The Awakening
Summary: Tiffany, the lovable Asian girl who is member and treasurer of the fashion club, in parody (to a lesser extent mind you) to the great book by Kate Chopin, begins to have her 'awakening.' Will she too fall to the fate of Edna?
Edit to say: This is my first fanfic, please don't hurt me, and I do not own Daria, but I must say that I wish the show had run longer. I think everyone misses it...
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"Uh-huh," The voice of Tiffany droned on in her apathetic monotone into the phone. It was a brilliant Thursday afternoon. A gleaming yellow sun shone through the clouds above into the bay window of the kitchen, and Tiffany sat fingering through a copy of vogue while espousing the fears of Stacy. Well, she wasn't actually listening to Stacy, because, as she knew, Stacy liked to trouble herself with the most trivial of questions. Wasn't it obvious to anyone that butterfly clips should only be worn by preteen adolescents trying to attract boyband members they could never possibly have? Yet Stacy's voice continued on through the phone.
"I heard that Sandi was going to have another meeting, you know, since we're going to go shopping this weekend, and then I heard from Quinn that we weren't, but she said that it might be a lunch date tomorrow, and that I just would have to ask you, but then..."
"Uh-huh," Tiffany placed the phone down upon the table and began to study an article in the magazine. Why was it that they even bothered with her anyway? She brushed a strand of shimmering (and bouncy) black hair behind her ear and stood, half-heartedly listening to Stacy as she gazed around the empty kitchen. Her parents were at work still, and she had the house to herself, the perfectly spotless and wonderfully decorated home. And yet... oddly, Tiffany felt it incomplete. Perhaps it was the constant feeling of everything being... new... that the furniture in the living room changed periodically to a sense of only staying for a maximum of six months (and only if they forgot about it). She stood over at the island countertop and stared down upon another set of magazines her parents had carelessly left strewn about. Something about the tacky one, the one with the girl with glasses and bad skin on the cover made her stop and stare at one of the titles...
What are you doing with your life? A Plan for the future...
It wasn't that Tiffany never looked ahead. She always made sure she was up to date with what was going on in the world of fashion, and sometimes news in general, but she never put much stock into it (save for the time she got help from the SAT preparations teacher). Her brown eyes squinted and she imagined herself as the girl (minus the bad skin and glasses), attending some prestigious school, or helping fight AIDs in Africa, or doing something meaningful. But there was a tug at her chest, and she envisioned Sandi shaking her head, and the queer look from Quinn... and wouldn't she have to get dirty or be around nerds to do either of those things?
"Hello?! Am I talking to myself? Oh, did she hang up on me? Why is it I never notice when this happens... Tiffany?! Tiffany!" A voice called her back to reality, and she turned back to the phone. The sun had gone behind a cloud then, and the whole kitchen had darkened. She picked up the cordless and brushed a strand of hair behind her head once again.
"Um, I think you should ask Sandi..." Tiffany's monotone response seemed to shock Stacy. She made to turn off the thing and hit the 'talk' button, but heard a cry,
"But I already did and she said..."
It was quiet then, tranquil and serene in her big kitchen. She suddenly didn't feel much like heading out with her friends to do anything, though she couldn't remain idle while inside her home. Her heart palpitated as she stared at the birds outside, and a queer little smile crossed her face. A... bird sanctuary? No, that wasn't the best place to begin looking for her future. Perhaps... perhaps she could venture out and find someone... something to do that would resolve this unquenchable thirst. Not that she would ever use 'unquenchable' herself in a sentence, but it seemed to fit.
Her eyes darted to the car keys and she stole away into the garage. It was humid, and the heat caused beads of perspiration to wet her brow. She hurried inside her S.U.V. and opened the glove compartment to retrieve some antibacterial wipes (for one couldn't have a break out while out on the town). She sat for a moment in the car, wondering where exactly it was she was heading. Tiffany reached for her cell phone and flipped it open. After reading the extensive text message sent by Stacy (do you think it's okay to mix yellow and brown... because i don't know, and quinn won't answer me, and i was going to go with sandi tomorrow...). She scrolled in her phonebook to find her Oracle...
"House of Hell, how my I help you," said Daria Morgandorffer, who happened to answer the phone. Tiffany stared at her phone for a moment, unsure if she had dialed the right numbers... but then realized she hadn't dialed any numbers at all...
"Um... is your cousin there?" Tiffany inquired as she flipped down one of the mirrors from the overhead.
"Sadly, I think my sister has stepped out to lunch. If you'd like some help, I'm sure someone else would be more useful..."
"Oh," Tiffany was crestfallen. "Could you tell me where I could... like, find some information...?" Tiffany took out some lip gloss from her purse and began to dab some onto her lips, wondering if Quinn's cousin would help her get anywhere. The poor soul seemed to never do anything, always stuck in the same clothes and the same house...
Daria marveled at the many responses to this question. She opted for a less harsh retort, "You could always try to find something in your local library if it's that pressing... or did you mean you wanted me to tell you?" She hoped that this would stimulate Tiffany to hang up the phone. Sadly, she was mistaken.
"The library... the place where they sell second-hand books? I guess that could be worth a try..." She thought for a moment about the possible outcomes to the situation. First, if she were spotted there by someone she knew, they would think she was actually trying to learn something. And, if she made a fool of herself in front of others, she could harm the fashion club image. And yet, if people she knew were there and were important enough to be there, wouldn't that mean that she would have a right to be there? The complexities of the situation made her pause.
"Hello?" Daria called to Tiffany, now growing tired of the phone call. She had other things to do that didn't involve acting as a 411 operator.
"Do you know if they serve lattes at the library?" Tiffany's seriousness while asking the question almost made Daria somewhat sorry she hung up on the young woman. But then again, not really. In fact, not at all.
Tiffany placed the phone back into the glove compartment, and she adjusted the rear-view mirror. The steel made a creaking noise as the garage door began to life. A speck of sunlight began to creep in, and continued until the whole room was lit with the warm rays. Tiffany began backing the car out and down her driveway, and made her way onto the street. This would be a new day then, a different day than was to be expected. She had only her whims, her fancies, and her unbridled energy to lead her. The question skulking into her mind was, what would her friends say?
Summary: Tiffany, the lovable Asian girl who is member and treasurer of the fashion club, in parody (to a lesser extent mind you) to the great book by Kate Chopin, begins to have her 'awakening.' Will she too fall to the fate of Edna?
Edit to say: This is my first fanfic, please don't hurt me, and I do not own Daria, but I must say that I wish the show had run longer. I think everyone misses it...
=============================================================
"Uh-huh," The voice of Tiffany droned on in her apathetic monotone into the phone. It was a brilliant Thursday afternoon. A gleaming yellow sun shone through the clouds above into the bay window of the kitchen, and Tiffany sat fingering through a copy of vogue while espousing the fears of Stacy. Well, she wasn't actually listening to Stacy, because, as she knew, Stacy liked to trouble herself with the most trivial of questions. Wasn't it obvious to anyone that butterfly clips should only be worn by preteen adolescents trying to attract boyband members they could never possibly have? Yet Stacy's voice continued on through the phone.
"I heard that Sandi was going to have another meeting, you know, since we're going to go shopping this weekend, and then I heard from Quinn that we weren't, but she said that it might be a lunch date tomorrow, and that I just would have to ask you, but then..."
"Uh-huh," Tiffany placed the phone down upon the table and began to study an article in the magazine. Why was it that they even bothered with her anyway? She brushed a strand of shimmering (and bouncy) black hair behind her ear and stood, half-heartedly listening to Stacy as she gazed around the empty kitchen. Her parents were at work still, and she had the house to herself, the perfectly spotless and wonderfully decorated home. And yet... oddly, Tiffany felt it incomplete. Perhaps it was the constant feeling of everything being... new... that the furniture in the living room changed periodically to a sense of only staying for a maximum of six months (and only if they forgot about it). She stood over at the island countertop and stared down upon another set of magazines her parents had carelessly left strewn about. Something about the tacky one, the one with the girl with glasses and bad skin on the cover made her stop and stare at one of the titles...
What are you doing with your life? A Plan for the future...
It wasn't that Tiffany never looked ahead. She always made sure she was up to date with what was going on in the world of fashion, and sometimes news in general, but she never put much stock into it (save for the time she got help from the SAT preparations teacher). Her brown eyes squinted and she imagined herself as the girl (minus the bad skin and glasses), attending some prestigious school, or helping fight AIDs in Africa, or doing something meaningful. But there was a tug at her chest, and she envisioned Sandi shaking her head, and the queer look from Quinn... and wouldn't she have to get dirty or be around nerds to do either of those things?
"Hello?! Am I talking to myself? Oh, did she hang up on me? Why is it I never notice when this happens... Tiffany?! Tiffany!" A voice called her back to reality, and she turned back to the phone. The sun had gone behind a cloud then, and the whole kitchen had darkened. She picked up the cordless and brushed a strand of hair behind her head once again.
"Um, I think you should ask Sandi..." Tiffany's monotone response seemed to shock Stacy. She made to turn off the thing and hit the 'talk' button, but heard a cry,
"But I already did and she said..."
It was quiet then, tranquil and serene in her big kitchen. She suddenly didn't feel much like heading out with her friends to do anything, though she couldn't remain idle while inside her home. Her heart palpitated as she stared at the birds outside, and a queer little smile crossed her face. A... bird sanctuary? No, that wasn't the best place to begin looking for her future. Perhaps... perhaps she could venture out and find someone... something to do that would resolve this unquenchable thirst. Not that she would ever use 'unquenchable' herself in a sentence, but it seemed to fit.
Her eyes darted to the car keys and she stole away into the garage. It was humid, and the heat caused beads of perspiration to wet her brow. She hurried inside her S.U.V. and opened the glove compartment to retrieve some antibacterial wipes (for one couldn't have a break out while out on the town). She sat for a moment in the car, wondering where exactly it was she was heading. Tiffany reached for her cell phone and flipped it open. After reading the extensive text message sent by Stacy (do you think it's okay to mix yellow and brown... because i don't know, and quinn won't answer me, and i was going to go with sandi tomorrow...). She scrolled in her phonebook to find her Oracle...
"House of Hell, how my I help you," said Daria Morgandorffer, who happened to answer the phone. Tiffany stared at her phone for a moment, unsure if she had dialed the right numbers... but then realized she hadn't dialed any numbers at all...
"Um... is your cousin there?" Tiffany inquired as she flipped down one of the mirrors from the overhead.
"Sadly, I think my sister has stepped out to lunch. If you'd like some help, I'm sure someone else would be more useful..."
"Oh," Tiffany was crestfallen. "Could you tell me where I could... like, find some information...?" Tiffany took out some lip gloss from her purse and began to dab some onto her lips, wondering if Quinn's cousin would help her get anywhere. The poor soul seemed to never do anything, always stuck in the same clothes and the same house...
Daria marveled at the many responses to this question. She opted for a less harsh retort, "You could always try to find something in your local library if it's that pressing... or did you mean you wanted me to tell you?" She hoped that this would stimulate Tiffany to hang up the phone. Sadly, she was mistaken.
"The library... the place where they sell second-hand books? I guess that could be worth a try..." She thought for a moment about the possible outcomes to the situation. First, if she were spotted there by someone she knew, they would think she was actually trying to learn something. And, if she made a fool of herself in front of others, she could harm the fashion club image. And yet, if people she knew were there and were important enough to be there, wouldn't that mean that she would have a right to be there? The complexities of the situation made her pause.
"Hello?" Daria called to Tiffany, now growing tired of the phone call. She had other things to do that didn't involve acting as a 411 operator.
"Do you know if they serve lattes at the library?" Tiffany's seriousness while asking the question almost made Daria somewhat sorry she hung up on the young woman. But then again, not really. In fact, not at all.
Tiffany placed the phone back into the glove compartment, and she adjusted the rear-view mirror. The steel made a creaking noise as the garage door began to life. A speck of sunlight began to creep in, and continued until the whole room was lit with the warm rays. Tiffany began backing the car out and down her driveway, and made her way onto the street. This would be a new day then, a different day than was to be expected. She had only her whims, her fancies, and her unbridled energy to lead her. The question skulking into her mind was, what would her friends say?