Hello! Welcome to my undetermined-in-length story about a birthday, which may or may not edge into territory I've covered before in Daria fanfiction.


"What're you gonna do for your birthday?"

"Become legally a year older."

"As in plans?"

"Reflect over the year wherein I've achieved nothing of note, compounded with the other seventeen or so years of equally wasted time." Daria tilted her head back, enough to catch Jane's eye. "I figure by the age of twenty-five, I'll have enough guilt to implode, if I start now."

"You know it doesn't work like that." Jane drawled, as if unimpressed with her friend's ignorance. "You have to wait till you're fourty."

There was silence between them, the fall evening so mild that water would be insulted. It was cool, but not too cool, and dark, but not too dark. Fall was the most relaxed of the seasons, though it bore the marks of Halloween decorations in decay pressed against Christmas lights.

Also, it was the season Daria was born in. Or more to the point, the season she'd been told she was associated with. Horoscopes, and star signs, and all that new age, old age addages. There was a magazine lain across her lap, taut with the stories that other people had published. Oh, other people. They had done everything in the world, and Daria had done...

Well, not much.

Or it never felt like much. She had written a few manuscripts, sort of, and they were tucked in binders or in the digital space of her computer. Beyond them were the few poems she wrote, all of which erred on the side of distaste for poetry. No rhymes, and no floral edges.

"Well..."

"What?"

"It's the twenty-sixth, right?" Jane sat down on her bed, hard, enough to impart a cloud of dust into Daria's space. She fluttered her hands at it, nose wrinkled and eyes narrowed. "A Saturday?"

"Gosh, I'm only up to ten with my counting."

Jane set her hand onto the bed, her cheek on her shoulder and her eyes fixed down at Daria. There was annoyance, she saw that, but it was no worse than usual. Jane was used to her, in a way few people were.

There was silence, more than Daria expected. She looked down to the magazine, to mark her page with the receipt she'd gotten for her purchase of it. She set it aside, and turned all at once, her arms folded onto the bed, her eyes turned up to Jane.

"What's your idea?" Daria asked, as much eagerness embroided into her encouragement.

"Glad you asked!" Jane beamed. "Mystik Spiral has a gig a few towns over, about... Gosh, six hours? So, I thought we could go with."

Daria watched, unsure where the rest of the idea was.

"That's it. Mystik Spiral gig. Another town." Jane's voice dropped, consipirital and low. "We'd have to stay out there, your parents wouldn't hassle you to have a party at home. Just say you're having one at a Spiral gig, that you're gonna stay the night. They'd never know."

Daria watched, unsure where her parents would bury Jane's body for the idea. Except, it wouldn't be so drastic. She had watched each of her birthdays come into and out of focus, each one unmarked. Her onagainoffagain thing with Tom was off again, and she had been... Okay, a part of her had been curious as to how a birthday went when you had a boyfriend.

Instead, she had the incredible pleasure of a failed relationship to add to her birthday retrospection. She dropped her chin lower into the crook of her arms, to obscure her mouth better. She had no energy to smile or laugh, or argue. She instead stared at a new freckle on her forearm, which impeded upon an older freckle she had been attached to.

"No?"

Daria shrugged, though more was required. "I guess."

"So no?"

Daria rolled her eyes. "I don't know, I thought you had something... More, about me?" The words came out shyer, lost into the meat of her forearm.

"I figured you'd want to get away from your family and your sister." Jane began, her posture dropped. "Plus, I asked Trent, and he said we could get beer. They're getting paid extra for the distance, kinda like an import tax... He was gonna slide us some."

Daria felt her skin go hot, though she couldn't pinpoint why. She had no interest in alcohol, not expressedly. She had never told Jane she wanted to drink, nor did she want to. It might happen, one day, wine at a gallery opening, or a bar, maybe, but not now. The panic showed, enough that Jane had raised her hands.

"It was just an idea."

Daria should reassure Jane, but she couldn't. Instead she shook her head, eyes scrunched, her posture straight now. "I didn't think we were the underage drinking type."

"There's a type?" Jane laughed. "I drink beer, sometimes. Spirits throw me off, they make me think I'd slugged paint thinner."

"I didn't know that."

"You didn't ask." Jane smiled, though it lacked in the usual mirth. "I'm not out getting wasted. I have a beer with the Spiral sometimes, or when Trent gets a few slabs instead of cash. It's not that big a deal. Not to me, anyway. As long as I'm with people I trust, y'know?"

Daria watched Jane, careful attention settled on her face. There was more to the story, but Daria hadn't the words to pry. Words were her speciality, and she was told she could write well. It was a constant source of praise and validation, one of the few she possessed. All those words had been suckerpunched out of her nostrils at the idea of Jane and alcohol, which wasn't such an insane concept upon reflection.

"Do I have to drink?"

"Yes, totally." Jane deadpanned, eyebrow raised. "I'm gonna force you to get wasted for your birthday, and hold your hair while you cry. Then we can hobble you home in your heels, and you can cry about a boy you like."

"Sounds great." Daria stood up, to tuck her magazine into her backpack. "I'll ask my mom. I doubt we have plans anyway. Gotta get home for dinner anyway."

"Let me know. Still got a few weeks." Jane left it there, and Daria sent her a smile. It was brief, slight, but enough to relax Jane's knotted posture.

Daria didn't do birthday plans, or plans about herself in general. Plans set expectations, and expectations led to disappointment. There is no notable malice with that thought, aside from the sobriety with which she operated. She liked to be so blunt with her analysis that she wouldn't be left unchecked. It could be linked to Quinn, who was so the opposite of that, but she dismissed that.

Daria refused to be defined as an opposite of Quinn, as it made her feel validated only by her otherness. She could be happy, and attend parties, and make friends, and smile, damn it, but on her own terms. The thought of beer and music a few towns over sent her skin into a crawl, but it was another hurdle. She would be at college in no time, and she needed a thicker skin.

And it was her birthday. Her eighteenth birthday. She owed it to herself to try, just once, to have some semblance of a party. Not one that was focused on her with cake and clowns, but she would push herself out of the padded cell she called a room. Or, she would try to do all this, because Jane seemed to think it was a good idea.

"Hey."

Daria pivoted, hands fastened on the straps of her backpack. She had stilled outside of Jane's room and not moved, so trapped in her own mind. Down the hall was Trent, toothbrush at an angle with his belt between his hands. He seemed to be in the process of buckling or unbuckling it, but Daria had looked elsewhere. It clanked and sounded, and when it stopped she looked back.

"You stayin' over?"

"No." Daria shot back, eyes narrowed.

"Need a lift then?"

Daria glanced at the dark window, and the answer could only be yes. She had to be home, as she had already screwed up her curfew. She had done so with intent, to ensure her parents would refuse to throw her a party. They would be too mad at her to want to try, and in turn, they wouldn't fail as they did every year. It wasn't personal, and she didn't loathe them for it. They were better at Quinn's idea of a party, rather than Daria's.

Trent had stepped closer, the toothbrush still protruded from the corner of his mouth. She looked him up and down, as if to ask where he'd spit the foam. He smiled, as much as he could around the plastic, and stepped away towards the bathroom. She watched as his hand framed the doorway, and he leaned halfway in to hock the foam into the sink. One leg remained on the ground while the other balanced him out, and he swung back around a moment later.

"I gotta go pick up Monique." Trent explained, the rattle of his keys an unwelcome jingle.

"Make sure you limber up first." Daria followed, her head level and her expression unchanged.

Trent shot her a look, between amused and scandalized.

"If you're going to pick her up, you don't want to pull anything." Daria explained, her tone closer to angry than amused.

"Oh." Trent laughed his smoker's laugh, complimented by the hacked cough. "Good one."

Daria stepped out after Trent, who leaned back to make sure the door was pulled shut. She was caught between him and the hedge, a few sticks dug into her shins and hands. He jangled the keys until he found one that locked the door, and she looked confused.

"Janey's home alone."

Daria wanted to ask why it mattered, but she didn't want to speak. She was sick of the misinformation that sprouted each time she opened her mouth, and how her tone seemed ill-suited. Or rather, her lack of a tone. She spoke with an even voice as best she could, as a result of some early age therapy over her anger towards Quinn.

All part of her scheduled introspection and self-loathing, circa the twenty-sixth of October.

"So you gonna come with to Charlestown?"

Daria shrugged.

"It'd be cool to have you along. Janey gets into less trouble when you're around."

"I'm boring, I get it."

Trent unlocked the car, his hands bracketed on the roof. "Says the girl who drove across the state to bring bail money."

Daria felt her face inch back into hot and now red, her eyebrows furrowed further. She climbed into the car after a long pause, as she considered the walk home. It wasn't too late in the evening, but she was already late for dinner. Her parents would revoke her access to the Lane household altogether if she pushed it. Though with how Jane and Trent acted, she might welcome that.

"You cool?"

Daria shot Trent a look, narrowed eyes obscured by her glasses. The low light made them into discs of white, reflected from the streetlamps.

Trent met her eye, brief but there, a sad smile on his face. He would press her, and she wanted him to ask, but neither broke. She looked away to the floor of the car, chin ducked against her chest. He opened his mouth, a sigh, absent, but coughed instead of spoke.

Daria crossed her arms and sunk further into her seat, the belt done with undefined aggression. The car set into motion beneath her, the rumble of the engine offset by the jerk of the seats. The whole car moved on its own, which was made worse by the engine. She kicked at a burger wrapper, and tried to toe it away from herself.

"Birthdays suck."

Daria felt her insides relax and clench at once, her throat in dry motion as she swallowed back her surprise. "Yeah."

"I think it's cause, like, the media tells you what to expect, y'know? So you grow up, you kinda... You hope you get the big cake, the presents, the friends all standin' around you - but, you don't." Trent tapped at the wheel, fingers in motion. "That's why you're all pissed, right?"

"I'm not all pissed." Daria parroted back, teeth bared.

"Right." Trent adjusted in his seat, tongue in motion against dry lips. "I'm just saying, as someone who's had a few birthdays, they're... I dunno. My parents didn't really do anything for them, uh, and Jane? Jesse and the guys help me celebrate with her, 'cause we're like a little..." Trent paused, to cast a look to her. "Bands are like family. We fight, but we're still there for one another."

"Right." Daria watched the street signs pass by, to spare herself the sight of Trent.

"Jane asked us if we'd do for you what we do for her - so..."

Daria watched the streetlamps instead, then the mail boxes. She watched them with an intense eye, her lips pushed to a firm point.

"And, we wanna have you there." Trent added, absent as he watched the numbers with Daria.

"Mh."

Trent laughed, as crackled as ever. "A change of scene and music. Jane'll be there, and so'll the Spiral, so - you do whatever you wanna do, Daria."

The car rolled to a stop, and Daria climbed out. She snapped back a thank you to Trent, who smiled in return. She had been so cautious and shy around him before, but now she only felt annoyed by his assumptions. What she wanted to do for her birthday was to sit in silence with a book, to pretend that she didn't exist. People wanted to give her attention, and she wanted so badly for her accomplishments to receive that attention instead.

Trent's car sped off, and she approached her home, with the vague knowledge that it was either a birthday at home, alone, where Quinn would somehow make it about herself, or a gig with the Lanes. The former was a known pain, wherein she could escape to her room. The latter was... Damn it, she felt the expectations in motion. If she went with them, she would be faced with alcohol, and with Trent.

Daria had enough regrets.