Quinn barely even realised what she was doing; she approached the computer table, shucking her own clothes aside as she did so, and slowly began pulling on Daria's old clothes; they had relatively similar figures, so it wasn't as much of a problem as she'd been expecting. There was something missing, though; she walked over to the dresser by the bed and found the thick-rimmed glasses that her sister habitually wore, and pushed them into position. Suitably attired, Quinn walked over to the mirror and appraised herself. It was good; it might even be passable, she reflected, if she got some brown into her red hair. "Hello," she said, affecting a dry monotone. "I'm Daria. Go to hell."