The Generation's Prism
chapter one- We Are Driven.
Author's Note: if you have read any of my other Daria fics, this story will probably make a lot more sense to you, but it's not necessary. the themes and established relationships in my other stories have a fairly minor role in this one, so it's no big deal.
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Independant Women. It was more than an overplayed, processed arrangement of notes and lyrics to Daria. She hated the song, but those words encapsuled her life, the existence she had carved out for herself with Jane and the few others she could call friends. The older generation seemed to resent people like her, the fresh out of college, goal-oriented new generation, living a life more self-gratifying than their parents could have ever dreamed. There was more than a need to survive or to even be successful driving Daria. There was the knowledge of who she was, what she wanted, playing the most pivotal role in her life choices, and her confidence was strong enough to make her believe she deserved everything she worked to recieve, and she couldn't see any reason not to have that attitude.
With that mental state, the six years since she had graduated high school had brought her here, to the thrid story condo she shared with Jane, her best friend and now lover ever since their college days. Arriving home from nine hours working as copy editor for Dark Horse, a rapidly expanding arts and literature magazine, her eyes exhausted and her brain in desperate need of relaxation as well, she quickly changed her clothes, swapping her sensible skirt, jacket and pantyhose ensemble for an extra large t-shirt and ankle socks, and plopped down on the couch in front of the television. Some things never change. It was seven o'clock, mostly news programs and old sitcoms repeated ad nauseum. Daria liked this general sense of peace, the darkened living room, with the grey light of the screen illuminating her face, reflecting off her glasses. About a month before, she had finally cast off the old dark-rimmed specs and got lighter, wire-rimmed ones, and her face was still unaccustomed to the lighter weight. Some things do seem to change.
A triangle of yellow glowed from the hallway, leading into Jane's office. They had converted the second bedroom into the sanctuary Jane had always dreamed of. Jane was the creative force behind The Lost Girls, a satircal comic serial based on the Fashion Club, but warped just enough so she wouldn't have to pay them royalties. The graphic publishing company that backed the books loved her, and this was steady income, but her paintings were also beginning to turn lucrative. Her last painting sold for over fourteen hundred dollars, but that was three months ago. Daria padded quietly across the floor and entered through the open door to find Jane sitting at her drawing table, inking the last page of the latest book. She was in a similar state of dress as Daria, her thin legs stemming out of cotton boxers under a black shirt. Everything in their home was relaxed. They figured they spent enough time being presentable outside the house, no reason to keep up appearances with each other. It was a strange sort of comfort, Daria thought, being around some she trusted enough to stand in front of in basically underwear, let alone be naked with. Sexual relationships really are intense, to do all that and still carry on with daily life, looking that person in the eye. Squeezing Jane's shoulder gently from behind, she looked down at the vivid black and white pictures, given life from the Promethean fire of Jane's imagination. "Almost done?" Daria mumbled.
Setting her pen down and swiveling around in her chair, Jane hugged her around the waist, kissing her neck lovingly. "Done for now. My publisher doesn't want this next one until monday. I've been working my ass off all week trying to get it done early, so I'll have the weekend free. I want you to pose for me again. I want something to show this new gallery I heard about."
Daria ran her fingers through Jane's hair, sliding through the shiny tresses. She had let it grow out all through college, now it tumbled down her back, reaching just under her breasts. "I'm not so sure about posing for you anymore. There's a difference between this..." she nodded towards the various paintings of her on the wall and easils around the room, nudes of her in the bathtub, posed on the bed, and in front of the picture window in the living room, overlooking the city. "And being exposed in a gallery and possibly some pervert's living room."
Through she tried, Jane couldn't suppress a little laugh. "Daria, perverts don't buy art. It's cheaper to get a porno magazine. And besides, I would never ask you to pose nude for anything that anyone else would see. I was thinking a more abstract piece, kind of a distorted version of the one of you on the bed, but you'd have a sheet to cover you. No one would even be able to tell it was you who posed for it."
Daria bit her lip in contemplation, then finally smiled in resignation and nodded her head yes. "Okay, you know I'll do it. I don't know how you always get me to do these things, but I will."
"What can I say? It's a gift." Jane's blue eyes shimmered with humor.While she tried to get her office in some semblance of order, Daria strolled out into the kitchen, trying to think of what to have for dinner. Neither of them cared much for cooking, as was evidenced by the many microwave dinners in the freezer and the growing dust layer on the stove.
Peering into the fridge, Daria was unmoved by all the possibilties, and lifted her head to call to Jane, "Where's that flier for the new pizza place we got yesterday?"
"Try that mountain of junk mail by the phone," came Jane's reply. She then added, "Speaking of which, you got a letter today from someone in Lawndale."
Daria was already fumbling through the papers on the little folding table, fliers and catalouges that nearly engulfed the phone itself, when Jane emerged from her office, clutching the aforementioned letter. "I figured you'd be interested in this, so I kept it seperate. Didn't want it to get lost in the chaos here." She handed the letter to Daria, in exchange for the flier that had just been found.
"Thanks," Daria took the envelope, looked at the handwritten return address and frowned in confusion. "Joan Griffin...who's that?"
Jane was busy dialing the number on the flier. "Don't know. I figured you did, even though there weren't many people we both didn't know." She quickly put the phone to her ear. "Hi, can I get a large with extra cheese and..."
Sha began to give the order, and Daria wandered back into the living room, flipping on the lamp in the corner and sitting in her over-stuffed reading chair. She studied the outside of the envelope carefully, looking for any clues as to who this Joan Griffin could be. The handwriting was small and dark, a little messy but quite readable. There were a few greasy smudges on it, like someone who had handled the letter had been eating at the same time, but that could have been Jane, who had a habit of bringing her snacks all over the house with her, and leaving the dirty dishes all over the place.
"Is my life so boring that I have to play Sherlock Holmes when I get a letter from someone I probably just don't remember?" Daria wondered aloud. "Fuck it!"
She tore open the envelope, finding a single page of robin's egg stationary, a note written in the same handwriting as that on the return address. Quickly scanning it, Daria drew in a deep breath, contemplating what this was really all about. "Okay, now it's a mystery."
"What is?" Jane asked, coming out of the kitchen and sitting on the armrest of the chair, the side of her hip brushing against Daria's shoulder. "Pizza's on it's way. You're paying this time, right?"
"Oh, yeah, whatever. Jane this is pretty strange. This woman says she went to high school with us, was even in a few of my classes, but I don't remember her at all." She handed the paper to Jane. "Does this ring any bells for you?"
Jane held the letter, noting the quality paper and pastel color, thinking this could only have been a gift. No one buys stationary like this for themselves. Perhaps both the girls had an affinity for clues and mysteries. She read it carefully.
Dear Daria,
I did not mean to alarm you with this letter, but I couldn't think of a better way to get in contact with you than by doing what I do best, writing out my thoughts. I got your address from my cousin, Sandi, who knows your sister. She and I never talked much, never really got along well at all when we were growing up. Maybe people really do mature after high school. That is part of what I wanted to speak to you about. You and I both graduated from Lawndale High the same year, and although I doubt you even remember me, I remember you with perfect clarity. In some ways, you and I are quite alike, you know. I didn't have a lot of close friends either, none really, and I envied your closeness with Jane; I believe she was an artist? We both excelled scholastically (I'm not sure whether or not to congradulate you on that laughable Diane Fosse award you recieved at graduation, but your acceptance speech nonetheless was eloquent and wonderful.) The main objective I had in writing to you is unclear even to myself. I admired you for the subtle confidence you had made your own, and the ability to be social with others, and still maintain your identity. So many people sell peices of themselves for such a shallow price. If you are ever in Lawndale again, feel free to look me up, but I won't hold you to anything. I'm well aware of how much of a stranger I am to you. I am a stranger to just about everybody.
-Joan Griffin
Contemplating this for a moment, Jane furrowed her brow at that last line, but that wasn't what she noticed most. "A little gratuitous on the praise, but not really stalker material. She doesn't seem very threatening, even for a member of Sandi's family."
Daria looked up at Jane. "What do you think I should do? Should I respond to it, since it doesn't seem like a movie of the week kind of situation?"
Jane honestly didn't know, at least not yet. She couldn't think on an empty stomach. "This is one of those issues to be tackled when we have a pizza in front of us." Checking her watch, she added, "But that shouldn't be too long from now."
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Will Daria get in contact with Joan? Will Jane's new painting of Daria bring in big bucks? Will the pizza arrive in thirty minutes or less? Find out in chapter 2, coming soon!
chapter one- We Are Driven.
Author's Note: if you have read any of my other Daria fics, this story will probably make a lot more sense to you, but it's not necessary. the themes and established relationships in my other stories have a fairly minor role in this one, so it's no big deal.
*********************************************************************
Independant Women. It was more than an overplayed, processed arrangement of notes and lyrics to Daria. She hated the song, but those words encapsuled her life, the existence she had carved out for herself with Jane and the few others she could call friends. The older generation seemed to resent people like her, the fresh out of college, goal-oriented new generation, living a life more self-gratifying than their parents could have ever dreamed. There was more than a need to survive or to even be successful driving Daria. There was the knowledge of who she was, what she wanted, playing the most pivotal role in her life choices, and her confidence was strong enough to make her believe she deserved everything she worked to recieve, and she couldn't see any reason not to have that attitude.
With that mental state, the six years since she had graduated high school had brought her here, to the thrid story condo she shared with Jane, her best friend and now lover ever since their college days. Arriving home from nine hours working as copy editor for Dark Horse, a rapidly expanding arts and literature magazine, her eyes exhausted and her brain in desperate need of relaxation as well, she quickly changed her clothes, swapping her sensible skirt, jacket and pantyhose ensemble for an extra large t-shirt and ankle socks, and plopped down on the couch in front of the television. Some things never change. It was seven o'clock, mostly news programs and old sitcoms repeated ad nauseum. Daria liked this general sense of peace, the darkened living room, with the grey light of the screen illuminating her face, reflecting off her glasses. About a month before, she had finally cast off the old dark-rimmed specs and got lighter, wire-rimmed ones, and her face was still unaccustomed to the lighter weight. Some things do seem to change.
A triangle of yellow glowed from the hallway, leading into Jane's office. They had converted the second bedroom into the sanctuary Jane had always dreamed of. Jane was the creative force behind The Lost Girls, a satircal comic serial based on the Fashion Club, but warped just enough so she wouldn't have to pay them royalties. The graphic publishing company that backed the books loved her, and this was steady income, but her paintings were also beginning to turn lucrative. Her last painting sold for over fourteen hundred dollars, but that was three months ago. Daria padded quietly across the floor and entered through the open door to find Jane sitting at her drawing table, inking the last page of the latest book. She was in a similar state of dress as Daria, her thin legs stemming out of cotton boxers under a black shirt. Everything in their home was relaxed. They figured they spent enough time being presentable outside the house, no reason to keep up appearances with each other. It was a strange sort of comfort, Daria thought, being around some she trusted enough to stand in front of in basically underwear, let alone be naked with. Sexual relationships really are intense, to do all that and still carry on with daily life, looking that person in the eye. Squeezing Jane's shoulder gently from behind, she looked down at the vivid black and white pictures, given life from the Promethean fire of Jane's imagination. "Almost done?" Daria mumbled.
Setting her pen down and swiveling around in her chair, Jane hugged her around the waist, kissing her neck lovingly. "Done for now. My publisher doesn't want this next one until monday. I've been working my ass off all week trying to get it done early, so I'll have the weekend free. I want you to pose for me again. I want something to show this new gallery I heard about."
Daria ran her fingers through Jane's hair, sliding through the shiny tresses. She had let it grow out all through college, now it tumbled down her back, reaching just under her breasts. "I'm not so sure about posing for you anymore. There's a difference between this..." she nodded towards the various paintings of her on the wall and easils around the room, nudes of her in the bathtub, posed on the bed, and in front of the picture window in the living room, overlooking the city. "And being exposed in a gallery and possibly some pervert's living room."
Through she tried, Jane couldn't suppress a little laugh. "Daria, perverts don't buy art. It's cheaper to get a porno magazine. And besides, I would never ask you to pose nude for anything that anyone else would see. I was thinking a more abstract piece, kind of a distorted version of the one of you on the bed, but you'd have a sheet to cover you. No one would even be able to tell it was you who posed for it."
Daria bit her lip in contemplation, then finally smiled in resignation and nodded her head yes. "Okay, you know I'll do it. I don't know how you always get me to do these things, but I will."
"What can I say? It's a gift." Jane's blue eyes shimmered with humor.While she tried to get her office in some semblance of order, Daria strolled out into the kitchen, trying to think of what to have for dinner. Neither of them cared much for cooking, as was evidenced by the many microwave dinners in the freezer and the growing dust layer on the stove.
Peering into the fridge, Daria was unmoved by all the possibilties, and lifted her head to call to Jane, "Where's that flier for the new pizza place we got yesterday?"
"Try that mountain of junk mail by the phone," came Jane's reply. She then added, "Speaking of which, you got a letter today from someone in Lawndale."
Daria was already fumbling through the papers on the little folding table, fliers and catalouges that nearly engulfed the phone itself, when Jane emerged from her office, clutching the aforementioned letter. "I figured you'd be interested in this, so I kept it seperate. Didn't want it to get lost in the chaos here." She handed the letter to Daria, in exchange for the flier that had just been found.
"Thanks," Daria took the envelope, looked at the handwritten return address and frowned in confusion. "Joan Griffin...who's that?"
Jane was busy dialing the number on the flier. "Don't know. I figured you did, even though there weren't many people we both didn't know." She quickly put the phone to her ear. "Hi, can I get a large with extra cheese and..."
Sha began to give the order, and Daria wandered back into the living room, flipping on the lamp in the corner and sitting in her over-stuffed reading chair. She studied the outside of the envelope carefully, looking for any clues as to who this Joan Griffin could be. The handwriting was small and dark, a little messy but quite readable. There were a few greasy smudges on it, like someone who had handled the letter had been eating at the same time, but that could have been Jane, who had a habit of bringing her snacks all over the house with her, and leaving the dirty dishes all over the place.
"Is my life so boring that I have to play Sherlock Holmes when I get a letter from someone I probably just don't remember?" Daria wondered aloud. "Fuck it!"
She tore open the envelope, finding a single page of robin's egg stationary, a note written in the same handwriting as that on the return address. Quickly scanning it, Daria drew in a deep breath, contemplating what this was really all about. "Okay, now it's a mystery."
"What is?" Jane asked, coming out of the kitchen and sitting on the armrest of the chair, the side of her hip brushing against Daria's shoulder. "Pizza's on it's way. You're paying this time, right?"
"Oh, yeah, whatever. Jane this is pretty strange. This woman says she went to high school with us, was even in a few of my classes, but I don't remember her at all." She handed the paper to Jane. "Does this ring any bells for you?"
Jane held the letter, noting the quality paper and pastel color, thinking this could only have been a gift. No one buys stationary like this for themselves. Perhaps both the girls had an affinity for clues and mysteries. She read it carefully.
Dear Daria,
I did not mean to alarm you with this letter, but I couldn't think of a better way to get in contact with you than by doing what I do best, writing out my thoughts. I got your address from my cousin, Sandi, who knows your sister. She and I never talked much, never really got along well at all when we were growing up. Maybe people really do mature after high school. That is part of what I wanted to speak to you about. You and I both graduated from Lawndale High the same year, and although I doubt you even remember me, I remember you with perfect clarity. In some ways, you and I are quite alike, you know. I didn't have a lot of close friends either, none really, and I envied your closeness with Jane; I believe she was an artist? We both excelled scholastically (I'm not sure whether or not to congradulate you on that laughable Diane Fosse award you recieved at graduation, but your acceptance speech nonetheless was eloquent and wonderful.) The main objective I had in writing to you is unclear even to myself. I admired you for the subtle confidence you had made your own, and the ability to be social with others, and still maintain your identity. So many people sell peices of themselves for such a shallow price. If you are ever in Lawndale again, feel free to look me up, but I won't hold you to anything. I'm well aware of how much of a stranger I am to you. I am a stranger to just about everybody.
-Joan Griffin
Contemplating this for a moment, Jane furrowed her brow at that last line, but that wasn't what she noticed most. "A little gratuitous on the praise, but not really stalker material. She doesn't seem very threatening, even for a member of Sandi's family."
Daria looked up at Jane. "What do you think I should do? Should I respond to it, since it doesn't seem like a movie of the week kind of situation?"
Jane honestly didn't know, at least not yet. She couldn't think on an empty stomach. "This is one of those issues to be tackled when we have a pizza in front of us." Checking her watch, she added, "But that shouldn't be too long from now."
*******************************************************************
Will Daria get in contact with Joan? Will Jane's new painting of Daria bring in big bucks? Will the pizza arrive in thirty minutes or less? Find out in chapter 2, coming soon!