Author's Note: Daria Morgendorffer and her fellow characters from Daria are owned by MTV/Viacom. The same is true of Beavis and any other characters from Beavis and Butt-Head. Any other characters in this story are the property of Doggieboy. This is fan fiction and no money or other items of value have been exchanged for this story.

The town of Highland only had one street, but it was wide enough to allow Conestoga wagons to drive through it four abreast. Not that very many eve did, however. Before the War, Highland was considered a backwater that the railroad neglected. Now it was just considered desolate.

There was a saloon/restaurant, a stagecoach station (which was rarely used), a church and a boarding house. A few houses were spread about, close enough to the town for defense, but far enough apart for privacy.

One man walked up the center of the street from the eastern side of town. The brim of his dirty hat shielded his eyes. He had short cut blond hair, a ragged mustache on his upper lip and a face scarred by acne. His shirt had the sleeves torn off and his pants were dusty and badly worn. He kept his right hand near the butt of a six-shooter, which waited in a holster. The holster itself was tied down to his thigh.

Two other men walked down the center of the street from the west. One of them had no hair visible around his hat, but had a poor imitation of a goatee on his face. His glare gave his face a cruel look. The other man was heavy and had long brown hair. Like the man coming from the east, his sleeves were torn off. Of the three, he had flies circling around him. These two men also had dusty, worn pants and their holsters were tied down to their right thighs. For a moment it looked as if they were headed for a showdown with the man coming from the east.

The three met in front of the saloon/restaurant and looked at each other grimly. They drew their firearms, nodded and rushed into the saloon.

Loud gunfire filled the air as a younger man, a blond-haired fellow still in his teens leaped at the saloon's plate glass window, a piece of fried chicken in one hand and a smoking revolver in the other. He hit the window, a look of pain on his face and slid down the glass to the floor.

Suddenly, the scene froze, the words "The Jackass" appeared in yellow cursive writing, then faded away.

A few seconds later, he ran out of the saloon through the batwing doors. "Heh, heh, heh, that was cool," he said. "Heh, heh." He jumped onto a nearby horse, then had to get back off and untie it from the post where it had been tied. He got back on the horse and rode off to the east.

The first man came out of the saloon, his left hand on a bloody right arm as he tried to aim at the fleeing teenager. He fired the pistol, the bullet hit a nearby water trough and the man fell back into the saloon where the other two gunmen laid dead.

**********

The house has a mule-powered well, she thought and sighed. That means no running water inside. Just great. Where's the...the...outhouse? She shuddered at the thought and suppressed a groan.

The dry Texas heat had already irritated her and she had to use much more moisturizer than she cared to admit.

Such irritations made it easier for her to do her job, however.

She rode a perfectly groomed white horse. Her outfit matched perfectly, a light blue blouse and brand new blue jeans, which fit her slender form very well. Her pistol, a pink-tinted pearl handled revolver, fit into a brand-new personalized leather holster.

A parasol attached to the saddle kept her from having to wear her hat. Having her hair mashed down by a hat band just wouldn't do. She had standards and an image to maintain.

Her brown hair was expertly styled, mainly because she had a private stylist brought in from the East. The stylist took great care to give her the latest styles. Her lips were a deep red color (due to expensive lipstick) and her nails were neatly manicured.

Before she had left on her job, she had been given a whole body massage as well.

A boy riding the mule stopped when he saw her approach; he hopped off the mule and ran for the white adobe house.

She arrived almost five minutes later and stopped the horse. After waiting for three more minutes for someone to help her off her horse (Hello-oooo!), the rider dismounted in a foul mood. "There's no gentlemen anymore!" she muttered as she walked smartly for the open front door of the house.

The family had just started dinner. Beans. Ugh. Why is it always beans? She stood at the doorway in a pose, her left hand on her hip and her gaze slightly above the occupants' heads.

The man of the house looked at her with a mixture of fear and attraction. They always do, she thought with a slight smile and thrust her chest outward.

The man's wife had just seated the boy who had been on the mule. When she looked at the visitor in the doorway, her look was one of dread and jealousy. It always is. Hello-oooo! Have you ever heard of wearing any other clothes than those...earth tones? Ugh.

The wife touched her son's right shoulder firmly and led him out of the dining room.

Finally, the visitor thought and walked into the house. The temperature dropped at least 20 degrees and she sighed in contentment. For that reason alone, she decided to make it quick. After all, she did appreciate the small pleasures of life. Despite what Qu-inn says about me.

She sat at the opposite end of the table from the man and looked at the pitcher of water in disdain. "Don't you have a bottled water, with just a touch of fruit flavor?" she asked, her words heavy in condescension.

"I don't buy...fancy drinks," he said fearfully. "I'm only a simple, poor farmer, who wishes to be left alone with his family." His tone sounded like a plead. He then sighed. "You're...you're from Sloane, aren't you?"

She said nothing, but wrinkled her nose at the beans, cornbread, chopped onions and peppers that sat atop the table. A fly landed on the cornbread and she shuddered as the disgust flowed through her.

"You can tell Sloane to leave me alone!" he said quickly. "I don't know anything else. There is no use for him to torment me like this!"

"The word is that you've had, like, a visitor and Sloane knows it."

The man froze and paled as she spoke and just stared at her.

"Well," she said, a smirk on her face, "either Sloane is wrong, or you've had a visitor. One who's changed his name."

"How do you know he's changed his name?" the farmer asked.

"I would have found him by now," she said as if the fact were obvious to everyone. "When I set out to find a man, I find him!"

The farmer seemed to deflate as she spoke. He looked down at the table in defeat and said, "He's now called...Charles Ruttheimer. That's all I know. I know nothing else! I have no idea what happened to that box of gold! Tell Sloane that!"

She stared at him intently. What box of gold? Sloane didn't tell me about that.

Fear sweat broke out on the man's forehead and the armpits of his white shirt were wet with it as well.

"How much?" he asked, his voice desperate. "How much did Sloane pay you to murder me?"

The visitor gave him a small smile and said, "Five hundred dollars."

He stood up and limped to a nearby dresser. He opened a drawer and pulled out a small bag. He then limped over to her and sat the bag on the table in front of her.

She opened it up and poured out a handful of $20 gold pieces. "A thousand dollars," she said and nodded. "A neat sum. The pity is, once I'm paid, I always see the job through."

Realization dawned on the farmer and he yanked his pistol out of its holster.

She, however, already had drawn her weapon and fired it through the table. The bullet hit the man and he fell to the floor. His body laid still, the pistol still in his right hand.

Slowly, without concern, she stood up, holstered her weapon and picked up the money bag. As she put the coins back in the cloth bag, a sound from just behind her right side caught her attention. She drew her pistol, cocked it and swiveled on her hips to accentuate her...feminine curves...and fired.

The teen she had just shot fell dead at the foot of the small staircase. She picked up the rest of the gold coins, turned and walked back towards the door. She briefly stopped at the boy's body and shook her head. "A waste," she said and shook her head. "You're so handsome. Oh, well, you probably wouldn't have taken a girl to an expensive restaurant like she deserved. Plus, you'd turn out as unfashionable as your...father." She left the house; her hips swayed as she walked.

The farmer's wife reached the dining room a few seconds later. The sight of her dead husband and son were more than she could take. The last thing she saw before she fainted was her younger son as he stood in the doorway.

**********

It was sometime after dusk when the killer walked into a darkened bedroom. She calmly lit a lantern and raised the wick to brighten the room. That revealed a man asleep in a large, metal-framed bed.

He awoke with a start and briefly looked at his visitor in terror. When he recognized her, he only relaxed slightly. Angier Sloane wouldn't admit it, but the killer made him very nervous. But she was thorough and efficient and thus worth her price. "How did it go?" he asked nervously. "Did he tell you?"

"Yes," she said and smiled. "He's hiding under the name Charles Ruttheimer. That's all the farmer knew."

Sloane smiled and rubbed his hands together in glee. He pulled a bag of gold coins out from under a pillow and said, "Here's a bonus for taking care of that for me. And that farmer..."

"You don't have to worry about him," she said and smirked. "He won't talk to anyone else."

"Good, good," Sloane said. "I thank you for a job well done."

"Oh, there's something else," she said, as if she just remembered. "He gave me a thousand dollars. I think he wanted me to kill you."

Sloane laughed and slapped the bed as he laughed.

She took hold of an extra pillow and moved it over his head. "Once I'm paid, though, I always see the job through. You know that."

A look of horror crossed Sloane's features. "NO! Angel-lips! Don't!"

She pushed the pillow over his face, drew her pistol and yelled, "I hate that name!" Then she fired into the pillow four times.

His body stopped moving; the pillow laid still on his head. Smoke rose from the smoldering pillow ticking and duck feathers.

Sandi Griffin threw her hair back and chuckled as she watched the smoke raise from the pillow.

Suddenly the scene froze and the words "The Fashionista" appeared in yellow cursive writing. Then the words faded away and the scene unfroze.

She finished laughing and blew out the lantern.

**********

Beavis rode his horse hard across the barren countryside. It seemed as if he couldn't relax no matter where he went. Since he had become a wanted man, everyone everywhere tried to collect on it. The last time he looked, he was worth $700, dead or alive.

Suddenly, a shot rang out and his horse stopped and threw him off. Unceremoniously, he landed on his rear end right on a cactus.

"YEEEOWWWW!" he yelled as he jumped to his feet and danced around. As he danced for several minutes, he pulled one cactus prick after another out of his butt.

"Dammit, you fartknocker!" he yelled at his horse, who walked around slowly and looked warily at him. "I'll kick your ass for that."

The horse snorted and sniffed some patch of scrub.

Beavis had dropped his pistol when the horse threw him off. As he stooped to pick it up, the sound of several weapons being cocked stopped him.

"Oh, no, you don't!" one teen said, his pistol aimed at him.

Beavis looked around and saw three teen boys spaced around him in a semi-circle. One had red hair, the second was a tow-headed fellow and the third had very dark hair. All three held cocked pistols on him.

The dark-haired teen held up a reward poster that read WANTED: BEAVIS REWARD $1,000. The center of the poster had his picture on it. "You have a face worth $1,000, my friend."

"Yeah," the blond said. "Now we'll all be able to take Quinn to that fancy new French restaurant they built in Lawndale."

"That's right," the red-head said. "I can't wait to collect that reward and tell Quinn."

"That's not going to happen," a female voice said in a monotone from behind them.

Beavis and the three gunmen all turned to see a short girl with auburn hair, who wore a dark green jacket, an orange shirt and black pants. She also wore glasses with round lenses and she looked bored as she stood there with a pistol in her right hand.

"Of course, the three of you deserve Quinn, and she deserves you, but she won't let all three of you take her to that restaurant." She smiled slightly and continued, "Only one of you can win her, but if all three of you get that money...who knows? She might choose someone else. Unless one of you can beat the other two in some kind of...contest."

The three gunmen looked at each other warily and their gun hands wavered. Beavis looked totally confused by the whole situation.

Suddenly, the three fired on each other in unison. Then all three fell to the ground dead.

Daria Morgendorffer rolled her eyes and the scene froze. The words "The Cynic" appeared in yellow cursive writing, then faded.

She strolled up to Beavis, who smiled and nodded at her. "Heh, heh, that was cool. Uh, thanks, I think." He grabbed the butt of his pistol and she stepped on it and his hand with a dark black boot.

"How much do you think you're worth now?" she asked as she held him down with her foot.

**********

Beavis spat gag out of his mouth and groaned. He was tied up and laid over on the saddle on his own horse. Daria rode a horse ahead of him; she held a rope attached to his horse.

"Dammit, you assmunch!" he yelled. "Let me go! You have the wrong man! Let me go!"

Daria ignored his protests as she led him towards a nearby town.

"I'll get you for this! I'll shoot you if you don't let me go! Let me go or I'll grab your thingies!"

"You can't even grab yourself right now," she finally said. "But don't worry, you should have...oh, an hour or two after I turn you in to...get in touch with yourself...before they hang you."

They arrived in the town ten minutes later. Daria stopped outside the sheriff's office and pulled Beavis off the horse. He fell to the ground and said, "I need water." She scooped out water from a nearby horse trough and helped him drink it, but he spit it in her face and laughed.

Daria shook her head and quickly kicked him between his legs. Beavis groaned and fell over on his left side. She walked into the building as he laid there and whimpered.

A minute later, she stepped back out with an older, heavyset man who had a star-shaped badge pinned on his chest. He shook and his eyes bulged as he looked at Beavis and said, "Uhhhh uhhhhh. That's the man." He counted off several 20 and 50 dollar bills in Daria's hand until she had $1,000.

"I'm innocent!" Beavis yelled out. "Let me go! She kidnapped me and lied about me! She abused me! Help!"

The sheriff held a poster in front of his face and said, "Uhhhh, so that isn't you, huh? Looks just like you to me."

"What do you mean, you dillhole? You can't read!" He still protested as two deputies grabbed him and drug him into the jail.

Daria looked at the sheriff and said, "You look really stressed out. Maybe you should take a more relaxing job."

The sheriff's hand shook as he lit a cigar. "Uhhhh, uhhhh. This is a better job than my last one."

"Oh?" she asked. "What was that?"

"I was a high school principal. Uhhhh, those damned hooligans nearly gave me a heart attack."

Daria shook her head as she mounted her horse and rode off.

**********

Beavis sat on the horse, bored out of his skull as the sheriff read off the litany of charges he was accused and convicted of.

"...wanted in seven counties of this state, the condemned has been found guilty of the crimes of murder, armed robbery, selling alcoholic spirits to Indians, jumping onto moving trains to rob the passengers, making obscene gestures towards married women, cheating in card games, stealing candy from little children and spitting on boardwalks in front of decent women and contrary to the laws of this state, the condemned is guilty of exposing his body and performing indecent acts in front of decent peoples of all races.

"Therefore, according to the powers vested in us by the state of Texas, we sentence the condemned here in front of us, Beavis, last name unknown, also known as 'The Great Cornholio'..."

Just outside of the town, Daria lay on a hilltop, a rifle braced in a tree fork. She listened to the charges being read. She heard Beavis's name being mentioned and muttered, "And also known as 'The Jackass'." She shouldered the rifle stock, sighted in Beavis and waited.

"...may God have mercy on his poor, misbegotten, miserable hide of a soul. Proceed."

As the deputy prepared to slap the horse's rump with his hat, Daria fired the rifle. The rope attached to Beavis's neck snapped and the horse ran with the teen on its back. As the townspeople stood still in shock, Daria fired again and shot the sheriff's hat off of his head. One man turned to run and she shot him in the buttocks. "Bullseye!" she said as the townspeople ran off in all directions.

She stood up and waited as Beavis rode the horse out of town, his hands still bound behind his back.

**********

"How much do you think you're worth now?" Daria asked as she counted out the money.

"It's $2,000 now! Heh, heh! That's cool." The blond teen rubbed his hands together. "Hurry up and give me my money, dammit!"

Daria peeled off eight fifty-dollar bills and said, "Four hundred for you...and six hundred for me."

"Wait a minute!" Beavis protested. "My neck is the one in the noose! I should get the $600 and you get the $400!"

"Really?" Daria asked and pointed at the pack mule. "Look at what I got in town."

Beavis looked and saw a 10-gallon barrel of root beer tied on the mule's back. His eyes widened and he ran to the mule, grabbed the barrel and hugged it. "Ahhh! Root beer! Mine! Mine! All mine!"

Quickly, he pulled out the plug, leveled the hole to his mouth and poured the beverage into his mouth.

After a couple of minutes, Daria tossed a paper bag at him and said, "Try these."

Beavis laid the barrel aside. He shook his head several times and muttered quickly as he grabbed the bag and tore it open. "Candy!" He crammed several pieces in his mouth and ate fast, then drank more root beer. As he ate and drank, he shook even more.

Daria climbed onto her horse as she watched him and waited. "Any second now..."

When Beavis tried to speak, his words came out in a gibberish.

"Three...two...one," Daria said and pushed her hat up slightly on her forehead.

Suddenly, Beavis yanked his shirt up on top of his head and held up his hands in an imitation of a person being held up...or a cactus. With Beavis, it was kind of hard to tell. "I am the Great Cornholio!" he said, his voice showing a faux-Mexican accent. "I need T.P. for my bunghole!"

Daria smiled slightly and said, "Works every time." She climbed off the horse, plugged back up the barrel and tied it back onto the pack mule. Beavis walked around, his arms up in the air and his voice chittering in the nonsense he usually muttered while on a massive sugar high. She saw that all the candy was gone and sighed. Need to buy a wagon full of the sweets next time, she thought. Probably be cheaper.

"I come from Lake Titicaca...in Nicaragua!" he announced to Daria. "You have T.P. for my bunghole?"

"Come on, Cornholio," she said as she climbed back on her saddle. "Let's go to the next town."

"Are you threatening me?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Let's get a move on, Cornholio. There's T.P. for your bunghole in the next town."

"Ahhhh! O.K."

She rode slowly as he walked around haphazardly, but still followed her.

**********

Beavis was still in a sugar high as he sat on the horse in the next town, a noose around his neck. His shirt was still partly over his head, but his hands were bound behind his back. As the sheriff read his charges off, he yelled out, "You will all bow down to the mightly bunghole! Bungholio-o-o-o-o-o!"

Outside the town, Daria shook her head and muttered, "I need to get wax to pack in my ears or I'm going to hear this for days." She aimed the rifle at Beavis and waited.

**********

Sandi Griffin stood outside the saloon; her right hand rested on the butt of her pistol. If her reputation as a gunslinger didn't keep away the amorous drunk, then she was prepared to take a more...direct approach.

She didn't mind being looked at. After all, that was part of the reward of being so...beautiful and fashionable. The townswomen tried to avoid looking at her. She knew that they had no hope of looking as good or fashionable as she did and she could only pity them.

The men, however, always looked at her with the same mixture of fear and attraction. Except for the occasional idiot who called her out for a gunfight, the men fell all over themselves to help her, and ogle her, too.

Those who touched her, however, found out just what she was capable of.

Suddenly a man with no legs came by on a child's wagon being pulled by a husky. The dog was fitted out much like a wagon horse or oxen was and the man pulled the dog to a stop near her.

"Ah, Shorty," Sandi said, a smile on her face. "Find out anything?"

"I found out that booksellers aren't like libraries!" the man said.

What the hell is he talking about now? she thought and frowned. "Like, what?"

"A unit of Rebs had a cashbox for their payroll and the Yankees ambushed them. Only three got away. One of them became Charles Ruttheimer. But they didn't have the gold coins on them and neither did the blue bellies. The Reb Army holds a hearing and Ruttheimer's acquitted. Then he disappears."

"I know that," she said, impatience in her voice.

The man looked at Sandi's rear end as he answered, "You don't know what you're looking at - I mean, for - and I am - I mean, do. When Ruttheimer's found, I'd love to be in your pants - I mean, I'd hate to be in his shoes."

Sandi closed her eyes and shook her head. You can't be in anyone's shoes, she thought. "Where is this Ruttheimer, Shorty?" she asked.

"All I know is that he re-enlisted and he lost something...personal."

"Personal? What do you mean?"

The legless man winced and whispered, "He's halfway gelded, if you know what I mean."

Sandi winced and said, "Ugh. Don't tell me anymore. That's so gross. Where is he?"

"He's living with a girl called Stacy, who can tell you. She's a saloon girl out in the territory."

Now we're getting somewhere, Sandi thought. "Where is she?" she asked.

Shorty scratched his chin as he looked over the gunslinger's chest and legs. "Let's see...there's a valley and a couple of hills on the way..."

Sandi sighed and tossed a quarter-eagle down in Shorty's right hand.

"She lives in Lawndale."

The gunslinger smiled and said, "Thank you, Shorty. Don't, like, buy any plaids." She walked off.

The man made a sound at his dog who suddenly took off at a run. "Whoa, mule! I said, Whoa! Come on, mule, whoa....Please?"

**********

Beavis was still chittering from his sugar high as he was being hung for the third time. The assorted charges were read as most of the townspeople stood around to watch.

At the stagecoach station, one woman started to climb into the coach and shook her head as she said, "I hope he takes a long time to die, such a horrible man!"

Sandi Griffin stood nearby and smiled slightly. Beavis being hung...again. Nice job...for an idiot. She said aloud, "Like, people with ropes around their necks don't always hang, you know."

The woman looked at her and asked, "What do you mean?"

Sandi pointed at Beavis and said, "Even a filthy, unfashionable pig like that has, like, a guardian angel. A sarcastic, unfashionable, auburn-haired angel watches over him."

They climbed into the stagecoach.

"...may the Lord have mercy on this dumb fool's soul. Proceed."

The deputy slapped the horse's rump as Daria fired the rifle. Instead of hitting the rope, the bullet nicked Beavis on his rump.

"YEEEEOOOOOWWWW!" he screamed as he jumped off the horse and broke off the branch the rope was tied to. He landed hard on the ground, got to his feet and ran.

"Ooops," Daria said and laid down covering fire as Beavis ran out of town towards her.

**********

Beavis stood there, his arms still tied as Daria sat upon her horse.

"You fartknocker! How could you miss like that? You shot me in the ass!"

"Hey, I missed. It happens."

"When I'm at the end of the rope, you don't miss!" he yelled. "My ass is on fire!"

Daria stroked her chin and said, "You know, maybe this is a good time."

"A good time for what? Untie me!"

She pointed at him and said, "I don't think you're ever going to be worth more than $3,000."

Beavis looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean our partnership is over...finished...no more."

"But my hands are still tied."

Daria smiled and said, "You can keep the ropes and I'll keep the $3,000. That's pretty fair."

"How's that fair?"

"Have you seen how much these people charge for rope?" She turned to ride off. "See you, Beavis."

"You dirty double-crosser! I'll get you for this! When I get you, I'll shoot you in the ass and feel your thingies! You hear me?"

Daria smiled at him and said, "The next town is only 45 miles away. A good, strong young man like yourself should be able to make it in...three days."

"I hope you get the cholera, the plague and fleas! I'll sell you to the circus if I catch you!"

She shook her head. "I saved your life and this is the thanks I get." She rode off at a gallop.

"Come back here, dammit!"

(To be continued...)

**********

Author's Notes: This section comprises chapters one through four of The Cynic, The Fashionista and The Jackass, as it was originally posted on the various message boards.

It helps to keep in mind when I write a Daria western, historic reality doesn't mean much. They will have things that didn't exist yet in our 1862-era USA/CSA. No reason for this other than my preference.

From the PPMB, thanks go out to Wormbait, The Angst Guy, LSauchelli, DigiSim, Cypher, Dennis, vlademir1, JrGtr42, Derek, Richard Lobinske and Robin Sena.

From the SFMB, thanks to atimnie, and from the Icarus, thanks again to Robin Sena.