_The Look-Alike Series_
Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit with Ben Yee
Season 4, episode 3: "Parental Discretion"
prose adaptation by Austin Loomis

Cast: Helen Barksdale Morgendorffer, Eric Schrecter, Jerome Peregrine 
Smythe, Lynn Cullen, A.P. McIntyre, Daria Morgendorffer, Jane Lane, Trent 
Lane, Jesse Moreno, Nick Campbell, Max Tyler (non-speaking), Jake 
Morgendorffer, Tom Sloane, Sandi Griffin, Joey (non-speaking)

"Snowman melting from the inside
 Falcon spirals to the ground (This is not America)
 For this is not America"
	-- David Bowie/Pat Metheny, "This is Not America" (_The Falcon 
	   and the Snowman_ soundtrack)


ACT 1: LOOK TO YOUR ORB FOR WARNING

"Familiar stranger, should I know your name?
 Did we meet some time ago?"
	-- Jefferson Starship, "Stranger"

That day in her office, Helen was pacing among the ringing phones in 
a more agitated manner than usual.  "Get I.T. support *on* the phone 
and if they don't have a *damn* good excuse for why every internal e-
mail I send winds up in some advertising agency in Helsinki..."  There 
was a knock at the door, and she turned what passes, in her case, for 
sweet.  "Yes?"
	Eric came in.  "Helen, there's a gentleman at reception..."
	How about we take that sweetness and kick it *down* a notch?  
"Well, get one of the first floor paralegals to deal with it.  I *really* 
haven't got the time..."
	"Helen, he's asking for you specifically."
	Helen raised an eyebrow.  "Oh?"  She sighed.  "All right, send 
him up."
	"Your star seems to be rising, Helen.  We may have to make you 
a full partner yet."  Eric walked out.
	"Except you can't fit my name on the letterhead, you manipulative 
Machiavellian moron..." Helen muttered to herself with the bitterness 
of her elder daughter and the cynicism that daughter had in common with 
Helen's youngest sister.  She turned back to her desk and had just 
started trying to tidy the disaster area it had become when there was 
a knock on the door.  She looked up with her sweetest client-posterior-
kissing smile.  "Helloooo..."  She trailed off as she saw who was 
standing in the doorway, the look on her face going from sweet and 
helpful to pale and horrified in under a second.  "Oh."
	"Hello, Helen," said Jerome.  After a moment, he added, "May
I..."
	"...Uh...I...of course! I..."  She dropped a pile of papers on 
the floor.  "Oh!"
	He moved a few steps into the room.  "You're looking well."
	_Helen Louisa Barksdale, you stop fidgeting *this minute!*_  
"Uh.  Thank you.  I...um, and so do you.  I mean..."
	"It's my lifestyle. Keeps me young."
	An awkward silence followed that comment.
	"So. -- What brings you to Lawndale?"
	"My daughter."
	That made Helen just a little more nervous.  "Which one?"
	"Predominantly Lynn, though I do need to have words with Daria."  
Helen's worries must have shown on her face.  "Don't worry, Helen -- 
Jacob will *always* be her father. She and I just have...business to 
discuss."
	More silence, as Helen considered her suspicions.  That Li witch 
puts Lynn in the hospital; Jerome shows up within a day or two.  Daria 
comes back from her little road-trip with a serious thousand-yard stare, 
and again, Jerome comes to town.  "You're developing a habit of appearing 
around here when there's been trouble in the girls' lives.  I'm not sure 
I like it."
	"Like it or not..."  He let that hang.
	It hung there a long time.  Helen finally decided to break the 
silence before it broke her.  "You...said you needed to talk to Daria. 
-- Why are you *here?*"
	He seemed to be trying ever-so-slightly to evade giving a full 
answer.  "We-ell, the last time I was in the neighborhood there wasn't 
much chance to stop for a chat.  And since I have a bit more free time 
this trip, I thought maybe we could get together for lunch."  He gave 
a shrug.  "Talk over old times."
	She could feel her eyebrow going up.  "Really?"
	Jerome gave her the Mona Lisa smile his daughters had inherited.  
"No fear, Helen.  I'm not going to intrude on your marriage.  That's 
over.  But you were always a scintillating conversationalist as well 
as..."  He trailed off, blushing slightly.
	"All right," Helen replied, hoping her own blush wasn't as 
blatant as it felt.  "Come back at about twelve-thirty and we'll..."
	"I warn you -- if you say `do lunch' I may have to be violent."  
He seemed to be teasing.  Mostly.  "I *loathe* that saying -- only 
slightly less so than `have your people call *my* people.'"  Helen 
smiled.  Jerome smiled back.  To her relief, there was no romantic 
tension in it -- just old friends who haven't spoken in a while.
	"All right. Twelve-thirty, then."
	"Until then."  He made a slight bow, followed by his exit.  Helen 
looked after him with a very strange mixture of emotions -- fondness, 
suspicion, worry and nostalgia all jumbled together.

				      * * *

Up in her dark and mysterious room, Lynn was sprawled out across the 
bed, scribbling in a notebook.  After a moment, a familiar face popped 
into the window.  What got her attention, though, was the familiar voice 
that went with that face.  "Hey ho, Purple Peril!"
	Lynn didn't look up.  "Salutations, Maverick. -- Got a rhyme 
for `attack'?"
	"Compaq?  I dunno.  Why are you asking *me?*"  A.P., aka the 
incredible Inarticulate Boy, climbed in through the window.
	Lynn squinted disapprovingly at her notebook.  "You were 
convenient.  It seems a bit absurd to call Daria and say, `Hey, what's 
a decent rhyme? Thanks. Later. Bye.'"
	The phone rang, and A.P. grinned.  "Maybe that's her!"
	Lynn finally looked up, raising an eyebrow.  "The world doesn't 
work that way."  She picked up the phone.  "Writer's haven.  Leave your 
sanity at the front desk for later reclamation. -- Oh, hey. -- He's 
*what?*"  A.P. looked at her worriedly.

				      * * *

Daria and Jane were sitting on crates that rested on the floor of Casa 
Lane's basement, listening to the four male members of Mystik Spiral 
belt out an instrumental version of their latest.  The new sound they 
were working on combined stylistic elements of A Perfect Circle, Toad 
the Wet Sprocket and ballad-style Metallica -- thankfully, they were 
all *good* elements, or at least elements that worked together.  Daria 
was jotting something down in a notebook.  Jane was sketching the band, 
leaving a blank space in the middle of the page so she could fill Lynn 
in later.
	Daria addressed her next comment to Jane, not looking up.  "Hey, 
you got a rhyme for `attack'?"
	A red light set into the wall lit up.  The band stopped playing, 
and they could hear the doorbell finishing its ring.  As the ring 
stopped, the light went out.  "I got it."  Jane muttered to herself as 
she climbed the stairs.  "Saves me from having to come up with that damn 
rhyme, anyway..."  She was gone.
	Trent set his new Ibanez down and turned to Daria.  "So. -- 
What'd you think?"
	"It's the kind of thing that probably needs lyrics for the full 
effect," she replied. Otherwise, though, you're really improving. -- 
Lynn must be doing good things for you."
	Trent blinked.  "Uh...yeah."  _No time like the present, man.  
Eyes on the prize._  "I kinda wanted to talk to you about that.  I--"
	The universe being that sort of a place, what he wanted to say 
would be delayed, as Lynn barged down the stairs with Jane and A.P. hot 
on her heels.  "The Falcon has landed," A.P. announced.
	"AGAIN," Jane added.  "*And* we don't know how pissed he looks."  
A.P. shot Jane a look, and she flapped a never-mind hand at him.
	Daria got to her feet.  "Ex*cuse* me?"
	"He's ripped because we won't deal with Rust," Lynn explained.  
"So he's come to negotiate."
	"Talked to him yet?"
	"No, Jan called.  Said something about her belief in fair warning 
applying across the board...whatever that means."  She fell into a musing 
tone.  "What the hell she's doing in San Francisco I don't know but..."  
She caught herself with a slight headshake.  "Just thinking aloud.  
Anyway.  Since I haven't seen hide nor hair of him yet he either hasn't 
arrived or is caught up with other things."
	"So what do we tell him when he *does* come asking?"
	"We're going to have to discuss that."  She turned to her band-
mates.  "Gentlemen?  Sorry, but this takes precedent over rehearsal."
	"Are we gonna get an explanation for this?" Trent rasped.  The 
Spiral looked at Lynn, who gestured to...
	...A.P.  "Why *me?*"
	"You're good with short and to the point," she explained.  
"`Dumbing things down,' for lack of a better term."
	A slight frown.  "Oh."  He took a moment to get some words lined 
up, then turned back to the guys.  "Okay, Rust's at LHS with orders, 
wants to `cover our backs.'  We said no.  Rust called Warlock, saying, 
`I can't deal.'  *He* said `typical,' called Falcon.  *He* said `typical' 
too.  Then he hopped a plane.  So now he's here and we figure he wants 
us to play along with the 'cover our backs' thing."  A moment of silence 
greeted this.  "What part of that did you not get?"
	"I think that summed it up.  We're about to get a telling-off 
by a *true* criminale.  And we need to formulate a plan of attack."
	"Can we help at all?" wondered Trent.
	"Well, if all else fails, we tell him to arm you."  That met 
with stares.  "Well, you've dealt with firearms before.  I don't think 
anyone's stupid enough to try anything at school..."
	"Yeah," Jane allowed as.  "I mean, what are they going to do, 
poison the cafeteria food?"
	Daria chimed in.  "Better question -- would we notice the 
difference if they *did?*"
	Lynn, though vaguely annoyed, opted to ignore the interruptions.  
"...*and* at least two of us are in your company fairly regularly anyway. 
Four bodyguards in exchange for one.  And though I nearly hate to say 
it, you four would be more likely to get a recommendation from the WCB 
than Rust..."
	Jesse, as usual, was the first to admit confusion.  "WCB?"
	"West Coast Brigade," Lynn clarified, realizing the term had 
never come up in conversation.  "My short form.  Covers Warlock, Scar, 
Pagebert and, even though she wanders a lot, DJ.  Warlock's the main 
one with a problem with Rust, to tell the truth.  One of those personal 
things that I doubt you'd ask about unless you want a bellyful of lead."  
There was a brief silence.  "Anyway. Strategy meeting, gang."  She 
tromped up the stairs, closely followed by A.P.  Daria and Jane shrugged 
at each other.
	"You sounded good, guys," Jane assured them.
	"Yeah," added Daria, "but could you maybe take a break on the 
rehearsal for awhile?
	Trent was confused, but managed to reply, "Uh...sure."  Daria 
and Jane nodded at them and headed on upstairs.  The band exchanged looks.
	Nick was the first to speak.  "Y'know...I think I liked it better 
when I *didn't* get what was up with her."
	Trent nodded ruefully, obviously not thinking about the same 
"her." 


ACT 2: BUTTERFLIES

"One man on a lonely platform
 One case sitting by his side 
 Two eyes staring cold and silent
 Show his fear and he turns to hide
 Ah-ah (we fade to grey)..."
	-- Visage, "Fade to Grey"

When Jake opened the front door, a stranger was standing there.  And 
yet, not a stranger -- there was something familiar about him that Jake 
couldn't quite place.  Jake blinked at the new arrival.
	"Good day," said the other, with a slight British accent.  After 
a moment, he added, "Is Daria at home?"
	Jake was now officially suspicious of the other, and didn't much 
care if it showed in his eyes.  "She's at a friend's house. Who are you?"
	"...Call me a...long-lost acquaintance of hers."  Not exactly 
informative.  "I'll look elsewhere.  Sorry to have troubled you."  He 
turned to go.
	Something clicked in Jake's head, and he realized why this 
stranger looked so familiar -- he looked like Daria and that little 
friend of hers.  Jake scowled.  "Your name's not Jerome, is it?"
	The man froze in his tracks, then turned back with a very slight 
sigh.  "It is, and I'm forgetting my manners.  You would be Jacob.  A 
pleasure."  He extended a hand, which Jake looked at as if it were busily 
crawling with some hitherto unknown breed of insect.  After a bare pause, 
Jerome retracted the unwanted hand.
	"What do you want with my daughter?"
	Jerome remained perfectly calm.  "Just a word."  He seemed to 
be looking for some way to smooth things over.  "Very intelligent young 
lady, your daughter. Well-raised."
	Jake was *not* about to be charmed.  "I want you to stay the 
hell away from Daria."
	"Indeed?  Why?"  Jerome seemed honestly puzzled.  "Surely it's 
up to her whether she speaks to me.  She's nearly eighteen, if I'm not 
mistaken...more than capable of making her own judgement calls."
	Jake crossed the line into snarling.  "You've done enough damn 
damage to my family."
	Jerome wasn't quite following this.  "But your marriage has very 
nearly improved lately, if Helen has it right..."
	That was exactly the wrong thing to say.  Jake went ballistic 
as only Jake Morgendorffer and a few large pachyderms can.  "WHEN THE 
*HELL* DID YOU TALK TO MY WIFE?"
	You could see Jerome's reaction in his face: _Oh dear God, the 
man's psychotic._  "I looked her up when I arrived; took her to lunch 
-- as an old friend.  Surely you don't object--"
	"Damn *right* I object!  You don't *belong* here, dammit!  GAH!  
*Weeks* it took before Helen and I could even *look* at each other after 
I found out!  Daria's more damn distant than *ever* since *you* showed 
up here! If it wasn't for you--"
	Jerome had now had quite enough of this.  "...Daria wouldn't 
*exist,* Jacob."
	Jake took a swing at Jerome, who dodged it easily,  Jerome then 
grabbed hold of Jake's arm, got him in an arm lock and slammed him up 
against the nearest wall.  "Let...*go*...of me!" Jake snapped, muffled 
by the bricks.
	Jerome had remained calm throughout the proceedings.  "Not until 
you agree to stop being so bloody juvenile."
	"You bas-- *gah!*"  The interruption was a result of Jerome 
jerking Jake's arm a little higher behind his back.
	"I could break your arm quite easily, you know."  He might have 
been commenting on the state of the Morgendorffers' lawn.
	"But you're not going to."
	Jerome looked over, without letting go of Jake -- he might have 
the upper hand, but he wasn't so stupid as to assume he could keep it 
that easily -- and saw the new arrival standing in the doorway, her arms 
folded, deadpan.  "Hello, Daria. -- Would it matter to you that the first 
move was his?"
	"...It would.  But let him go anyway."
	Jerome complied.  Jake tried to rub some feeling back into his 
shoulder.  Eager to re-establish his alpha male status, he turned to 
Daria.  "Hey there, kiddo!"
	Daria raised an eyebrow.  "Hi Dad.  Just came to pick up some 
things.  You remember I'm staying over at Jane's tonight?"
	Jake wasn't sure he actually *remembered* as such, but he wasn't 
about to show that in front of the Smythe.  "Oh, sure thing, kiddo!  
Just don't forget it's a school night."
	"No chance of that, much as I'd like to."  Jerome stifled a smirk.
	"Right."  _What would a good father say?_  "Have a rad time at 
your sleepover! -- It *is* `rad,' right?"  Daria winced a little.
	Jerome was a bit less successful at hiding his smirk this time.  
"I'm not the expert on teenage jargon, but I've tended to notice a trend 
towards minimalism.  `Cool' seems to be the only word in their 
vocabularies these days."
	Daria raised that eyebrow again.  "Even `cool's a bit too much 
in this case. -- *Neither* of you are any good at this, so stop trying 
so hard."  She walked past them and up the stairs, leaving Jake and 
Jerome to stare after her.  The two men heard a door slam, and they 
looked at each other.  There was an awkward silence -- they'd *both* 
just been put in their places good and proper, and they both knew it.
	"Uh," Jake began.
	"Indeed.  `Uh' about covers it."  More awkward silence.

				      * * *

Someone -- specifically, someone art-smart -- had been at the walls of 
Chez Cullen's kitchen with a paintbrush; they were now done up in a sort 
of mottled pattern of reds, golds and browns.  Daria was sitting at the 
table, which had been revarnished mahogany, while Lynn rooted through 
the fridge, which had been spray-painted gold.  "It's like New England 
fall in here.  And you let Jane do this?"
	"Wav it a queftion of `let'?" Lynn replied, muffled by the 
fridge.  "You know how fhe getf."  She emerged from the fridge with two 
cans of soda and headed toward the table, kicking the fridge door closed 
as she passed it.  "So how'd you get past them?  It's a bitch climbing 
through your bedroom window."  She set one soda can in front of Daria 
and sat down with the other.  "And that's for me, who's used to that 
sort of thing."
	"It's the sawed-off bars, I take it."
	"Oooooh yeah.  But I guess it was for the best that I went out 
through your window when your parents were home.  I mean, God, imagine 
if your mother had seen us together and started the..."  She trailed 
off, going a whiter shade of pale.
	Daria realized where her sister was stuck and opted to change 
the subject with a sledgehammer.  She might *never* be ready to talk 
about whatever Spanish Inquisition impersonations the late Mr. Jensen 
had done to her, but none of her friends was about to push the issue.  
"Yeah, well, I'm not that agile.  But it didn't matter; by the time I 
came downstairs they were both gone."
	Lynn regained her composure and raised an eyebrow.  "Together, 
you think?"
	"Well, Dad wasn't in the house, so I have to assume."  After 
a moment, something occurred to her that worried her mildly.  "Jerome 
wouldn't..."
	"No."
	"But the man had him in--"
	Lynn clearly didn't want to hear it.  "Trust me.  If he was going 
to hurt Jake, Jake would be hurt already. -- Now.  Who tells Dad what 
we've decided and how?"
	"You're his daughter...well, he's known you're his daughter for 
longer..."
	"Like *that* matters.  So far he's been in town for God knows 
how long and he *still* has yet to look me up."  A long, heavy sigh.  
"Well, let's just see who talks to him first."
	"Lynn..."
	The mask came down again.  "Now.  Did you actually *get* that 
Econ diagram?  I mean, I got as far as the X's being consumers."  Lynn 
allowed herself a slight smirk.  "I got the impression that the O's were 
consumer-eating dinosaurs, but I've got to be wrong."
	Daria blinked loudly at yet another reminder that great, or maybe 
greatly warped, minds think alike.  "If I'd kept that note, this wouldn't 
be so scary."
	Lynn blinked back.  "Excuse me?"
	Daria, deciding it'd take too long to explain, just sighed and 
leaned down to the floor for her book bag.  Bing-bong, went the doorbell. 
They looked at each other.
	"Your house," said Daria.
	"Mmph."  Lynn headed for the door, with Daria a few feet behind.

				      * * *

Jane hadn't gotten to the front hallway yet, so it still looked just 
as it had when Daria came over to drop the blood-test bombshell.  Lynn 
opened the door, and there stood her father.  "Ah, Lynn. I..."  He saw 
the condition the hall was in, the paintball stains and strange carved 
symbols on the walls.  "Who did this?"
	"I did," Lynn stated flatly.
	Jerome's eyes went wide.  "Ah.  I...see."
	"No you don't."
	"True.  But I suppose it's probably none of my affair in any 
case."
	Lynn looked vaguely disappointed, but only for a split second 
before her face went carefully bland again.  "You wanted something?"
	"A word."  He looked again and saw Daria.  "With both of you. 
-- May I come in?"
	"Well, you technically hold the deed for another month or so.  
Legally I can't stop you."  She stepped aside and opened the door wider.  
Jerome looked at her, gave a very small shrug and stepped inside.  Lynn 
shut the door.

				      * * *

Jerome looked a bit stunned by the living room's new decor.  Lynn decided 
having him off balance was a Good Thing.  "You want us to cooperate with 
Rust."
	"We're not going to," Daria said simply.
	"Rebuttal?"
	Jerome made landed-fish faces for a moment.  "Uh, I'd like to 
hear the reasons behind your refusal, if I may."
	"He's none too bright when it comes to strategy," Daria noted.  
"Even after months training with Lynn he *still* couldn't anticipate 
her."
	"He couldn't shoot his way out of a wet paper bag anyway," Lynn 
observed.
	"We don't trust him to be able to protect us in a crunch-time 
situation.  We'd probably spend more time watching *him* than the other 
way around."
	"In short, he's a liability we can't afford."
	"Your response to that?"
	Jerome was reeling at the rapid-fire delivery of that argument, 
but managed to respond, "Uh.  Well-reasoned."  He took a moment to gather 
his counter-arguments.  "Even so, he's the best we have here.  I can't 
spare Shooter..."
	"Mark Renfield," Lynn explained, noting Daria's quizzical look.  
"Bartender over at Biers."
	Jerome ignored the interruption.  "And Remora...well, he would 
be a far worse option, believe me."
	"Arm the band, then," Daria suggested.
	"Hell," added Lynn, "arm *us.*  We studied under Warlock -- 
however briefly."
	"Tell me that our experience `in the field' doesn't count for 
something."
	"You know nothing about the business angle of things," the Falcon 
pointed out.  "Missing H is far better positioned to get the information 
you'd need to get you by."  Daria and Lynn exchanged looks -- much as 
they'd only admit it under pentothal, he had a point there.  "At least 
keep lines of communication open with him.  He may prove himself valuable 
yet.  And I would hope that, eventually, some of your...latent talents 
would rub off on him."
	"Flattery will get you nowhere," Lynn replied.
	"Strictly speaking, that was a challenge for you, not flattery."
	Daria and Lynn exchanged another look.  "Excuse us," they said 
in unison, then left the room.  Out of eye-corners, they could see Jerome 
looking after them.   He seemed extremely impressed.

				      * * *

"So what do we do now?" Daria asked once they were out in the kitchen.  
"I mean, Tom's already *at* Lawndale High and realistically there's no 
way to make him leave."
	"I know," Lynn replied, sounding tired and a little old.  "And 
I guess if we're going to have to accept protection, it should be on 
our own terms."  A heavy sigh.  "God, I'm sick of this..."
	"Are you--?"
	Lynn raised a hand.  "If you finish that question it will go 
hard with you. -- I'll be fine. -- Now if we're accepting his offer on 
our terms, we need to work through what the terms *are.*"
	Daria looked at her elder sister with some concern.  Lynn looked 
back with an expression which clearly indicated that she was not about 
to brook any argument.


ACT 3: RELEASE

"Runaway train, never goin' back
 Wrong way on a one-way track
 Seems like I should be gettin' somewhere
 Somehow I'm neither here nor there"
	-- Soul Asylum, "Runaway Train"

Jerome had perched warily on the sofa, apparently not wanting to get 
too comfortable.  Daria and Lynn re-entered the living room, both with 
the same deadpan expressions.
	Lynn led off.  "We will refrain from treating Rust entirely like 
a plague rat.  That's about the best we can promise."
	"You have to understand," added Daria, "that we have very good 
reasons for disliking him.  There's some history involved."
	"But from the point of view of...`security'...we won't let it 
interfere.  At least at school."
	"But we will *not* take him into our social circle.  If you want 
protection for us after school hours, you will have to arm us and let 
us handle our own affairs."
	"That includes Mystik Spiral.  And Narcissa -- she's involved 
in this too, like it or not."
	"And the final condition is that `Rust' stops with the 
recruitment drive. And so do you."
	"Excuse me..." Jerome interjected.
	"We have lives to lead," Lynn pointed out.  "High school to 
finish.  We haven't got the time needed to become what you want us to 
be."
	"Leopard managed well enough. As did Kes."
	"Tell me they had social lives."
	Silence.
	"I can't promise you that.  And I believe you know why.  I may 
lose people sooner than expected. It would be...difficult not to expect 
me to at least try to replace them as quickly as possible."
	"With *us?*" Daria boggled.
	"I see no reason why not."
	"Youth, inexperience...unwilling..."
	"I can't speak as regards you, Daria.  You seem...very adaptable. 
You possess a unique ability in our family -- you can move with the 
current, so to speak, and get what you want with a minimum of wave-
making."  He turned to Lynn.  "You, however, are a different matter and 
have been since you were small.  Tell me the last time you shrank at 
breaking a rule or tearing down any system that irritated you."  Lynn 
looked away.
	Daria, not liking this, took the offensive.  "Have you ever 
thought that she could do the same to *your* system, if she chose?"  
A slight smirk.  "Maybe you should think again before taking that risk."
	Jerome answered it with a slight smile.  "A valiant effort.  
But she's too loyal for that and you know it."  He turned back to Lynn, 
sensing a weakening.  "I know things have been...difficult of late and 
I blame myself for that."
	"As do we."
	He winced slightly.  "Indeed.  But the fact remains," still 
addressed to Lynn, "that this is what you were meant for.  You may not 
have been raised to it, but you were born to it.  And I have my doubts 
as to whether you'd be truly happy doing anything else.  In any case, 
the Family may come to depend on you one day in the not too distant 
future..."  Now he turned to Daria.  "And it would be helpful if she 
had someone at her side who's able and above all *willing* to play the 
game by the rules if that's the best course."
	"Jane?" Lynn suggested.  "A.P.?"
	"Ah, the one with the knives and the miniature Pagebert."
	She seemed mildly disgusted.  "Well, that answers *my*
question..."
	"Actually," Daria pointed out, "Pagebert's more articulate..."
	Lynn was only maintaining her composure with a visible effort.  
"Maybe it was too much to ask for you to stop pushing.  But we still 
don't have to say yes."  She looked her father straight in the eye.  
"It's a battle of wills.  It might be interesting to see who wins it."
	Daria looked between the two of them, concerned.  Jerome looked 
sad; Lynn, adamant.
	There was a frosty pause.
	At length, Jerome decided *now* was the time to change the 
subject.  "Right, well, I think we've discussed business enough for one 
day. -- Is there any chance of my taking you both to dinner?"
	_Ping!_ went a lightbulb inside Daria's head.  "Sorry, but Jane's 
expecting me.  You two go ahead, though."
	Lynn shot a slight Look at Daria.  "I can't.  I have a date."  
She checked her watch.  "And he should be here in five...four...three..."
	"Hey ho, Purple Peril; I..."  Thud.  "Owwwwwww..."
	A smirk blended with a fond smile on Lynn's face at the noises 
from upstairs.  "Hey. He's early."
	Jerome smiled softly himself.  "I see. -- Well, perhaps tomorrow?"
	Lynn looked reluctant...until she saw the accept-or-I-will-hurt-
you look on Daria's face.  Fighting to keep the reluctance out of her 
voice, she said, "Okay."  After a moment, she added, "But no damn
business."
	"No...I think that will be our time to play catch-up."
	A.P. thumped down the stairs and poked his head into the living 
room.  "Hey, Purple Peril, what's with the..."  He saw the room's other 
occupants and instantly froze over.  "Uh..."
	"Hello A.P."
	"Sir."  You could have used his voice to chill your drink.
	Jerome raised an eyebrow.  "It's an improvement."  He turned to 
Lynn.  "Six-thirty suit?"  She nodded.  Jerome nodded back and got to 
his feet.  "I'll see myself out.  And thank you for taking the time to 
negotiate, at least."  He made his exit.
	A.P. watched him go, then turned to the Bobbsey Twins.  "Okaaay...
How'd it go?"
	Lynn vented a tired little sigh.  "Someone call Jane.  I guess 
we'd better brief everyone before we get our lives back for awhile."  
Daria and A.P. shared a worried glance.

				      * * *

Helen was pacing the living room floor when Jake finally came in, looking 
thoughtful but not obviously drunk.  She turned on him at once.  "Jake!  
Where have you been?"
	He seemed distracted.  "Just out thinking."
	"Well, could you please sit down because I have something to 
tell you."  Looking a bit confused, he sat.  "Now, Jake, I know you 
probably won't like this, but...Jerome Smythe came by my office this 
morning and he invited me out to lunch and it seemed silly to say no 
so I accepted and I had a lovely time but nothing happened and..."  She 
finally came out of the prattling Quinn-mode and realized that her 
husband didn't look the least bit surprised.  "How did you *know?*"
	"He came by to talk to Daria. -- I think I see what you saw in 
him."
	"Jake..."
	"And I wonder what the hell you see in *me*..."
	"Jake, don't talk that way!"  She sat down next to him.  "You're 
a warm, kind, caring man.  Jerome...there's always a distance with 
Jerome."  She reached over and turned his face to hers.  "Jake, *please* 
don't compare yourself to him -- that's eighteen years *over.*  I love 
*you*; please tell me you know that."
	"Helen...why'd you tell me you'd been out with him?  I wouldn't 
have..."
	"I'm not going to lie to you anymore, Jake.  In any case, it 
was harmless."  Jake was probably heartened more by her determination 
to be honest with him than by anything else about the whole situation, 
but that was still enough to make him hug her tight.
	Quinn came in just then.  "Hi Mom, Dad, I...EWWWW!  I need a 
shower!"  With that, she dashed upstairs to her room and slammed the 
door.  Helen and Jake just held each other, not even having noticed her.

				      * * *

The next day, Daria, Jane, Lynn and AP were all seated at a cafeteria 
table, not talking.  Even a casual observer would have sensed that they 
were waiting for something.  What, or rather whom, they were waiting 
*for* became apparent when Tom stepped over to the table, carrying a 
tray and looking nervous.  "May I join you?" he asked with an obvious 
double meaning.
	The others looked at each other with swallowing-bitter-medicine 
expressions.  Then Lynn gestured him toward an empty seat -- the farthest 
one from her, everyone noticed.
	He sat, and there was a tense silence.  "Can I ask you guys a 
question?"  Simultaneous quizzical raising of four eyebrows.  "What is 
up with your teachers?"
	"Which ones?" asked Daria.
	"*All* of them."
	"Where to start?" wondered Jane.  "There's so much to hate about 
them."  Lynn looked at her "food" but didn't say anything.
	"For instance, Ms. Barch.  I got `Not another damned beer-
guzzling *man!*' as my welcome to class."
	"It could be worse," Daria pointed out.
	"It *has been* worse," added Jane.
	"You have Purple Peril to thank for the fact that your grade 
in her class isn't in the toilet already."
	Lynn blushed at A.P.'s comment.  "Didn't do it alone..."
	"Yeah," Jane allowed as, "but it was your insidious plot that 
got her to drop the campaign to fail every guy that passed through her 
class."  Her next remark was addressed specifically to Tom and A.P.  
"You two *should* by rights be worshipping at the feet of the Goddess 
of Subversion, you know..."  She caught Daria's shut-*up*-Jane glare, 
then followed Daria's gaze to Lynn, who was poking at her food, looking 
pale and almost frightened.
	Tom evidently caught that too, or else there was some other 
reason he decided it was sledgehammer time again.  "Okay, that's one 
mystery solved.  Before I call Robert Stack, someone want to explain 
O'Neill?"
	"There *are* no words to explain O'Neill.  Closest I can come 
is `Sensitive New-Age Man.'"  Tom gave Daria a grateful little smile 
for that; she raised an eyebrow as if to say don't-push-your-luck.

				      * * *

Jerome was sitting at his table in Chez Pierre, looking at his napkin, 
which was folded into the shape of a swan.  After a moment, he picked 
it up and started twisting it nervously.  Then he realized what he was 
doing and simply shook it out and put it in his lap.  He then looked 
up...just as Lynn, in a long strapless purple dress that looked familiar 
from somewhere, stepped through the door, strode over to his table in 
an arrogant enough way to deter the snooty maitre d', and sat down across 
from him.  "Nicely punctual," he remarked.
	Lynn shrugged.  "Did it have to be *here?*"
	"I heard it was the best Lawndale had to offer.  And anyway, 
you may as well get used to it.  This is the sort of lifestyle our family 
is accustomed to.  You remember the wedding, of course."
	"Been there, done that, wearing the stupid dress."
	"Ah, yes, I saw the pictures. -- Lynn, I know I promised not 
to discuss this with you tonight, but--"
	"I wouldn't."  She cut her eyes to the side.  A few tables over, 
Sandi was practically falling out of her chair trying to listen in, and 
Joey was looking at his date as if she'd finally gone completely non-
linear.  "Whatever you say tonight would be broadcast all over school 
by Little Miss Demolition Derby over there."
	"Oh?  How `demolition derby'?"

				      * * *

Much, much later, Sandi and Joey stepped out of the restaurant, into 
the parking lot.  They turned right...and Sandi's eyes went wide with 
horror.  "AUUUUUGH!"  Her little yellow convertible was a mess.  Slashed 
tires, black anarchy symbols spray-painted along the body, hood and gas 
cap both popped as if to suggest that serious tampering had gone on under 
both.  "WHAT THEE HELL?"
	From a nearby alleyway, Lynn and Jerome, with oil and paint 
stains on their fancy clothes, looked at each other and smirked.  
"Haven't had that much fun in years," said he.  After a moment, something 
occurred to him.  "Will they catch us?"
	"Not a chance in hell.  Remember I left a few minutes before 
you?"  Lynn held up a spray can.  "Bye bye security cameras."
	"You really are my daughter, aren't you."
	She looked away.  "Yeah," she said softly.  "Yeah I am."

ADAPTOR'S NOTES
	That line about the larger pachyderms was inspired in part by 
a comment in _The "Mystery Science Theatre 3000" Amazing Colossal Episode 
Guide_ wherein one of the "stingers" (those little clips that they show 
at the end of the episode) is described as Tor Johnson (the big fat bald 
guy from _Plan 9_ and other Grade Z film) raging "as only Tor and a few 
silverbacks can."  I thought elephants were too much, and I couldn't 
get the correct plural for "rhinoceros" to look right any more than you 
probably could (though a group of them is called a "crash" -- this has 
been another *wham* Useless Fact), so I settled for "pachyderms" in the 
generic.  Anyone who actually cared about this behind-the-scenes glimpse, 
drop me a line.
	Obligatory legal blap: Daria Morgendorffer was created (as were 
the rest of the Lawndale characters) by Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis 
Lynn, and she and her neighbors are copyright 1993, 1997, 2000 MTV 
Networks, a Viacom company.  (As Michelle Klein-Haess has pointed out, 
work-for-hire sucks the yolks from ostrich eggs.)  Monty Python quotes 
and characters are copright 1970, 2000 Python (Monty) Pictures Ltd.  
They are here used, without the permission of their creators or owners, 
in the not-for-profit context of fan-fiction.  The characters of Lynn 
Cullen and A.P. McIntyre are copyright 1999, 2000 Janet "Canadibrit" 
Neilson.  This storyline is copyright 2000 Canadibrit and Ben Yee and 
was adapted by Austin Loomis (to whom the prose format version is also 
copyright 2000) with their permission.
	All other characters, locations and incidents (of which I don't 
think there are any, actually) are either imaginary or used fictitiously. 
Any coincidence of names is regretted, and any resemblance to persons 
living, dead, undead, or wandering the night in ghostly torment is either 
purely satirical or not my fault.
	As a "substantially transformative" derivative work, this story 
is protected by the Supreme Court's decision in re Campbell v. Acuff 
Rose Music.  It may be freely redistributed as long as this copyright 
notice is maintained intact, but may not be in any way redistributed 
for profit without the permission of the legal owners of all concepts 
involved.  The present author hereby gives permission for any and all 
keepers of Daria fanfic pages to archive this work (as if I could stop 
them).  Any publication of this story for profit without the express 
written permission of Austin Loomis, Janet Neilson, Ben Yee and MTV 
Networks (like any of that'll happen, especially the last) is strictly 
prohibited, and violators, if I ever decide to track them down, will 
be strung up by the thumbs, beaten about the head and shoulders with 
a free-range carrot, and then handed over to corporate lawyers who will 
do terrible things to them.  On purpose.

Austin, and good day.
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