a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes the man." In that second floor chill-out room, Daria, Jane and Lynn had been pretty well taken. They were all seated at a table, with a great manyempty glasses on the table before them. Daria and Lynn were at about the same state of inebriation, but Jane looked much worse. Daria turned to her first-ever friend. "Hey," she hiccuped, then continued, "Jane. Who's winning here?" "There wazza *contess?*" Jane slurred. "Oh...shoot..." A dark-haired guy in a Cradle of Filth T-shirt, knowing when he was onto a good thing, stepped up to Jane and took a seat *very* close to her. "Hi. Buy you a drink?" "She's had too much--" Lynn hiccuped. "--already. Damn hiccups." "Yeah," Daria chimed in. "Geddoudahere." "Hey," he snapped, "I'm talking to the Goth here, not you speccy birds." "We are not *birds!*" Lynn dudgeoned. "Yeah," Daria chuckled. "We can't sing worth a hill o' beans." The guy put a hand on Jane's shoulder. "Come on. Let's leave these twits and get to know each other better." Jane shoved his hand away. "Get lost, creep." He put his hand back, on her knee this time. "And if I say no?" A sudden shadow loomed over him. Lynn seemed amused in a drunken sort of way. "*That's* when her big mean brother kicks your hindquarters into next year. And he's wearing steel-toed boots, too..." "Get away from my little sister, you..." The guy got up, making as if to turn away, then rounded on Trent and punched him in the face. Trent recoiled a little at the blow, but quickly recovered, grabbed his assailant and tackled him to the floor. A couple of guys at a table across the little room jumped on Trent and tried to drag him off his target, but A.P. got between them and Trent, punching one of them in the stomach while moving a chair in front of the other one to trip him up. Lynn grabbed one of Jane's arms, Daria grabs the other, and they made a break for it. "But *I* wanted to be the one to beat the crap out of him..." Jane whined. "Another time," Daria assured her. "Will it help if I get Jesse to beat them up too? "Only a little," Jane sulked. Daria smirked. "Can you handle her while I find the guys?" "She ain't heavy..." Lynn shrugged, "and she's not my brother either." General drunken giggles ensued at this. * * * Outside the Ballroom, Lynn and Jane were standing -- or rather leaning -- against the wall. "D'ya think Daria's okay in there?" Jane wondered. "She's with the guys," Lynn reminded her; "she'll be fine. Probably enjoying watching them beat those jerks up. And they'll come out soon." "Ya should've *left* me. I could've *taken* that goon." "*Sure* you could. And his two friends." "Hey, a steel-toe in the family jewels, and he'd've lost interest." "I know. Only teasing." Her tone turned apologetic. "I get like that, you know." Jane seemed likewise apologetic. "Yah. Me too." Then she looked panicked. "I'm gonna be sick..." Lynn led her down the block a bit and found an alley, then held Jane upright while she rather noisily puked. Eventually, Lynn helps Jane get fully upright again. "Thanks." "Just don't pass out on me, okay? I'm not that sturdy on my feet myself." The two shared a small, conciliatory smirk at that. "They'll be looking for us. Let's get back." And they unsteadily made their way out of the alleyway, to make the trip back to Soho on the top level of a London double-decker bus, sprawled across various seats, in various stages of drunkenness. * * * Chapter 4: Crush "Even flow, thoughts arise like butterflies Oh, she don't know, so she chases them away" -- Pearl Jam, "Evenflow" When morning had broken, Lynn staggered into the flat's kitchen and started opening cupboards at random. Daria walked in, closely followed by Jane, both looking as much the worse for wear as Lynn did. "You'd think someone who drinks like Lorna claims to," Lynn muttered, "would have aspirin or something in the house." "My head hurts," Daria groaned. "I am never going to drink again," Jane whimpered. "Now that I've said that, how long before I drink again?" "You'll be back on it in about three seconds." Lynn pulled a bottle of whiskey out of a bottom cupboard. "Lorna used to tell me to take the hair of the dog that bit you. Now...are there any clean glasses?" A quick look around the kitchen answered that question. There were rogue mugs, dirty glasses and fossilized plates, but nothing clean in sight. Lynn sighed and took a swig straight out of the bottle, then passed it off to Jane, who looked at it dubiously. "If it helps my stomach stop feeling like someone went over it with a paint stripper..." Jane took a belt, swallowed, choked and nearly gagged. "Or maybe not..." she rasped. Lynn took the bottle and waved it in Daria's direction. Daria eyed it a moment, then reluctantly accepted it. "I'm going to hell anyway...might as well do it in style." She took her ritual swig and coughed vigorously. "That's the spirit," Lynn assured her. "So...anyone remember who won the drinking competition?" "It was a tie," Jane replied. Daria and Lynn looked at each other. Daria looked resigned, but Lynn looked livid. * * * The gang dragged themselves up the stairs of Oxford Circus tube station and out into the light, all looking rough. "Do we *have* to be out here?" Trent growled. "This sucks," Jesse confirmed. "*And* it's raining," Max snapped. "I thought it was supposed to *snow* in winter!" "It's too damn early in the morning..." Nick completed their litany, "and I think I bruised my hand on that one guy's face." "This is the last chance you're going to get to do any Christmas shopping without getting trampled," Lynn pointed out. "If you want to go back, be my guest." Trent looked rather tempted for a moment, but he shrugged. "Yeah. Right. Whatever." "Loath as I am to let you all wander the city freely, for this to work we're going to have to split up. Let's say we meet by that fountain in Leicester Square in three hours. That give everyone enough time?" This met with assorted grumbles of assent. "That's the kind of enthusiasm I like to hear. Later." She walked off purposefully. The others stared at each other for awhile, then the group reluctantly broke up and headed in separate directions. * * * Later, at Sister Ray Records in Soho, Lynn, bearing shopping bags, was just collecting yet another bag from the man behind the counter when she heard a familiar raspy voice say "Hey, Lynn." With a casualness she didn't really feel, she replied, "Hey. Should I go?" "Nah," Trent replied. "The present's not for you. But I could use your help." Lynn was torn between being miffed that he wasn't having to get a present for her and pleased that he wanted her help. "If I can." "I'm supposed to get a present for the punk...I mean, A.P. Sorry, Lynn." "Hey, compared to some of the things I call him, `punk' is a term of endearment." Trent did his coughing laugh. Lynn drew courage from this to go on. "In fact, you shouldn't mouth off about punks being a bad thing around here. This place is two blocks away from one of the most popular punk/rock bars in the area. You don't want the wrong ears to hear that kind of talk." "Why?" Trent smirked. "They'll beat me up?" "No...but you'd *really* hurt their feelings. Behind the Mohawks and the leather and the heavy boots and chains and spikes, they're just big marshmallows inside." Trent cough-laughed again, bringing a smile to Lynn's face. "Good one, Lynn. You're going to have to show me this place." "Okay," she blushed. "But first you said you needed my help with something?" "Oh, yeah," he scowled. "A.P.'s present. -- I don't know him. I can't decide on a present." Lynn thought a moment, pretty uffishly. "To be fair, you couldn't afford anything on his Christmas list. Not even his parents can. He asked for an ISDN line this year." Trent looked lost, and she recalled that technical matters were not his forte. "Just get him a CD. Expand his musical horizons." Trent took some thinking time of his own. "I'll get him the Chickasaw Mud Puppies. -- They *have* heard of them here, haven't they?" "If not, they order. No fear. Around this part of the city, people know that more came out of Athens than REM and the -- blech -- B-52s." Trent did one more laugh-cough, and Lynn blushed scarlet as she tried to hide a smile. * * * Presently, the entire gang had gathered by that fountain in Leicester Square and were looking around. "Chiquitos?" Trent suggested. "And we came *all* the way to England to eat Mexican food," A.P. snidely replied. "At least it's close. And out of the rain. -- Punk," he added under his breath. "Edinburgh Steak House?" Daria proposed. "I wouldn't," Lynn warned. "Overpriced tourist garbage and badly served to boot. -- How about Chinatown? That's a London sight *and* someplace to eat lunch, and it's not far away." "Cool by me," Jane allowed as. "Yeah," Jesse agreed. "Food." "Sure," Nick nodded. "Just don't serve me shrimp," Max warned. "I'll get hives." "Yeah," Trent made it official. "All right. Cool idea, Lynn." Lynn blushed. Jane noticed and looked at her strangely. Lynn carefully arranged her face into a blank slate. Jane, after looking carefully at her, turned away. As soon as Jane'd turned her back, Lynn's eyes rolled in a "God help me" expression. _I can't wait until the Y2K bug. Kill me now._ * * * Chapter 5: Review ["I don't know why you're messed up I don't know why your whole life is a chore Just do me a favor And check your baggage at the door..." -- The Offspring, "She's Got Issues" (Americana) Lynn wandered up to a newsstand and perused the magazines for a moment. She grabbed one off the shelf, leafed through it a moment, then smirked and handed the newsagent a coin. Then she walked off with her newest acquisition. _This should be interesting._ When she got back to the flat, the lounge area was deserted, but she didn't see that right away -- she just barged through the front door, waving the magazine aloft, and yelled, "*You got a review, guys!*" There was a thumping sound down the hall as several fair-sized male bodies tumbled out of bed, and some crashing noises as they made an attempt at speed dressing. Lynn smirked. Daria and Jane came out of their room, fully dressed and composed. "Sounds like wildebeests," Lynn observed. "Mating," Jane added. "Don't put images like that in my head." "Are they going to like this review or hate it?" Daria wondered. "Don't ask me. I haven't *read* it yet." "But..." Like charging rhinos, Trent, Jesse, Nick, and Max came hurtling out of the bedrooms and raced towards her. A.P. followed them at a sedate pace. Lynn climbs over, and behind, one of the sofas to keep them from knocking her over, and the four band members managed to crash into it. "Now...are you going to calm down, or do I have to break out the tear gas?" "What's it say?" Trent asked eagerly. "Are we criminales? We are, right?" "Just *read* it, Lynn!" Nick snapped. "Yeah," Jesse agreed calmly. "Okay, okay, okay," she muttered. "Just sit down, would you?" The boys sat. Lynn moved to a chair in front of the sofa, seated herself and opens the periodical. "This is _TWANG!_ magazine." "_TWANG_?" Daria boggled. "Isn't that the sound a guitar string makes when it breaks?" "Yep. Anyway, they're one of the top rock magazines in the country, so it's a good omen that you were reviewed here. -- Unless Moray reviewed you." Now Trent was as concerned as he got. "Who's Moray?" "Ah, one of the magazine's most brutal reviewers. Moray like the moray eel." That only made Trent more nervous. "Did we..." "Yep," she sighed sympathetically. Now he was even more nervous. "*Damn!*" _May as well get this over with. "Okay, here goes. `You never know what to expect when a grunge band from the US make an appearance, but you can usually bet that it's not going to be something to write home about. As yet another crew of Yank wannabe Cobains with relationship problems, Mystik Spiral were no exception.'" "Moron," Max grumbled. "`Vocalist Trent Lane sounds as if he should really lay off the fags -- the 40-a-day vocals get lost in the instrumental section. And with the exception of ``Death To The Techno-Weasels'', a great parody of the new web-based, computer-centric way of life, and ``Mr Normal'', which at least spoke about some real angst, the lyrics were a singularly unfunny joke.' -- Are you sure you want me to go on?" "Yeah," Trent muttered morosely. "Whatever." "`Songs like ``Behind My Eyelids'', ``Ice Box Woman'' and ``Spite'' are laughable. And the instrumentalists, while showing some semblance of real talent, often break down into sheer cacophony. In short, they should return to the Nirvana-brainwashed land that spawned them and leave us alone.' -- Oh, Trent, I'm sorry." "They just don't know real talent when they hear it!" "Come off it, Max," Trent shrugged. "Hey, look," Daria tried to rally them. "You guys have two choices in the face of something like this. You can let it get to you. Or you can take some of the comments on board, use the whole experience constructively, and come back all the stronger." "She's right, you know," Lynn confirmed. "I mean, you've had worse reviews than this. I saw that one in _Muck and Rage_ -- at least Moray acknowledged you have some talent." _Hell, Moray acknowledged there was a *stage*, with a *band* on it, something Mike Z. could hardly be bothered to do._ "Yeah," Trent mused. "I guess." * * * Chapter 6: Exchange... December 25th, 1999, dawned bright and early. In the flat's lounge area, the gang were lounging around the tree, looking a bit uncertain as to how to proceed, when Lorna dashed in. "Okay, people, I'm off to Marty's place. You know how to cook so I'll leave you to it. Let's say that lady of the house opens the first gift and since I'm out that means Lynn. Later." She made her exit, and the gang shared a look. "Is *everyone* you're related to like that?" Daria wondered. "I'm beginning to think so," Lynn replied. "I'm not going to stand on ceremony, though. We'll do the Secret Santa ones first." There followed something of a scramble as the gang looked for the presents they'd received from their several "Secret Santas." Finally, everyone had a box. "Okay, on the count of three. One...two...three!" And they all tore into their presents. "_Basquiat_!" Jane gushed. "Cool! I heard David Bowie made a *great* Warhol!" "Hey, you liked it," Jesse observed, articulate as ever. "Cool." "You do realize you're not going to be able to watch that on a US TV, don't you?" Lynn burst their bubble. "I don't know why, but the videos are different here. Music, thank God, is universal." "That sucks. -- Cool shirt." "Well, maybe now you'll shut up about the one Trent owes you," Nick replied. He looked at his own present. "What wise guy gave me _Learn to Play the Bass in a Week_?" Max chuckled. "Couldn't resist, man. -- Cool! Bumper stickers for the Tank!" "Well, I couldn't think of anything else," A.P. confessed. "Um... who the hell are the Chickasaw Mud Puppies?" "A damn fine alternative band. -- Geek," Trent added under his breath. Aloud, he then said, "Hey, whoa! Nirvana box set!" "For the grunge musician who has everything," Lynn explained. "Um..._On the Road_ by Kerouac. A nice thought." "Um," Daria faltered, "I thought you'd like Kerouac." "No, *you're* the Kerouac fan," a mildly annoyed Lynn reminded her near-twin. "I'm more comfortable with Nabokov. Anyway, what'd you get?" "Sorry. I kept the receipt. -- A portrait of me. Nude. Well, *I'm* clueless as to who my Secret Santa is..." Jane gave a semi-evil grin. "Can I have a look-see?" A.P. wondered. "*No!*" Daria instinctively brought the picture to her chest to hide it. "You're no fun." "Yeah," Jane agreed, "no fun at all." _Oh, you're no fun anymore,_ Lynn thought. "Why are you all so concerned with *my* present when some of you have presents of your *own* to open?" The eyes of the others lit up like the tree and they scrambled for their presents. "Curse you for finding my weakness, woman!" Jane mock-snapped while looking. "Hey, Purple Peril, a little one from your mom!" A.P. tossed a box at Lynn, who caught it easily. "Great. This will be the smiley-face charm bracelet I had on my Christmas list." She ripped open the paper, opened the small box... and went very still. "So?" Daria clamored. "What is it?" "Your mom's severed ear, Van Gogh style?" Jane theorized. Lynn was still stunned, but she managed to reply. "It's the keys to the Merc. And the ownership papers. In my name. And a note that says, `You drive it more than I do, you love it more than I do, so it belongs to you. Merry Christmas. Love, Mom.'" Daria was almost as flabbergasted as her look-alike. "She gave you the Mercedes?" In a trembling voice: "I thought that...at graduation...maybe. But...Excuse me." She made a hasty exit. "She's not...gonna...cry, is she?" "Maybe..." A.P. waffled. * * * Out on the balcony, Lynn was standing at the railing, glasses in hand. Her other hand was pressed over her eyes. A figure stepped up, and a hand on the end of a green-clad arm touches her shoulder. "You okay?" Lynn hurriedly tried to wipe her eyes, put her glasses back on and turned to face Daria. "Yeah." She choked back another sniff. "Yeah, fine. Just...surprised, maybe. Hard to believe, after everything ...you know...she really knows me. She really cares." Daria nodded. "Yeah, I know. I guess I'd feel the same." "You *would,* wouldn't you?" Lynn snapped bitterly. Daria was a little taken aback, but decided to let that slide -- Lynn'd been through a fair amount in a short time. The uncomfortable silence lasted a few more moments before Daria decided it could use breaking. "Um...cold out here." "Yeah. A little." "Then why..." "'Cause I..." Lynn choked a moment, but went on. "...I *don't* want to freaking *cry* in front of everyone, okay?" She turned away. A second later, she angrily removed her glasses. Daria was mortified now, but Lynn went on, bitterly. "*You'd* never cry in front of anyone..." Shocked, Daria put her hand back on Lynn's shoulder, but Lynn violently shrugged it away. "I'll be fine in a minute. Just leave it, okay?" Daria hesitated a moment longer, then went back inside, leaving Lynn to it. The others all turned to look at her as she walked back in, leaving her acutely embarrassed. "She okay?" Jane asked. Daria hesitated -- everyone was still looking at her, and she was getting a little panicked, wondering how much she should say. A.P. caught her eye and shook his head, and she sighed. "She's fine. Just a little overwhelmed. The Mercedes means a lot to her." "Yeah. I saw that," Trent allowed as. "Cool," Jesse agreed. "Maybe now she'll stop making fun of me about how much I love the Tank," Max half-snapped. "Maybe," Daria thoughtfully replied. Jane shot Daria a skeptical look. A.P. threw a parcel at Art- Smart Scarlet. She glared at him. He glared back, harder. Jane looked taken aback and moved to open the present. * * * Later, in the room they were sharing, Daria was sitting on the bed, looking as miserable as she felt, when Jane walked in. "Hey, Nick whipped us up some eggnog and..." She caught the look on Daria's face. "What's up?" "Jane...she was crying." "I thought so. Over what?" "Her mother knowing her...caring about her. -- But I think..." "What?" "I...Jane, I think she's...God, this sounds vain..." "She's jealous of you." Daria was truly surprised. "How did you know *that?*" "Found out the hard way. Listen." She sat down on the bed next to Daria. "She's been an original for as long as she can remember. Then she has to move to Lawndale and all of a sudden there's someone *just like* her already there. She can't help comparing you -- no one can. If she cried and you never do, she feels that's a strike against her." "*Against* her? If anything, that's a point *for* her. Yet *another* one," she added bitterly. "Sorry?" Daria sighed. "Never mind." She got up and headed for the door. "Let's go try this eggnog you were babbling about earlier." "But..." Daria turned to Jane with that closed-off look. Jane looked disappointed, but shrugged. "Sure." * * * Chapter 7: Party like It's 1999? "Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives and I decline" -- REM, "It's the End of the World as We Know It (and I Feel Fine)" Six days later (that's December 31st, 1999, for those of you reading this in Knuckledrag, Oklahoma), Mystik Spiral were setting up their musical gear in the flat's lounge area, while Daria, Jane and Lynn were setting up decorations. Lorna rushed in wearing an extremely slinky designer dress -- the kind Quinn would kill for. With it, though, she was wearing Doc Martens. "Right -- looks wonderful -- some of my friends' teenagers will be coming -- Lynn knows a fair number of them -- just keep them out of my room but fret not as I've locked it and they'll be too drunk to try forcing the lock -- I'll be home around the third -- happy Millennium!" She was out the door. "Okay," Lynn checked, "everyone get that?" Various mutters, summing up to _no_. "She likes the decorations. We're having guests. I might know them. Lorna's room is off limits. She'll be home in three days. All the best for the new Millennium." "So," Daria asked, "any plans to make the party a subversive cynic's dream, in that case?" "A.P.'s setting up anti-riot gear on the roof." "What *kind* of anti-riot gear?" Jane wondered. Just then, the Psycho-Maverick himself came in from on high. "Water balloons, paintball guns and my own special tomato tosser! We've got some nice overripe ones, too!" "Where did he get *that* idea?" Daria boggled. "I have *no* idea," Lynn felt a need to explain, like for some reason she *ought* to know. * * * Later, the party was in full swing. Daria barely heard the doorbell ring and wasn't entirely sure she hadn't imagined it, but she moved to get it anyway. On the other side, she found a short, sturdy young woman with long brown hair and glasses, who looked quite a lot like an older version of Lynn. "*Augh!* Not another one!" "Not another one *what?*" the new girl replied with a vaguely English accent. "Lynn, what *have* you been drinking? And why the fringe?" "I am *not* Lynn!" Lynn came up, smiling a little. "Hey, Jan!" "Christ, Lynn, who's this?" the new arrival boggled. "Does she ever resemble you!" "Thank you so *very* much for saying that. Jan, this is Daria. Daria, meet Jan." Jan thought a moment. "She's my third cousin twice removed. I think. Something about her grandmother's sister's granddaughter. It gets lost after a few generations." "*And* a few divorces." "Oh, yeah, how's Kate anyway?" "Please let's not bring my mother into this. I'm on vacation." The relatives smirked at that. Jane came walking up. "Oh, *God,* there's three of them!" "Shut up," Daria half-hissed. "So who is she?" "`She' has a name," came the reply. "Jan." "Jane. -- *God,* that sounds stupid." "I may not be able to stay long. I'm on call tonight." "Oh, why don't you ditch that stupid job?" Lynn dismissively suggested. "Because dole scams aren't as easy as _Trainspotting_ makes them look, okay? And a girl's got to eat." "What job?" Daria wondered. "I'd love to tell you...but then I'd have to kill you." "Hey, that's *my* line," Jane pouted. "Mine." "Glory hog." "Bitch." Jane looked a bit frightened. She turned to Daria, who had the same look of fear on her face. Obviously, she'd recognized how eerily the dialogue had emulated that weird dream they had back in the spring, where they were standing in Times Square talking to a camera. Lynn and Jan, who knew nothing of this, looked confused. "I didn't say that," Jane assured herself. "I didn't hear that," Daria chimed in. "That did *not* happen." "*What?*" Lynn puzzled. "I sensed a strange moment there..." Jan ominously noted, then blithely went on, "but it's gone now. I'm going to mingle. Later." She walked into the crowd and pretty much vanished. Daria, Jane and Lynn stared in the direction she'd gone. "That was weird," Daria philosophized. "Yeah," Lynn acknowledged. "Well, her family's weird. Born in Canada, moved to England at age 16. So she's not quite Canadian, but she's not exactly British either." "So you *could* say," Jane slowly began, "that she's a--" "Don't," Lynn interrupted. "It'd be too easy." "How did you know?" "*What* would?" Daria boggled. Lynn, confused, decided to answer both questions at once. "I have no idea. But just don't say it." They all silently agreed to file the whole incident under J for "Just let it lie." * * * The Millennium party passed as another blur of images. Jane grabbed Daria and A.P. by the arm and tried to drag them out to dance. Trent watched this miserably and downed a large shot of whiskey. Lynn watched in horror as some guy she didn't know pulled out a packet of something highly illegal and...let's just say, powdery. Jan took this scene in, walked up to the guy, grabbed his packet of Bolivian Marching Powder or whatever and threw it out the window. It then took both Lynn and Jan to restrain the guy from leaping out after it. Each holding an arm, they escorted him out. Jesse was struggling with a champagne bottle. Lynn was looking at him nervously. Eventually, the cork came out with such force that it bounced off the ceiling and hit the coffee table, smashing at least two pieces of glassware. Jesse looked at Lynn apologetically. Lynn heaved a sigh. A.P. whispered something in Daria's ear. Daria gave him one of her Mona Lisa smiles and followed him out. Trent, who had seen all this, grabbed a whiskey bottle and started drinking straight from the neck. Jane shoved Lynn and Max together in front of a sprig of mistle- toe left over from Christmas. Max grinned drunkenly, then went green, bent over and began the retching noises. Lynn gave a world-weary sigh; Jane looked appalled. Finally, the countdown began. Indoors, Trent had staggered away, still drinking from his whiskey bottle. Lynn, with concern on her face, watched him go. "Five!" everyone chorused. Out on the roof, A.P. handed Daria a water balloon. "Four..." he said mischievously. Inside, Lynn looked indecisively in the direction she'd seen Trent go, then sighed and moved to follow him. "Three!" On the roof, A.P. put an arm around Daria's shoulder. Daria blushed and flinched a little, but then relaxed rather quickly. "Two..." she said. Inside, Lynn stopped before a closed door and hesitated. "One!" On the roof, Daria and A.P. were looking at each other. They could hear the party heating up downstairs. "HAPPY NEW MILLENNIUM!" came the chorus from below. "Happy New Millennium, Daria." "It's not really the new millennium yet." "Hey, it's a cool number. That's good enough for me. So...um..." "People...generally...kiss to celebrate the new year, don't they?" "Only if they feel like it." "Oh...what the hell." She leaned forward and up, and they shared a gentle kiss. "Um...I never got to ask...am I..." "Whoa. With lips like that, any kissing booth in the country would make a mint, Daria." Daria blushed with pleasure, at the same time squirming a little under the praise. A.P. sensed her discomfort and disengaged himself. "And now...let's make a little mess!" He grabbed a paintball gun, took aim off the roof, and fired a downward shot. A man's voice called up from street below. "HEY! I'LL REARRANGE YOUR FACE FOR YOU, YOU LITTLE PUNK!" Daria hefted her balloon, testing the weight, then hove it off the roof. There was a brief pause, then a distant splash. "I'M GONNA CALL THE PIGS, YOU GEN-X CRETINS!" "LIKE THEY HAVEN'T GOT BETTER THINGS TO DO!" A.P. then dropped a tomato off the roof. There was another brief pause and distant splat. Running footsteps could be heard quite clearly. "I've always wanted to do that to someone," Daria confessed. "We're gonna do that to *everyone* who gets within five feet of this building." He kissed Daria on the cheek. She blushed, and he hurriedly pulled away. "It's okay. I...kind of liked that." They shared a sweet little smile. Then Daria grabbed a paintball gun, A.P. grabbed his tomato launcher, and they both started firing off the roof. It was a toss-up which was louder, the sounds of the party indoors or the enraged shouting from the street. * * * Lynn reached a decision and banged on the door. "Um...Trent? You okay?" Trent stuck his head out the door. "Daria?" "No, I--mmf!" Trent kissed her. After a brief second, she began kissing back. He pulled her into the room, and the door slammed shut behind them. * * * Chapter 8: Save It 'til The Morning After "You saw me standin' by the wall, corner of a main street And the lights were flashin' on your windowsill All alone ain't much fun so you're lookin' for the thrill And you know just what it takes and where to go" -- Duran Duran, "Save a Prayer" (Rio) "Life has a funny waaay Of sneaking up on ya when ya think everything's okay" -- Alanis Morrisette, "Ironic" (Jagged Little Pill) The next morning, on the roof, Daria and A.P. were curled up on separate deckchairs, under several blankets. Apart from a few kisses and a fair number of balloonings, paintings and 'materings, nothing had happened. The flat's lounge area was, not to put too fine a point on it, a mess. Nick was sprawled out on one couch, Max on another. A woman whose name nobody was awake enough to remember, wearing a bra, a near- nothing miniskirt, and nothing else was sprawled on the floor. Some equally forgotten guy, wearing boxers and the remnants of a lampshade on his head, was curled up in an easy chair. Lynn drowsed with a suspiciously satisfied little smile on her face. _So *that's* what all the fuss is about,_ she thought dreamily. The smile faded as she began to stir. Then her eyes opened on a bedroom not her own. She was confused for a second, then ZAP! total recall, and her eyes widened in horror. "Oh..." she breathed. She sat up a little, gripping the sheet around her, and looked over to see a sleeping Trent in bed beside her. "...crap." _We did, didn't we?_ And there was something else, too, but she didn't want to think about that. She leaned over the side of the bed to get her jacket, but it was just out of her reach. She looked at Trent, then threw a quilt -- the kind they call a duvet in England -- over him, yanked the sheet off the bed and wrapped herself in it. Then she rapidly collected her glasses and clothes, leaving behind a single sock, and went out the door. In the corridor, she slammed the door shut behind her and tried to move away, but was tugged back. She looked down -- sure enough, a corner of the sheet had gotten trapped in the door. "*Lynn?*" Lynn turned toward the source of the voice. Jane had popped up from behind a sofa. Lynn went as white as the sheet for a moment, staring at Jane with horrified and pleading eyes. Jane gave her a look that clearly said _Okay, I'll shut up now._ Rather than acknowledging it by any means so crude as language, Lynn opened Trent's door a crack, yanked the sheet out, slammed it again, crossed the hall to her own room, went in and slammed *that* door. Trent opened his eyes and grinned, sitting up, covered by the quilt. Then he noticed a purple sock lying on the floor. He seemed to remember Janey saying something. _Oh, Daria *never* wears purple. That's strictly a Lynn thing..._ His eyes widened -- ironically, much as Lynn's had when *she* realized. "Oh, crap. Not again..." Moments later, he came storming out of his room in T-shirt and boxers, trying to pull his jeans on as he went. Janey, peering over the back of the sofa, laughed at him. "I swear, Janey..." he rasped. "You'd *better* not. -- And you'd better not try to talk to her either." He was just about to knock on Lynn's door. "Why?" The door opened, and a flying bedsheet hit him in the face. The door slammed shut, and even half-asleep, he knew the sound of a turning lock when he heard it. "Oh." * * * Chapter 9: Home Again A row of three seats on a plane in flight. Nick was sitting by the window, fast asleep with headphones on. Jane was in the middle, looking with some concern at Lynn, who was sitting hunched down in her seat with her nose buried in her new copy of Stephen King's _Bag of Bones_. "So," she began an attempt at conversation, "school starts again soon." Lynn didn't even look up. "Mmm." "No more Ms. Li to torture." "Mmm." "So, any plans for the permanent annihilation of the *next* principal?" "Mmm." Jane got snide at this point. "I'm going out for a walk on the wing. Want to join me?" Lynn raised an eyebrow. "I heard *that,* funny girl." Jane paused a moment for thought. "...You have no desire to talk." "Mmm." "And I should respect that?" "Mmm." Jane sighed. "Got a book?" Lynn reached into the flap in the seat back and pulled out the copy of _Trainspotting_. She handed it to Jane without looking up from her Big Steve book. Jane sighed and opened Irvine Welsh's magnum dopus. * * * In another row, Jesse sat by the window -- like Nick, he was fast asleep. Daria sat in the middle with her hands clenched tightly on the armrests. A.P. was sitting on the aisle, looking at her with a slightly worried expression. The plane hit a pocket of turbulence, jostling in a not- inconsiderable way, and Daria cringed. A.P. immediately put a hand over hers, then realized what he's done and watched for her reaction. She blushed a little, but took his hand, giving him a Mona Lisa smile of thanks. The plane leveled out, but they didn't let go of each other's hands. From the middle of the plane, Trent watched them with a mix of pain, anger and unhappiness. Then he looked at Lynn, who had looked up briefly to see Daria and A.P. across the aisle. She winced at the sight of a happy couple and turned away, her eyes meeting Trent's and seeing his juxtaposed emotions on his face. She immediately went back to her book, her face a little pale. Trent's expression lost the element of anger and he took a deep breath, got out of his seat and sidled over to Lynn. She didn't look at him, but he took another breath and tried anyway, hesitantly. "Um...I wanted to ask...The other night...I don't... I mean, I *remember*...I mean, sort of...I just wanted to..." Lynn still didn't look up, but she cocked an eyebrow. He took a breath. "What... exactly...happened?" *Now* Lynn looked up, staring at Trent in that go-to-hell way she and Daria had both mastered to hide pain and embarrassment. In tones as cold as the thirty-thousand-foot air outside the cabin, she informed him, "You called me *Daria.*" His eyes widened in horror. There were things he could have recovered from this year, this decade, this lifetime, this century -- and then there was something like that, something he'd *never* live down. Jane's head snapped up, and anyone watching her would have seen her reaction cross her face -- first shock, then anger at her brother, then general sympathy for both participants in this whole tryst. Lynn maintained that go-to-hell stare a moment longer, then went back to her book. Trent's shoulders slumped, and he wandered toward the back of the plane. Jane looked at Lynn, then at the book, then closed it. _Once more into the breach..._ "Hey, Lynn?" The Purple Peril looked up, irritated. "What?" "Um...any thoughts as to how I can keep this underage partying stuff going back home? I got used to all that clubbing stuff." Lynn looked at her suspiciously. Jane met her eyes with a look that clearly said, _Better than being alone with your *own* thoughts right now..._ And as the plane flew off into the sunset, Lynn sighed and put her book down. "Well, the first thing that's essential is a *really* good fake ID. I know McGrundy's says they've seen them all, but how do they know if they've been fooled? I mean..." END ADAPTOR'S NOTES I nominally began work on this February 13, 2000 (which should give you folks some idea how far head I'd been working up to then), and finished it (after a long creative block) on February 21. This was by far the hardest of the Look-Alike Series to adapt, which is fitting, since CB tells me it was the second-hardest for her to write (exceeded only by "Love Him or Leave Him" among the published LAS fics, though when she was working on "Quinn-tessence," she thought it would kill her a time or two). "It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression `as pretty as an airport'." Thus Douglas Adams begins his 1988 Dirk Gently novel _The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul_. "Eyeball dexterity" is from Don Fields' "The Sound of One Band Sucking," a rewrite of Danny Bronstein's "One Band Town." With any luck, my own OBT rewrite, "One Band Town v.1.3.0: One Band or Another," will be in print before Peter Guerin finishes his "One Band Town 2: Blake's Revenge" (which I for one am raring to see). The Nine-Headed Horse is a parodically apocalyptic image from the writings of Robert Benchley (1889-1945), the Dave Barry of the Jazz Age. Calling Lorna a cross between Aunt Rita and Aunt Amy was my idea, but Jan agrees with it. 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. Song lyrics quoted as epigraphs are copyright a bunch of folks. They are here used, without the permission of their creators or owners, in the not-for-profit context of fan-fiction. The characters of Lynn Cullen and A.P. McIntyre are copyright 1999, 2000 Janet "Canadibrit" Neilson, as is this storyline, which was adapted by Austin Loomis (to whom the prose format version is copyright 2000) with permission. All other characters, locations and incidents (of which I don't think there are any, actually) are either imaginary or used fictitiously. Any coincidence of names is regretted, and any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or wandering the night in ghostly torment is either purely satirical or not my fault. As a "substantially transformative" derivative work, this story is protected by the Supreme Court's decision in re Campbell v. Acuff Rose Music. It may be freely redistributed as long as this copyright notice is maintained intact, but may not be in any way redistributed for profit without the permission of the legal owners of all concepts involved. The present author hereby gives permission for any and all keepers of Daria fanfic pages to archive this work (as if I could stop them). Any publication of this story for profit without the express written permission of Austin Loomis, Janet Neilson and MTV Networks (like any of that'll happen, especially the last) is strictly prohibited, and violators, if I ever decide to track them down, will be strung up by the thumbs, beaten about the head and shoulders with a free-range carrot, and then handed over to corporate lawyers who will do terrible things to them. On purpose. Austin, and good day.