Come and listen to a story 'bout a man named Jake,
a poor mountaineer who barely kept his family straight.
Then one day he was shootin' at a squirrel,
and up from the ground came oil by the barrel.
(Black gold...Texas tea...)
Well, the first thing you know, ol' Jake's a billionaire.
His wife and two daughters said, "Move away from there!"
Said Maryland is the place they ought to travail,
So they loaded up the truck and they moved to Lawndale.
(High schools...Trent's guitar...)
The Lawndale Hillbillies!
*Awesome banjo solo*
Jake Morgan drove a home-made pickup truck. It started life some thirty or forty years ago as a station wagon. Jake came into possession of it roughly twenty years after that (it was a present marking the birth of his first-born child, Daria) and that night, some say, after consuming enough moonshine to kill a normal man, he took a chainsaw to the car and converted it into a pickup. (Of course, the legend was wrong -- Jake only had enough 'shine to blind a normal man. Which explains why, when he sobered up, he wondered how the firewood he thought he had cut up the night before had gotten un-cut).
That is the vehicle Jake used to drive his two girls, Daria and Quinn, to Lawndale High. He decided to offer up a few words of wisdom on this milestone. "Girls, me and your ma know it's tough livin' in the big city like this...'specially for you, Daria."
"'S tougher on some more'n others," Daria replied darkly.
Before enrolling them at Lawndale High, Jake had put them at Fielding. After all, he would spare no expense for his two little girls, especially now that he was an oil baron. That had lasted all of two hours, when Daria and Quinn had been expelled for 'unladylike behavior'. (Or, as Daria put it later, "Some cretin made a crack about Quinn's condition, so I broke his fuckin' arm.") The next day, he had taken them to Grove Hills. Jake hadn't even pulled out of the parking lot when Daria and Quinn walked out of the school and flagged him down. "Some dumbshit figgered he'd call me a moron and then put the moves on me," Daria explained. "I punched him in his fuckstick. Figger'd it'd be smarter to leave and not bother waitin' for the expulsion."
Thinking back on it, it pained Jake that his two girls would likely remain unladylike for the rest of their lives. He vaguely understood the importance of ladylike qualities (primarily, the impulse control that would prevent one from breaking a person's arm or genitalia upon the slightest provocation; secondarily, the use of language that wouldn't make a sailor blush).
Jake was unable to articulate these concerns, however.
"Now Daria, that ain't what I meant, and you know it. I know these cityfolk get on you and Quinn's nerves, but you gotta be patient with'em. You never know when you'll find one that's worth more'n a bucket of pi...spit. Why, jus' look at that Eric feller we got set up with. He sounds like a right good feller."
The lobotomized car pulled up to Lawndale High. Quinn planted a kiss on her father's cheek and managed to pull herself out of the car unassisted. Many of the students who had been milling around outside now stared at her in unison.
"Well?" Quinn said in agitation. "Ain't you ever seen a pregnant lady before?" She was well into her third trimester. She marched past them all, giving a death-glare to anybody who stared.
Daria made to leave. "You aren't gonna leave your paw without any sugar, are you?" he asked.
"Mn," Daria said, but she acquiesced and quickly pecked Jake's cheek as well.
"Can you promise you won't stir up much trouble?" he asked.
"I promise I won't do the stirrin'," Daria offered.
Jake nodded. "And promise you won't go messin' with any boys, like you did those two idjits back home."
"I promise," Daria sighed, now embarrassed. "Not like they had more 'tween their legs than they had 'tween their ears," she muttered.
Jake pretended he didn't hear that. "Okay, Daria. Now you go get some learnin' done, you hear?"
"Yes, paw," and Daria exited the car.
Eric Schrecter was pacing nervously in his office. He had been given the job of managing the Morgans' financial assets. Financial law wasn't exactly Eric's forte, but the missive from on high had been clear: Eric was to bear the sole responsibility of the investment of the funds. If Eric did well at this, a hefty reward was guaranteed; senior partnership was implied. If he failed, or if the Morgans walked out on his watch...well, he would be thrown to the sharks. (And some of the rumors he'd heard about Mr. Vitale indicated that they wouldn't be metaphorical sharks, either).
His assistant, Marianne Hathaway, poked her head into the door. "Mr. Schrecter, the...uh...clients are here." A pained look was on her face. He briefly wondered what she was holding back from him, but disregarded it. "Send them in immediately." Marianne nodded and opened the door for the firm's two newest clients.
The man wore jeans that were worn at the knees, and a t-shirt adorned with the Tasmanian Devil wearing a leather jacket and revving up a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. The woman wore red sweatpants and a McCain/Palin '08 t-shirt.
He felt his mouth go dry. He almost checked to see if his bowels had evacuated themselves into his silk boxers. THESE were the Morgans? Either the firm was playing an elaborate practical joke at his expense, or God was. These people were worth more than the net worth of the entire city, for Christ's sake, and they come in here dressed like THAT? The man had a bum beard, for crying out loud. Not a well-kept beard, a BUM BEARD. Eric almost wanted to stand up and start shrieking out the sins the Morgans were committing against the gods of opulence.
Instead, he forced a smile and extended his hand for a handshake."Eric Schrecter, Mr. Morgan, Mrs. Morgan." Each shook his hand heartily. "I have to ask first -- how are you enjoying your new mansion at Crewe Neck?"
Jake shrugged. "It's a nice enough place, I guess. Pretty big fer just the four of us, though."
"I love it!" the woman -- Helen -- trilled. "I can't remember the last time I was able to sleep with Jakey and not have anybody else hear."
Eric blushed at the revelation...and, to his credit, so did Jake. "Uh...yeah, that is one advantage," Eric managed to stammer out.
"In our old house, Quinn or Daria would bang on the wall whenever we got too loud. It was so embarassing! I sometimes wonder if it's what made Quinn so, ah, adventurous."
Eric felt his blush deepen, and made a mental notecard: Quinn Morgan - daughter - possible slut. He then swallowed and tried to force the image of Helen Morgan naked and moaning in pleasure out of his mind. "Your visit to our office today is mainly a formality...all you have to do is sign a few papers, and we'll make sure your money is safely invested and gets you a healthy return."
He presented Jake with a number of papers, each of which he diligently signed with an X. Eric rubbed the bridge of his nose and resolved to raid his aspirin bottle the second they were out the door.
Finally, Jake handed over the last of the papers. Eric filed them away, then pulled out one of his cards. "Here's my card. If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to call me. My home and my cell are both on there, so any time of day, day or night, let me know."
"Well, I did have a few 'legal issues' I wanted to run by you," Jake said.
"Shoot."
"It's funny you say that, 'cause I wanted to register a few guns in this here state."
Eric nodded. "Okay. Do you have a list of the firearms in question?"
Jake shook his head. "I got 'em all up here," he said, tapping his skull for emphasis. He then began rattling them off, while Eric started taking notes. After a minute, he had put the pen down and was massaging his temples, in a futile attempt to ward off the migraine. After another minute, Jake finished rattling off the last of his extensive collection of firearms.
"Jake...I don't even know where to begin. I'm pretty sure at least half those are illegal, and I'm completely sure half of the remainder are VERY fucking illegal. I mean, what the hell do you need an assault rifle for, anyway?!"
"Well, to hunt varmints. My family's gotta eat."
"Varmints? What varmints do you hunt with a Kalishnikov?"
"You mean the AK? Oh, you know, squirrels."
"Squirrels. It takes you a thirty-round clip to hunt squirrels."
"Them varmints move fast." Jake was completely serious.
Eric sighed, wishing a meteorite would come crashing through the roof and smash his skull in. "Jake...I'll see what I can do about your guns, but a lot of them you'll have to throw out or permanently disable them. I mean, I wouldn't tell the police if you didn't, but if you were caught with them, you would be facing a considerable prison sentence. And as for your...dietary needs, you can buy all the meat you want at a supermarket. You know that, right?"
Helen spoke up. "We couldn't do that!"
"Why not?"
"Because all the labels say the meat is from China! And you know what China does to their meat," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. Eric wanted to cry.
Ms. Li was, for the first time in her scholastic career, speechless.
Walking down the hall towards her orientation tour were two of the most strikingly WRONG people when she thought of 'good student material'. The pregnant one was much more obvious...a pregnant student! She wouldn't have it! Her belly poked out obviously from under the hem of the pink t-shirt she wore. Scandalous! Her shorts were also most definitely not up to par with dress code -- they were little more than a denim belt.
The prospective student next to her wasn't pregnant...or, at least, wasn't showing yet. She wore an olive-green tank top (Dress code violation! her brain howled again) and denim shorts (which at least appeared to be dress code compliant, to Angela's eye). To top it off, she wore big, heavy-looking boots (She can kick people! her mind pointed out) and her hair was cut short and swept back into a ponytail. A pair of glasses with big, round frames finished the look.
She abandoned the group of new students and marched up to meet them before they could contaminate her school with their presence anymore. "Office! Now!" she said through gritted teeth.
Glasses turned to Pregnant. "How 'bout that, Quinn. I din't even have to break anyone's arm."
"You're gettin' better, cuz," Pregnant complimented.
Angela pointed the way to the office, the insubordination causing her blood to boil. She didn't trust herself to speak.
The two turned and proceeded along the direction Ms. Li indicated. She noticed that Glasses' shorts had the words 'Kiss My Ass!' embroidered upon the seat. She began unconsciously grinding her teeth.
Daria and Quinn didn't have long to wait until Ms. Li made her way back to the office and sat behind her desk. She touched her fingertips together in a pyramid shape as her glance darted between the two of them. Finally, she spoke.
"You received copies of the school handbook when you enrolled, so you should have been aware of this school's dress code policies." She pointed to Quinn first. "No belly-bearing shirts. No exceptions. Shorts are to extend below the fingertips when the arm is at rest. No exceptions."
She pointed to Daria. "All shirts are to have sleeves which cover up to at least six inches below the elbow. Profanity is to not be displayed upon clothing or any accessories."
Her hands returned to the pyramid shape. "Being that this is your first day, I'm willing to be extremely generous and not hit you with two suspensions apiece right off the bat. Know that future dress code violations will not be tolerated, and you will be disciplined accordingly." She began to address Quinn. "How old are you, young lady?"
Quinn smirked at being called a lady. "Fourteen."
Ms. Li sneered. "To be pregnant at your age..." Daria scowled. "You will be placed on probation due to your condition. If your presence in the classroom proves to be disruptive, you will be placed into the alternative education cirriculum."
"You mean where they put the retards?" Quinn said, indignant.
Li went on, ignoring the outburst. "If you engage in any...disruptive behavior yourself, you will be expelled." She gestured at Daria. "That goes for you too."
Daria nodded, not trusting herself to speak or act. (Assaulting an adult with intent to kill might get her tried as an adult).
"Report to Dr. Manson's for your mandatory psychological test," Ms. Li concluded, snorting before saying 'psychological'. She turned away, dismissing them.
When the door closed behind them, Quinn was the first to speak. "What do you suppose she meant by disruptive behavior?" Quinn asked rhetorically.
"Fuckin'," Daria answered. It was her policy to always answer rhetorical questions. "Well, let's go see the shrink."
Dr. Manson looked a little taken aback at the sight of the two girls as they entered her office. She shook off the nerves, though, and after introducing herself, jumped right into the testing.
She held up a silhouette picture. "Quinn, what do you see here in this picture?"
"Two people talkin'," Quinn observed.
"That's right. Can you make up a little story about what it is they're saying?"
Quinn considered for a minute. "Well, that feller there is talkin' about how he wants to write some book about some buddin' woman-child or somethin', and the old man she falls in love with, an' when the woman tells him he done knocked her up, he don't show up at the school anymore."
"I...see..." Dr. Manson began hurriedly scribbling notes onto a legal pad that sat on her desk. She swallowed anxiously before turning to Daria. "Uh...Daria...what do you see in the picture?"
"A herd of beautiful wild ponies runnin' free across the plains."
Dr. Manson was struck silent for a moment before her brain managed to think of an answer "Uh, there aren't any ponies. It's two people."
"Well, last time I took one of them there tests, the shrink told me it could be whatever I damn well liked."
Dr. Manson shook her head. "That's a different test, dear. In this test, they're people, and you tell me what they're discussing.
Daria nodded. "Well, in that case, that woman there is telling the worthless piece of shit that done knocked her sister up that if he don't git, she'll nail his worthless ass to the ground and rile up a herd of beautiful wild ponies and have them run free across his plains."
Dr. Manson blinked several times, then began filling up the rest of the page of the legal pad with notes. When she reached the bottom of the page, she flipped it and began working on the next page. Daria smiled.
After being dismissed from Dr. Manson's office, Daria and Quinn split up. Daria's class was History with DeMartino. She found her way to the classroom easily enough and took the nearest seat.
After the tardy bell rang, Mr. DeMartino introduced Daria. "Class, we have a new STUDENT joining us today. Please welcome Daria Morgan. Daria, raise your hand, please."
Daria stared listlessly at the teacher, not bothering to raise her hand. Mr. DeMartino narrowed his eyes.
"...Daria, last week, we began a unit on westward expansion. Perhaps you feel it's UNFAIR to be asked a question on your first day of class."
"Go fuckin' nuts."
The other students in the class gasped a little at the profanity, but DeMartino just chuckled. He got a little thrill out of humiliating students with their ignorance...at least, until they grew indifferent to their own humiliation, at which point it just made DeMartino depressed for the prospects of the future.
"Daria, can you concisely and unemotionally sum up for us the doctrine of Manifest Destiny?" He was surprised when Daria began talking almost immediately.
"Well, it was a sayin' used in the 1840s that meant God wanted folks to move out west and settle all the way to the Pacific Ocean and shit like that. Mexicans and Injuns didn't like this very much."
"Very good, Daria. Almost...suspiciously good." He was skeptical whenever a seemingly intelligent student showed up; most of the time, it turned out to be either a bluff or a cheat, and either way DeMartino got disappointed. So he didn't get his hopes up. "Alright, class. Who can tell me which war Manifest Destiny was used to justify?" He picked a student wearing a football uniform -- pads and all. "Kevin! How about you?"
"...The Vietnam War?"
"Dumbshit," Daria muttered under her breath.
"That came a little later, Kevin...A HUNDRED YEARS later. A lot of good men died in that conflict, Kevin. I believe we OWE it to them to AT LEAST GET THE CENTURY RIGHT!"
"Uh...Operation Watergate?" Kevin tried again.
"Jesus H. Bumblefuckin' Christ," Daria muttered, a little louder.
"Daria, don't take the Lord's name in vain!" the teacher snapped.
Daria sat in her room, fuming. During dinner, the school had called. According to her mother, the school psychological test had determined that both she and Quinn had low self-esteem (whatever the fuck that meant) and had to take after-school self-esteem classes. Daria immediately criticized the idea as shit, but her father had suggested she go to the class just once, in case she really did have low self-esteem. She had finally acquiesced to her father's request (but she vowed not to like it).
Her musings were interrupted by the doorbell. As she was the only person used to actually having a doorbell, she made her way out of her room and through the mansion. She actually arrived at the front door at the same time as her father -- and their baying hound, Duke. Jake assumed the honors and opened the doors.
"Hello, I was wondering if the Morgans were in?" A black family -- husband, wife, and teenage daughter -- stood on the front stoop.
"Shucks, I guess that'd be me. I'm Jake Morgan," Jake introduced himself, extending his hand.
Put off by Jake's shabby-looking attire, it took a moment for the man to respond in kind. "Andrew Landon," he said, smiling. "These two beauties are my wife Michelle and my daughter Jodie. We just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood."
"Dad, cut it out," Jodie protested, embarassed by the praise.
"So, you're a colored feller," Jake observed. "I ain't never met one of those before. What's that like?"
"Oh hell's fuckin' bells," Daria said, slapping her palm to her head.
Daria tugged Jodie by the arm and led her away from the three adults, where Michelle and her rant were just heating up. Daria took her into her room and shut the door, which (mostly) drowned out the noise.
"Sorry 'bout my daddy," Daria said. "He didn't mean no harm, he just grew up with that word, is all."
Jodie nodded. "I'm sorry about my mom, too. She's a career woman, and faced a lot of...ugliness on her way up the corporate ladder. It's made her...sensitive."
The two girls glanced at each other's faces, saw their embarrassment reflected back at one another, and laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation.
"So, you're Daria, right? We share Mr. DeMartino's history class. You know, I never expected him to just ignore somebody cursing like you were."
"Well, daddy once tole me that if'n I didn't cuss so much, I might get along with more folks...but then he said that if folks didn't like they way I talked in the first place, they could just go fuck themselves." Jodie laughed at that. "So, Jodie, what the hell is there to do around Lawndale? I been in town a few weeks, and ain't seen shit to do."
Jodie shrugged. "I'm not really the one you want to be asking that. I don't have very much free time -- I'm the vice-president of student council, head of the French club, captain of the tennis team, president of the Honor Society, editor of the yearbook, and I volunteer at the soup kitchen, crisis center, and Congressman Sack's Lawndale office."
Daria regarded Jodie for a minute. "Shit, Jodie, you gotta get laid or somethin'."
"Like that helped," Jodie said glumly, then covered her mouth. "Oh shit! Don't tell anyone! Please!"
Daria smirked. "Relax, Jodie. I ain't a tattle. 'Sides, at least it helped me." Jodie stared open-mouthed at Daria as she turned away and switched on the plasma TV mounted on the far wall.
"You watch Sick, Sad World, Jodie?" she asked.
Downstairs, Michelle had finally cooled down enough to let Jake get a word in edgewise. (Andrew, for his part, looked horribly embarrassed and contrite).
"Missus Landon, I'm deeply sorry if I offended you. It's just that I grew up in the south, as you might've guessed from my accent, and that's how we referred to...uh, persons of color, when we were in polite company."
"And impolite company?" Michelle asked, still spoiling for a fight.
"Well, my paw Mad Dog didn't really cotton to impoliteness, if'n you catch my drift. Some idjit from the Klan came 'round once askin' fer donations to the legal fund of some man that went and shot a c--person of color, and..." Jake's face grew into a wide smile. "And daddy took his shotgun and unloaded both barrels into that fuckin' piece of shit's ass. Rock salt, of course...I don't expect he sat down for a month."
The fire had gone out of Michelle's eyes entirely. "Yes...I see now. I must apologize, Mr. Morgan. It seems I underestimated you."
Jake gave a little bow. "Don't think anythin' of it, Missus Landon, happens to the best of us."
"In the future, Mr. Morgan, do you think you could try to remember to use the phrase 'African American' when talking about a person of color?" Michelle reqeusted.
"All the time?" Jake asked innocently.
"Well, yes, if you can remember to."
"Even if the feller ain't an American citizen?" Jake asked. He waited for Michelle to answer, but she did not have one readily available. "Like, say, from South Africa or somesuch?" After a moment, Michelle closed her mouth, which had been hanging open in shock. "Andrew, I'm going to go home and check on Rachel," she murmured. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Morgan," she said, before beating a hasty retreat.
Andrew looked at his wife's back as it paced down the driveway, then back to Jake. Then he broke into a grin. "Jake, don't ever tell her I said this, but that was magnificent. We simply have to have a few drinks sometime."
Daria sat in her new self-esteem class, arms crossed. Her weeping willow of an English teacher was also, apparently, the self-esteem class instructor. This was going to be fun.
"Esteem...a teen. They don't really rhyme, do they? The sounds don't quite mesh. And that, in fact, is often the case when it comes to a teen and esteem. The two just don't seem to go together. But we are here to begin realizing your actuality..." Daria rose her hand. "...And when we do, each and every one of you will be able to stand proudly and proclaim, "I am." Now, before we --"
Daria interrupted him. "Hey, dipshit, I've got a question."
Mr. o'Neill paled. "Oh dear. Uh, could you please not curse?"
"What the fuck does 'realizing your actuality' mean?"
"Uh...uh...look, whoever you are, just let me get through this part, okay? Then there'll be a video. And please don't curse, I'd hate to write you up." Daria tuned him out as he began droning on uselessly again.
"He doesn't know what it means. He's got the speech memorized. Just enjoy the nice man's soothing voice."
Daria turned to her side, where the voice had come from. A black-haired blue-eyed girl with a handful of earrings (well, an earful, to be precise) was looking at Daria, amusement evident in her eyes.
"Do you know what the fuck he's yammerin' on about?" Daria asked.
Jane nodded. "I can fill you in later. I've taken this course six times."
Daria and Jane enjoyed a pleasant walk to Jane's home, bullshitting about the self-esteem class. Finally, Daria asked the question that had been nagging her since leaving the class.
"Jane, why th'hell do you still attend that worthless-ass class?"
"I could pass the test, but I like having low self-esteem. It makes me feel special."
"What? That's bullshit."
Jane frowned. "Well, I...don't really have anything else to do. I don't have any friends, and I only live with my brother Trent."
"Well, you're half-wrong." Jane raised her eyebrous in curiosity. "You sure as shit got a friend now." Daria put her arm around Jane, who smiled as brightly as Daria had yet seen it. "Now, do you suppose we can bust out of that shitty class with your test answers?"
"Please join me in congratulations as I present these certificates of self-esteem to..Daria Morgan and Jane Lane!"
Daria rolled her eyes at the limp noodle's speech. When she and Jane had fed Mr. O'Neill the answers to the self-esteem exam, he had been so elated he insisted on publicly congratulating them, and nothing Daria or Jane said dissuaded him.
She watched Jane's speech with amusement as Jane began to quite obviously fake a breakdown. She scowled a little, though, as Mr. O'Neill chased after her, shouting "Daria, wait!"
Daria waited a moment, and realized everybody expected her to stand up and make a speech now. She sighed and stood up to the podium.
"Ladies and gents of this here high school, I have to tell you that the self-esteem class is total shit."
There were a lot of shocked gasps from the audience, and Daria could feel the laser-intense glare of Ms. Li without even turning around.
"I don't mean to knock Mr. O'Neill or anythin', but that man ain't fit to teach a baby how to mess itself, let alone a class full of kids. Fer shit's sake, he thought Jane was me! Jane's been in his class six damn times! And I don't know what kind of fuckup Dr. Manson is, if she put both me and Quinn in that class. We don't have low self-esteem, and we sure as shit know it! We just have low esteem for any fuckshit who thinks we're a pair of ig'nant hicks who jus' fell off the wagon. I think this self-esteem bullshit class is jus' some scare-tactics shit -- like Ms. Li is saying, 'Don't fuck with me, or I'll fuck you back.' Well, you know what, Ms. Li?" Daria turned and extended both her middle fingers. "Fuck you!"
Daria stormed off the stage to a standing ovation, which Ms. Li nearly shouted herself hoarse trying to rein in.
After dismissing the students, Ms. Li marched her way furiously to the office, intending to page Daria down to her office. However, Daria was already there, waiting for her.
"I'm expelled, ain't I?" Daria asked, already aware of the answer.
Ms. Li nodded grimly. "Get the hell out of my school, and take your slut of a sister with you."
Daria looked sharply at Ms. Li for a moment, then nodded. "Sure thing, Ms. Li. You'll regret callin' my sister that, though." Daria's eyes were hard and sharp as flints.
"I sincerely doubt it, Ms. Morgan," Li said confidently.
Ms. Li stayed at school late into the evening, filling out budget proposals for the next fiscal year, signing checks, writing letters to potential fundraisers, and so forth. There was a knock at the door. "Come in," she said distractedly.
Eric Schrecter entered the room, his face a steel mask. "Hello, Angela."
Ms. Li smiled. "Eric! What brings you down to Lawndale High tonight?" She dragged out the pronunciation of 'Lawndale', as was her custom.
Eric did not return her smile. "I've come to inform you of two things, Angela. The first is that the firm of Vitale, Davis, Horowitz, Riordan, Schrecter, and Schrecter will no longer be representing you, or the Lawndale school district."
"What?"
"Second, the parents of Daria and Quinn Morgan have filed a legal and civil suit against both you and the school district for their unlawful expulsion."
"Their...what? Those two Cooterville runaways? What the HELL is the meaning of this?"
Eric's face changed now, a look somewhere between pity and disgust. "You really don't know, do you, Angela. Do you know who Jake Morgan is?" Angela shook her head. "He's the richest man in the fucking state, Angela. He made the single largest oil discovery since ANWR, and he chose to put his two daughters in your care, and you did your absolute best to block their education and publicly humiliate them."
Ms. Li's mouth was now opening and closing, but no sounds came out except a very faint croaking.
"How does 'Daria Morgan High School' sound to you?"
Ms. Li finally found her voice. "NO! Please! I'll do anything, just don't take my school!" Tears were running down her face.
Eric rolled his eyes. "I'm sure, Angela. Maybe if you call Daria and Quinn, and BEG them to come back, maybe -- MAYBE! -- I can convice Jake to drop the suits. But I can't guarantee it."
"Thank you, thank you!" Ms. Li's hands were clasped together in a prayer of thanks directed towards him. "I'll call them right now."
"You do that. Good day, Angela." Eric stiffly nodded, then walked out of the office, out of the school, and into his car, where he began to shake with all the fear which had built up inside of him.
While Jake was the firm's biggest client, the school district was a pretty big fish as well. He hoped that burning this bridge for Jake had been the right decision, and not the decision which would see him working as a public defender for murderers and rapists.
The black limousine pulled up in front of the Morgan mansion, and the Morgans piled in, admiring the luxury of the vehicle. Eric Schrecter already sat inside.
Jake shook Eric's hand. "I wanted t'thank you again, Eric, fer straightenin' stuff out with that Ms. Li so that Daria and Quinn could go back to school."
Eric smiled. "It was nothing, Mr. Morgan, believe me." Jake had only asked him to talk to Ms. Li about the expulsion -- he hadn't actually threatened a lawsuit, and Eric pegged him as the kind of guy who never would file suit against anybody. He almost admired the naivete.
Helen was the first to find the small TV, and switched it to Fox News. "Momma, I told you not to watch that garbage," Daria complained.
"Yes, sweetie," Helen acquiesced, and flipped through the channels until they happened across a Nascar race. Helen and Quinn watched intensely, whereas Daria only watched with a detatched curiosity.
"So, Eric, where th'heck are we going?" Jake asked good-naturedly.
Eric winked. "I told you, Jake, it's a surprise."
The car drove for forty minutes, leaving Lawndale city limits, going out into the rural areas. Finally, the limousine pulled up a long dirt driveway and stopped. "We're here!" Eric announced.
He and the Morgans stepped out of the limo. They were on a great big ranch, home to a great many cattle. One beautiful cow with black and white splotches covering its body wandered to just on the other side of the fence separating the pasture from the driveway, investigating the newcomers.
"Oh my gawd, she's so purty!" Quinn gushed, going up to the cow and holding out her hand. The cow licked it, which made Quinn giggle.
"Jake, welcome to your new ranch. I bought it so you wouldn't have to hunt, ah, varmints anymore. And so you wouldn't have to worry about Chinese meat either, Helen," he added with a smile.
Quinn overheard Eric talking. "WHAT? You mean you want us to KILL these poor innocent critters?" Quinn hugged the cow's neck, already beginning to cry. "You can't! I won't let you!"
"Don't worry, Quinn, we won't hurt these cows," he reassured her. Jake noticed the pained look on Eric's face, but he just shrugged, a little smile on his face saying it all: He just couldn't go against his daughter's wishes.
Eric started to feel a headache pounding its way into his brain again. The ranch was not meant to be just a gift, but an investment. It would have paid for itself in five years with all the meat it could have sold to slaughterhouses! Now, though, the ranch would just be a net loss, with the cost of the care, feeding, and shelter of the cattle gradually pecking away at the Morgan fortune. Forget defending murderers and rapists, the firm would have him disbarred in all fifty states!
"Jakey, have you seen Daria?" Helen asked.
Jake looked around, as did Eric and Quinn. "Well, I know she got out of that car with us...I s'pose she just went off explorin'."
"YEEEEEEEE-HAAAA!" The sound reached them before the sight did.
A blur shot out from behind the main building of the ranch. After a moment, all recognized it as Daria...riding a horse.
"Huh, I didn't even know this place HAD horse stables," Eric said aloud.
Daria's laughs of pleasure carried to the four even as she took the horse to the far end of the pasture. Finally, she returned the horse at a slow trot, and secured its reins to the fencepost, before jumping it and seizing Jake in a bone-crushing hug.
"Oh daddy, I just love it here."
She disengaged from Jake and, surprisingly, embraced Eric too. "Thank'y so much, Mr. Schrecter. Daddy was right about you, you're a right good feller."
Eric blushed at the unexpected compliment, and smiled. Sometimes, this job was worth it.
Well now it's time to say good-bye to Jake and all his kin.
And they would like to thank you folks for kindly droppin' in.
You're all invited back again to this place of there's that's fine,
To have a heapin' helpin' of their high-quality moonshine.
Y'all come back now, y'hear?
Regarding the Morgendorffers becoming the Morgans: I had two reasons. 1. 'Morgendorffer' doesn't sound like a very hillbilly-ish name. 2. Jake's paw Mad Dog changed the family name from MOrgendorffer to Morgan during WWII to be patriotic. (After all, Morgendorffer sounds German).
I did a cursory search, and Marianne had no canon (or fanon) last name that I could find. Since this IS a Daria/Beverly Hills mashup, I couldn't resist making her the Miss Hathaway to Eric's Mr. Drysdale.
Oh, and the Jakemobile was inspired by a similarly-altered vehicle in The Tommyknockers.