Episode 102
The Invitation
Chapter II
With the Lights Out, it's Less Dangerous
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"Now, class," Mr. O'Neill said, "Can you give me any examples of guilt in writing and literature?"
Nobody raised their hand. It was the middle of Mr. O'Neill's english class, and Daria noticed pretty much everybody, especially Jane, Mack, and Christian, were bored out of their wits. Daria was paying a minimal amount of attention to keep up in this class, but didn't fully drain everything Mr. O'Neill was talking about. Daria had decided that doing something of that caliber would take a superhuman mind, not just an above-average one like the one she herself possessed.
"Anybody?" He looked around the class. "Uh... Kevin?"
Kevin put on his usual confused expression. "Huh? ...I'm the Q.B."
Mr. O'Neill paused for a moment to see if he could work this into a decipherable answer. "Uhhh... So, an example of guilt in football?"
Kevin scratched his chin for a second. "Ummm... Maybe that guy who tackled Theismann?"
Now it was Mr. O'Neill's turn to be confused. "Excuse me? Who is that, Kevin?"
"The guy who ended Joe Theismann's career."
Michael Jordan MacKenzie whispered into Kevin's ear. "Lawrence Taylor." He said irritably.
If such a thing were possible, a lightbulb would have blinked on over Kevin's head. "Yea, yea! Lawrence Taylor felt guilty about cracking Theismann's leg into teeny pieces!"
Mr. O'Neill cringed furiously. Then he regained a bit of compusure and said weakly, "Okay... V, very good, K-Kevin. What about other examples of guilt in society?"
Brittany Taylor's hand shot up.
"Miss Taylor?"
"Stealing something?" Brittany answered airily.
Mr. O'Neill's expression lit up. "Oh, very good, Brittany! Stealing something is a great example. Tell us how doing something like stealing would make us guilty."
"Um... Stealing something would make you feel guilty." Brittany replied.
As quickly as it rose, Mr. O'Neill's expression fell, into that midlife-crisis frown he was famous for. "Okayyyy... Thank you, Brittany. Class, I want you all to think of the time in your life that has made you the guiltiest you've ever felt. Then I would like you to write a two page essay about it, due this Monday. For example..."
Mr. O'Neill got cut off by the sound of the bell.
"Well, class, it looks like we've run out of time. Have a nice weekend..." Mr. O'Neill said wearily.
The class quickly got up and crowded out through the narrow doorway, completely ignoring their English teacher's sentiment. The class ignored their English teacher's sentiment. They quickly got up and crowded through the narrow doorway. Daria gathered materials for her next class from her locker. She walked to her next class, then stopped. Christian leaned against a locker. He smirked at Daria, then fiddled with one of his eyebrow piercings. He had a companion, too: Karen, the burned-out-looking blonde girl from one of Daria's classes.
Daria felt Andrea, the "other" goth, somewhere close. Had she stumbled into the lair of the dangerously antisocial students?
"...What are you smirking about?" Daria said impatiently to Christian.
"I've known you since before you wore glasses, Daria. I'm almost positive you've never had anything to be significantly guilty about." Christian said smugly, as if knowing such a thing were an accomplishment.
"Eh?" Daria said.
"Don't act like a Canadian, Daria. Back in Highland, you were the 'quiet, smart, weird girl who always followed the rules.' You didn't exactly go to the principal's office every day."
"Back in Highland, you were a conceited asshole. Where's all this going?"
"I'm just saying, that considering the way you live, I've never seen or heard of you doing anything society frowns upon. Considering the way you thrive off of doing well in school and using it as one of the factors to measure yourself against other people, (and don't deny it because you've always been that way.) I think the paper you turn in might become overshadowed... Y'know?"
"I'm going to a party that Brittany Taylor is hosting tomorrow night; I think I'll be guilty about that for the rest of my life."
Christian's jaw dropped. "What?! That came right out of the blue, Morgendorffer."
"You heard me, Wormwood. My sister's going to the party, and since I helped Brittany out in Ms. DeFoe's class, I've been invited, as well. Put two and two together; I'm going to embarrass her senselessly." Despite the strength of the words, Daria's tone remained flat.
"That's always a good reason to do anything, Daria, ...but..."
"...but... That's my sister's bike!" a younger Daria said.
"So what, brainy? We both hate her guts, so why are you complaining?" replied a young boy, with short blonde hair, and preppy clothing on. "Your brat of a sister's lucky I didn't break her damn bike over my knee! Jesus Christ!"
"...Yeah, I guess you're right... But..."
"Whatever. I've got a party to get ready for. See you there... Oh, you weren't invited. Sorry." the boy said, and, having vandalized Quinn Morgendorfer's property enough, got on his bike and zipped out of sight. An uncomfortable Daria settled herself by relishing Quinn's impending reaction.
"Daria??? Hello?" Christian tried to snap Daria out of her flashbacks.
"Oh, sorry. What?" Daria said.
"I was saying that I used to go to parties like that, and each one ended up with me coming home and feeling completely empty. One party, in particular, was ground zero for the action which eventually led to me feeling the second guiltiest I've ever felt. Um, alcohol was involved." Christian said, faking a smile.
"What was the first guiltiest?" Daria asked.
"Can't ruin the ending of my essay, can I?" Christian said with a mild grin.
"If you're so strongly against me going to this party, then come with me and help me embarrass Quinn." Daria said, with her Mona Lisa smile.
"You have no idea how much I'd love to do that, but I'm busy tomorrow night. I'm going out that way, but my motorcycle can only hold two people." Christian said.
"You have a motorcycle?" Daria asked.
"Yeah, a quiet one. I get a rush out of driving the vehicular equivalent of Russian Roulette." Christian responded. "Anyway, if you're only going to Taylor's party to humilate that snobby creature related to you..." he said as he slid a photograph out of his jean pocket, "I was going through my old stuff yesterday, and I found this old photo in my dresser... I was going to give it to you for a laugh anyway, but..." He stopped his sentence prematurely, and dropped the photo into Daria's hand. "I don't know why I had it, or who took the picture, but... Whatever. You'll figure out a way to use this." He said as he and Karen walked away.
Daria studied the picture for a while, and grinned a little bit as Jane walked up to her.
"What's up, Daria?"
Without saying a word, she handed the photo to Jane, who stared at it, looked confused for a second, and then laughed out loud.
"C.W. gave it to me. I'm up in the air as to why... I guess he wants me to embarass Quinn with it. It brings back memories, though."
"Memories suck, Daria."
"Truer words have never been spoken."
****
Later that day, in the parking lot at the back of the school, Christian walked towards a black motorcycle that was nearly out of sight. Hanging from his right hand limply was a black duffel bag. He smiled a bit at the thought of Quinn's entourage staring in awe at the photo he'd given Daria, and Quinn's reaction. It really was sad that he wasn't going to see it himself, but going to parties like the one Brittany Taylor was holding had been a major part of a chapter of his life that was, now and forever, dead and buried. He did something different now...
Christian shivered. It was a chillier day in Lawndale then the norm, even in Autumn. He dug into his duffel bag and pulled out a trenchcoat, that was, of course, his favorite color (Some geek had once told him that black was a shade, not a color, but details like that were a bit too anal, even for him.) He pulled in on himself as he got close to his motorcycle; You weren't supposed to wear trenchcoats on school grounds, due to the patented "Teacher's Paranoia," but it wasn't like he'd get caught for it and sent to jail. And even if he was...
"Hey, you!" a voice called to Christian from a couple meters away. Christian turned his head to see who was calling for him, and saw Kevin Thompson running towards him.
What's this about? Christian thought. "What the hell do you want, jockstrap?"
"Don't play stupid with me, um, man. I heard what you said about my girl."
"Oh, and what was that?"
"My babe said something about us still being together when I'm a big football player and you said that we weren't going to, if you had anything to say about it." Kevin said, remembering Mr.DeMartino's class.
"...So, in other words, you're saying that you're afraid I'm going to sweep Brittany out from under your feet because of something I said while I wasn't paying attention to anything?"
"Yeah! Uhm, I mean..."
"Ya know, Jockstrap Dude, I don't know why I said that that day, but if you're afraid I'm going to start dating cheerleaders, then I think you're playing stupid enough for the both of us."
"Huh?"
"Look at me, honestly, and decide for yourself if me and your bubblier-than-dish-soap, popular girlfriend are even remotely compatible, my cup-wearing friend."
Kevin looked raised an eyebrow, grabbed his chin, and looked confused for a second. "Wait... What?"
Christian nonchalantly replied to this answer with an "I dunno, what?" and drove away on his motorcycle, figuratively leaving a confused Kevin "in the swamp." The cold winds made his trenchcoat flap behind him as he disappeared from the sight of the shallow football player.
****
"So what are you going to do about that polaroid Christian gave you?"
Daria stuck her left hand into her jacket, pulled out the photograph, and stared at it skeptically. "I'm going to save it for a rainy day, I guess. Circulating this photo around at Brittany's party might be social homicide."
Jane looked confused. "Huh? Daria, it's a really embarrassing photograph, but I don't exactly think that showing it around would completely kill off her buzz..." Jane replied. "At least show it to your sister's fan club."
Daria was silently thinking for a moment before answering. "Yeah... They are way too loyal to Quinn to cause anything but massive embarrassment, I suppose. But..."
"...But?"
"If I drop this bomb on Quinn, she'll just recover from the damages and find a way to get me grounded for a couple millenia."
"She doesn't know you have it, though."
"That particular loophole requires a mysterious force called "logic," which my parents find entirely unnecessary."
"Oh." Changing the subject, Jane asked, "So... What's your favorite urban legend?"
"The cat that got nuked in the microwave. If you can't appreciate the classics, what can you appreciate?" Daria replied, with a smug look on her face.
****
"Excuse me for asking, sir, but what are you doing with all this?" The cashier at the hardware store asked.
Christian's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to make fifty pipe bombs out of orange juice and send Lawndale High School and everyone inside to kingdom !@$%&ing come." he said sarcastically.
"Huh?"
"Now give me one of those sweepstake givaway receipts that give me my entire purchase free, because I'm a freaking madman who will otherwise hunt you down while you sleep and because I'm a dollar fifty short..." Christian said with contempt. He loved it when people judged him by his appearance; it was just kickass when a mother walked down the aisles of the grocery store and gave him a look that said, "My son isn't going to end up like you..."
Christian looked back, shocked, at the cashier, who was currently digging through piles of receipts with a flustered look on his face.
"Holy crap! Dude... You do know that I was just joking with you... Right?"
The cashier looked extremely embarrassed and instantly brought his actions to a halt. He grabbed all of the receipts and put them behind his back, as if to hide them. "Yeah! Of course I did!" He then put on the phoniest smile Christian had ever seen, pointed a pudgy and shaking finger at Christian, and said, "You are one funny man, my friend."
"...Just shut up, dude."
"Yeah..."
Just then, Christian's cellphone rang. He brought it out of his pocket, punched a button on it, and brought it to his ear. "'Sup. this is Christian."
"Hi, Christian! It's Brittany." A squeaky voice said on the other side of the line.
"Oh. Yo. I was expecting your call." Christian replied contently.
"So you know about the party?"
"Daria told me about it. My services are $225 this time around. You get a $25 discount on every fifth party."
"Oh, Yay! That's so cool, Christian!"
"I reward my loyal customers well. You know that. I'll be there to collect at midnight."
"Okay. I'll see you then."
"Later." Christian said, hanging up the phone. Slipping it back into his pocket, he put all his groceries into his cart. "I'll be back for you, asshole." He said to the cashier.
****
Christian hated Lawndale.
It wasn't so much that he hated the people (although he did) but it was the enviroment which Christian had truly despised most. Between the cold weather and the zillions of trend-related establishments (he called then 'whore-stores'), he often felt like Hell would be a pleasant vacation. Christian had the brief thought of a sign standing on the city limits reading Lawndale: Abandon hope all ye who pass through these gates, and he chuckled thoughtfully to himself. I wish some random terrorist would nuke this godforsaken shithole...
Christian happened to be on his motorcycle at the time; he realized that his silence wasn't very flattering, so he explained his situation to the reluctant passenger.
"When I moved to Lawndale, these bastards did their homework on me and put me directly into a Behavior Disorder class, right? Even though there was nothing indicating I needed it in my file. So, I'm in this class, fourteen years old and being treated like a retarded kindergartner, and having standard middle school priveleges taken from me left and right... Like bathroom breaks, going to my locker, and participating in extracurricular activities that interested me. Not that there were any, but I digress.
Anyway, once for an English assignment I put this story down on paper about back in Highland when I was a fifth grader and we had to babysit first graders while the teachers sat in their precious little lounge and drank tea or something. I went for a bathroom break, and what do I hear coming from within the four walls of the bathroom but a female's voice talking about dicks. Now, being an immature fifth grader with a perverted puberty-hit mindset, I assume the best, so imagine my surprise when a sixty-year old teacher walks out and gives me a glassy look and... Just kinda walks away. She heeds no warning to me about the possible horrors inside at all... Just walks away. In a cruel twist of fate, I walk into the bathroom and see before my eyes one of the retarded kids, completely naked, drooling, in a pool of his own urine, and the little bitch looked as if he had smeared his crap all over himself, too.
Anyway, I ran out of the lavatory in a screaming hysteria. I wrote that story, sugarcoating the words and removing the vile phrases with crap like 'excretion.' I turn it in... Expecting an 'A,' because I'm a great writer and I normally got good grades for controversial stuff like this. ...And the story wasn't even looked at, because the teachers were too fricking lazy to read something five pages long. So, I resized the font, and cut out some of the scenes, and got an 'F,' not because of the writing quality, not because of my massive usage of the word 'excretion,' but because I'd said that 'it was unacceptable for a retard to do that sort of thing, and if they're so mentally freaked that they can't crap right, then they shouldn't pull these kids into the public schools.' My PC teacher acts like she's the spokesperson for Retard's Lib, and says that 'She prays to God that me or my children never have special needs.' Now, that's an important detail. She's said a religious word in a public school. You're not supposed to do that.
Now, my Uncle Jay eventually does his hippie thing and forcibly takes me out of the BD class, threatening a lawsuit to the district that he'd definitely win. But then, this not-so-ambiguous teacher, who seeks to force her poisonous Catholic opinions on me, moves in right across the street from me, and when she discovers that her stoner of a daughter has been growing the 'Tree of Love' in her garage, she calls the cops and accuses me of breaking into her garage every night and growing it. Me! I've never even touched a cigarette, much less a blunt! I'll admit to slurping a little booze on special occasions, but that's besides the point. Anyway, these pigs ask me a whole bunch of questions and generally act like assholes. When everything checks out, they do further investigations, and I believe that fifteen-year-old Angelica Jevinson is still doing community service for possession.
And then, her stupid dog chases my Uncle's car, and when Uncle Jay stops abruptly, the tailpipe is like a cutting blade, going right through the dumb mutt's head. So this time, she threatens a lawsuit, because we 'purposely assassinated her dog.' My Uncle Jay threatens a countersuit, and Mrs. Jevinson chickens out. Instead, she drops a match in my old motorcycle's gas tank or something- I forget what she did, but either way, my motorcycle blew apart, she bribed the police officers so there'd be no evidence against her, and that's why I'm driving this new quiet one.
This is a war. However, in war I take no prisoners, so all the games end right here. I'm going to make Belinda Jevinson's life hell." Christian said, finally ending his long, droning monologue. He was riding his motorcycle into downtown Lawndale, with his passenger, Karen, grabbing his shoulders for balance as she sat behind him.
"Whoaaaaa... That story... rocked..." Karen commented.
"What? I guess it's kinda funny, but nothing special." Christian replied.
"Heh... I'm easily amused..."
"So why did you finally cave in and decide to join me in my megalomaniacal quest for revenge?" Christian inquired.
"I was going to watch the Simpsons tonight, but it was postponed so that viewers everywhere could enjoy the *wonders* of the Westminster Dog Show. Friggin bastards..."
"Plus, you want to..."
"...Want to see you seriously screw this up? Yeahhh..." Karen answered.
"...Right. So anyway, it looks like this building's the one where Mr. Jevinson works." Christian said, motioning towards a shadowy building in front of them. "I gave fifty bucks to Upchuck and he somehow managed to get this address for me."
"How'd you get fifty bucks?"
"The little dork dropped his wallet at the table where he eats lunch so I took it and found seventy greenbacks. He must've fingered Mrs. Li or something to have that much cash..." He cringed, and then handed a card to Karen. "Here."
Karen looked for a second, then made an expression of shock and repulsion as she dropped the card abruptly. "Ewww! Upchuck's school ID! Charming. My hands are coated with slime now."
"We're here." Christian said, getting back to the topic at hand. "Turn the flashlight off. We don't want to be seen."
Karen did so, and as they stepped off the motorcycle, Christian took his pouch and began unloading the contents. He pulled out a container of bleach and a narrow paintbrush as he licked his pasty lips. He unscrewed the top off the bleach container and dipped the paintbrush in it as he walked towards the front of the building, Karen following behind him with infinite curiousity. Christian began to paint a message in bleach on the front of the building.
"How can you see what you're writing? It's way too dark." Karen asked.
"I practiced by writing on a piece of paper with my head turned away." Christian answered. "And I mixed the bleach with a bit of baby powder to make it thicker, like paint."
"Hate to break it to ya, CW, but adding baby powder would make the stuff a gel. It still has a different consistency than paint." Karen replied sharply.
"Oh, Geez, Karen, who made you the science major?" Christian questioned as he wrote the letters on the wall.
"I learned this stuff in, like, Eighth grade. Back when I still paid attention to my teachers."
"...Done." Christian said. "Now, I'm going to need the deodorant."
"Deodorant??? The hell?"
"What? It's an aerosol-based flammable substance. Hey, I'm only doing things by the book."
"You read about this in a book?"
"Yeah, I skimmed through it in the bookstore. Didn't buy it, though."
Karen went through the bag and pulled out a thin canister, and handed it to Christian, who popped off the cap and sprayed the entire message with it. Christian then got out a book of matches, pulled one out, and struck it. "When I say the word, run for it and hold your nose."
Karen nodded as Christian pressed the match against the wall of the building. "RUN!" Christian said, running away as the wall set fire. The flames disintegrated the chemicals and went out almost immediately, causing a lot of hazardous smoke to lift away from the building.
"...Huh?" Karen asked, stopping in mid-run and turning around. "That was it?"
"Okay, now turn on your flashlight again." Christian said. "I've got to see this."
As Karen flipped the switch and shined the light on the smoking wall, the two rebels froze in disbelief. It wasn't the message "Belinda Jevinson is a cocksmoker" in jet black on the wall that caused such awe, either.
"You just wrote a dirty message and burned it to the wall of a FREAKING CHURCH?!" Karen shouted.
Surely enough, on a sign a few yards away from the dirty message, the flashlight accidentally exposed the words Our Sweet Jesus Catholic Church.
"Actually, this is pretty cool... It's kinda surreal..." Christian said with amazement.
"And yet you don't have any fear of the repercussions?" Karen asked angrily.
"This is a Catholic church. Belinda Jevinson is a Catholic. Put two and two together. Besides, I'm LaVeyan. This is sorta a victory." Christian said. "Although... It does puts me on the same level as a religious suicide bomber."
"You think so?"
"I'd think so if I believed in levels."
"..."
Christian pulled a couple of coins out of his pocket and handed them to Karen as he began loading the chemicals back into his pouch. He stopped for a moment and pointed to a phone booth on the opposite side of the street. "I'm going to spray-paint some gang symbols on the buildings over here. Go over there and call the LPD. Report a case of spousal abuse taking place at 1100 Lawndale Road, apartment 301b."
"Why?"
"We want every cop in town busy. Luckily, there's only about three cars on duty right now; a phony call'll bring that number down to two, the fact that we've got lazy cops in town makes it one, and as for the last one..." Christian motioned to the graffiti.
"You're being a designated decoy for Brittany Taylor again?"
"It's an easy $225 from a girl that can afford it. What's the problem??? You think I'm going to make my cash honestly? No friggin' way. Too boring."
"No, no, this is cool, man. It's just that I thought you said you'd never take me with you on one of these jobs." Karen said with a grin.
"I guess had a change of heart, didn't I?" Christian replied with an identical grin.
****
"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!"
"You IDIOT! You pull a stunt like that and expect that the cops aren't going to see this one?"
"Okay! Okay! Okay! Going up the ramp equals bad idea."
"Fricking MORON! MOR-ON! Now that there are THREE patrol cars on your back, what are you going to do?"
"The chant of serenity."
"Wha?"
"Isuckandiamafailureinlifeisuckandiamafailureinlifeisuckandi..."
"Oh, GREAT chant."
Being chased madly by three cop cars, Christian managed to turn sharply into an alley that was too big for a car, but only a bit tight for a motorcycle (in other words, Christian's legs were causing friction burn on the brick walls.)
"I think we're almost (ow!) out of the fire (ow!) after we get out of this alley." Christian said.
"Oh, that's great!!! Too bad they got your license plate number!"
"Guess what? (ow!)"
"This is Belinda Jevinson's license plate."
"This is (ow!) Belinda Jevin- (ow!) Jevinson's license plate. You are (ow!) correct."
At the end of Christian's sentence, Christian made a sharp turn into another alley. This one was shorter than the last one, and the public road was soon reached. Christian u-turned on his motorcycle and went back into the alley.
"(Ow!) More (ow!) pain..."
Suddenly, the blaring sirens stopped. Driving out of the alley, Christian took a road and started rubbing his legs in pain.
"Owwwwwwww... Karen! Give me the time."
"It's 11:49."
"Good. We've got every cop in town on the east side looking for us. All right. When we reach Wing-Wang-Wong-Chow-Fung Chinese Eatery, we're in the least cop-frequented area in town. When that happens, I'll duck around a building and you can get this garbage bag off my motorcycle."
"Wing Wang Wong? Who the hell would eat at a restaurant with that name?"
"I think that's the point. This is probably a Yakuza hangout or something. Anyway, I hear the best place for Asian food around here is that Good Times joint..."
"Yakuza's the Japanese."
"Oh, like I care. I bet you learned that crap while playing 'Grand Theft Auto' or something else like that. Rockstar releases one overrated game, and all of a sudden, everybody's a criminologist. Geez."
"I just realized something. You seriously screwed up back there."
"So?"
"So my achievement for the day is no longer just a mere dream. I saw you seriously screw up."
"Oh. That. Just... Just shut up, aight?"
"Heh heh heh..."
Christian found Wing Wang Wong and drove behind it. Checking to make sure nobody was looking, he signaled for Karen to get out of the motorcycle and tear off the garbage bag. She did so, and Christian took off his hood.
"Throw that garbage bag in the trash. Our visibility is way up right now, so remember if the cops show up again they can produce mug shots."
"Where are we going now?"
"Heh..."
"CHRISTIAN! You are totally scaring me right now... Please don't tell me we're going to..."
"A nest!!! We are going to a nest!!!!!" Christian said maniacally. "Bwahahahahaha!!!!"
"Noooooooooooo!!!!!"
"Yep."
"Damn."
****
And so, Christian and Karen found themselves at the foot of the Taylor residence, they came face-to-face with the bouncer who guarded the door that led to the party- Which in turn would lead to him getting enough money to buy a Nintendo GameCube and enough junk food to last him for a month. And maybe some iodine and Band-Aids for his burning knees. Christian relished his good fortune by grinning mischieviously and snickering.
"Chris, your laugh sounds like John Goodman just sat down on a bubble wrap armchair." Karen said, with such flatness that she'd make a suitable Daria impersonator.
"I know, but doesn't it make me seem all the more sexy and mysterious...?" Christian replied.
"Not really. Actually, not at all."
"Oh, shuddup. The hell do you know?"
"I know that right now, I feel like I'm in the bizzarro-world, is all." Karen said, in reference to the mammoth mansion that stood before her. She could hear the squealings of a Blink 182 song blasting from the insides of the house. She began to approach the front door, but Christian pulled her back by her left arm. "What gives?!" She nearly shouted.
"If the likes of us enter through the front door, we make ourselves as visible as tits on Baywatch. Our sheer proximity to this fortress is extremely toxic to our kind, and our presence poisons them, as well. Nay, on these jobs I always take the precautions and order that ridiculous bouncer to drag Brittany to the backdoor of the house, so we don't attract as much attention." Christian answered.
"So, Brittany pays you under the table so you don't ruin her rep?"
"Doy! Of course. You don't think she'd associate with us in public, do you?"
"Hmm..."
Christian turned towards the bouncer and ignored Karen for a second. "Ey! Bouncy-bounce! Get your mistress around back so I can get my wages!"
The bouncer turned to him and raised one corner of his unibrow. "I see. So you're the police patsy, huh?"
"I prefer 'Tactical Diversion Ops Specialist,' but I suppose that's too many syllables for ya. "
"Go around back, you should know the drill. She'll be with you shortly." The bouncer said flatly. "How much is she payin' ya, anyway?"
"About half a grand." Christian answered, amused at his own fib. "How about you, man? Oh, wait, I remember. At the last party, she paid the bouncer eight-hundred straight."
"What the...? I mean, uh, uh, yeah, the broad's payin' me $800."
"Damn straight." Christian retorted smugly.
____________________________
"You know how you pour salt on a slug, and it slowly and painfully begins to shrivel up and die?" Daria asked.
"Yeah, what about it?" Jane replied.
"I'm feeling a similar phenomenon, only the slug represents my IQ in this metaphor."
"Charming..." Jane said unenthusiastically.
Ever since arriving at Brittany Taylor's fortress of a house, Daria and Jane had searched thoroughly for Quinn, (or at least a member of her slavish entourage) but as a whole, they were extremely unsuccessful. This was disconcerting to Daria because she truly had been anticipating this party for the sole sake of embarrassing- no, humiliating- her little sister. However, Quinn Morgendorffer had been extremely sagacious in assuring that her reputation would come to absolutely no harm; Whenever Daria got close enough, she would sense it somehow, dodge through the dense crowd of inviteés, and enter another room of the house. This stratagem had been working almost perfectly the entire night, and predictably enough, Daria was getting extremely frustrated. If this escapade continued like this, then Daria knew that all in all, this would turn out so be a pretty crappy night.
"Hey, are you ready to call it quits?" Jane asked.
"'Just about. Unless I start hearing subliminal Islamic propaganda in the pathetic Justin Timberlake song that's playing right now, in which case things are just getting interesting."
As they were about to leave, Daria caught a flustered Brittany racing to the back of her house, a leather purse dangling from her right shoulder.
"Hey, Brittany." Daria called out to her, "What's with the rush?"
Brittany turned to her and stopped in her tracks. Despite her apparent hurry, she managed to emote the same sickeningly cheerful tone of voice she always had. "Oh, hi, Daria! Um, there's something in the back that I need to fix. Why, do you need anything?"
Daria tried to be as polite as possible; She understood that being invited to a party, for whatever reason, was a respectful sentiment, and she figured it would be kind of an insult to leave early. "Um, I'm have to go. I forgot to feed my cat, and he gets really bitchy if you don't feed him. So, me and Jane are going to have to leave."
Brittany turned to face Jane, who was not paying any attention to the conversation and was munching thoughtfully on some cubes of pepperjack cheese at the snack table. "I invited her?!" Brittany asked, looking throughly confused.
"Well, we'll be going now. C'ya." Daria said, grabbing Jane's wrist and rushing out the doorway. In her beeline to escape this house of horrors, she neglected to realize that a photograph had just fallen out of her shirt pocket and floated to the floor near the spot where a bitter and beautiful brunette had been standing.
________________________
Lawndale was chilly tonight; The icy winds drilled through Christian's skin as he waited patiently for a client to emerge from her cacophonous home. Maybe a couple of decades earlier, you might have been able to look into the night sky and see a twinkling starscape, but this was an upper-class suberb in the twenty-first century, and smog lined the atmosphere like a bulletproof truck. There would be no stars tonight.
Karen had chosen to wait by Christian's motorcycle. Christian had initially wondered why, but he assumed that Karen had been feeling a heavy intuition that she didn't belong; almost a magnetic force pushing her away, at least mentally. Christian had had the exact same feeling when he first came to Lawndale so long ago.
Finally, the glass doors creaked slowly open, and Christian could see the silhouette of a young and petite female through the dark hallway exposed by the opening.
"Good evening, Miss Taylor." Christian muttered through his dry and resounding voice.
"Hi, Christian." Brittany whispered through the crack in the doorway. "How did you do?"
"Every patrol car on the West Side of Lawndale is out searching for pranksters and vandals. You think they have time to crash an innocent party?" Christian said with an added snicker.
"You're the best, Chrissy." Brittany murmured, and began to dig through her purse for money.
"Don't call me 'Chrissy,' Britts." Christian said.
"Don't call me 'Britts,' Chrissy." Brittany retorted with a giggle. She handed two-hundred and twenty-five dollars she suckered from her father to an eager Christian.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it. This party's been fun."
"Oops. My bad." Christian said jokingly. Brittany giggled, and Christian displayed one of his rare lukewarm smiles.
*___________________________________*
"Now, would anybody like to share their papers on guilt with the rest of the class?" Mr. O'Neill asked his bored and silent class. (Actually, it wasn't completely silent; You could hear the sounds of half-hearted flirting floating around the classroom.)
"Anybody? How about you, Kevin?" Mr. O'Neill was always trying to make Kevin Thompson participate.
Kevin stood up, pulled out a wrinkled sheet of notebook paper, and began to read from his paper. "Washington Redskins quarterback Joe Theismann had the ball pitched back to him by John Riggins on a flea-flicker play that failed to fool the Lawndale Landstalkers. That's us, by the way. Arriving in succession were linebackers Harry Carson, myself, of course, because I'm the QB, and Gary Reasons. Theismann's right leg was caught at a really crappy angle and crumpled when I hit him. I guess I don't know my own strength. Theismann waved for help, then screamed because he's such a wuss compared to me before being taken to a hospital for surgery. And it ended his career. And that was the guiltiest I've ever felt."
The combined groans of the entire class formed a sound not unlike that of a jet engine.
"Uh, that was... A nice essay... Uh, would you like to share, Mr. Wormwood?" Mr. O'Neill asked.
"No, I would not." Christian replied flatly.
"Uh, would you like to share, Mr. Wormwood?"
Christian reluctantly stood up and gave his essay. "One year, when I was working on a big 'project,' I pulled three simultaneous all-nighters fueled mostly by caffeine and my own sense of resentment. I was so tired that I began to hallucinate and see dolphins jumping out of people's pockets. I would've gone to bed, but at this point my own exhaustion had caused me to go temporarily insane, and I began to believe that if I fell unconscious, George Bush would appear over my sleeping body and rape me. So I had a bowl of cereal, and I saw a picture of a hot girl on the kitchen table. That was the last thing I remembered before I woke up two days later, face down on the table, with my ponytail soaked in the soggy cereal. I got up groggily and realized that my pants were missing. I also realized that the picture of the hot girl was actually an old historical photograph of Helen Keller that I'd mistaken for a Playboy pinup."
Shock filled the room and everybody sat in stunned silence. Christian sat down calmly with no change in expression. The period of time between the end of Christian's essay and the ringing of the bell seemed to be an eternity, but in all actuality, it was more like fifteen seconds. The disgusted class ran out of the room, leaving the only remaining lifeforms in the room being Christian, who was slowly approaching the exit, and Mr. O'Neill, who was crying into his sleeve.
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Daria and Jane had to take no more than three steps into the hallway before they heard endless laughter erupt from every angle of the forboding corridor.
Daria was unable to say "What's all this about?" before she realized that tens upon hundreds upon thousands of flyers had been stapled, clipped, and taped to every surface in the school. Every single paper was the same color, (pink) bore the same caption, (NASTY GIRL) and had the same photocopied image lying dead center. In almost a demonic fashion, the cruel papers had covered up such a great deal of the walls that the surfaces underneath were barely visible. To Daria, it had almost a hypnotic effect; As if she had stepped into a universe made entirely of these pink papers. The zombie-like people in the hallway, with flyers in their hands which they snorted and guffawed at all in the same identical fashion. To Daria, each and every one of these idiots looked the same.
"Uh oh... Daria, take a look at these..." Jane motioned to one of the papers. Daria barely had to glance at it before it became apparent what was going on.
Five years ago, Quinn Morgendorffer had contracted three different skin infections simultaneously from a cut on her face caused by the tip of an earring; Staph Infection, Chickenpox, and Fifth Disease. None of the illnesses were severe, but combined, several bumps, warts, and rashes had appeared on her face, making her appear quite repulsive. Furthermore, the combined effect of the illnesses had made it so she was unable to keep anything she had ingested down. A younger and more sinister Daria took this opportunity to take a photograph to blackmail Quinn with in the future. The picture had captured the then-sick Quinn at her worst; She was in the middle of vomiting right into a toilet. Daria developed the picture later and found that it was quite revolting. Later, she had lost that picture; And somehow, that same photograph had wound of in the possession of the uncaring and sadistic Christian Wormwood. And now, because Christian couldn't leave well enough alone and because her stupid parents had had to move to the same town where the then-persecuted Wormwood had already resided, this picture had been seen by all of Lawndale High School.
Daria looked around, scared for her sister.She couldn't see much because of the crowd being in her way. Daria caught a somber-looking Jodie in her eye, then turned around abruptly to see Andrea, who was nonchalantly brushing the papers out of the way to get to her locker. Dammit, sis, where are you? Daria continued to scan the halls before, finally, she breathed a sigh of relief to see her sister, the butt of all this laughter. Quinn, Daria's little sister who she disagreed with at times but never truly wanted to genuinely hurt. Quinn, who always had an air of arrogant confidence no matter what circumstance. Quinn, who was stuck up and manipulative but who was truly sweet at the core of it all, was running down the hallway shouting- no, screaming- "NOOO!" at the top of her lungs in a fashion that was so uncharacteristic of her as if to be an impression of someone else.
But it was all too real. Her Aunt Amy had once told her, long ago, that reality was addictive- like a drug. Daria, in retrospect, would have laughed at the irony of that statement if she had not been in the current crisis. Hahaha... Don't Do Drugs... Hahaha...
For the first time in her life, Daria began to be annoyed by her own thought process.
Daria knew in her soul that this would be a memory that would haunt her for the rest of her days. She turned her head- she just couldn't watch- Quinn making the futile effort of tearing off as many flyers as she could. She just couldn't listen to the entire student body nonchalantly chanting "NASTY GIRL, NASTY GIRL!" She just wouldn't stop her little sister from running out of the school, crying her eyes out. She needs this, Daria thought. But then again, this is what people are really like, aren't they? They thrive off the torment of others, don't they? Quinn will never be the same after this. We're still new at this school. Welcome to your first impression, dear Quinn.
The real clincher was when a smirking- God, I hate that asshole's smirk- Christian Wormwood stepped out of Mr. O'Neill's class and glanced at Daria.
"You Bastard!!!" Daria screamed at Christian. He gasped at hearing the rare sound of Daria Morgendorffer shout. That wouldn't be all that would surprise him that day, though, as Daria raised her fist to give Christian a strike to the face that was so hard that, God help him, his grandkids would feel it. The only thing saving him would be a hand gently grabbing Daria's fist from behind, and tugging it back down to her waist.
"He's not worth it, Dar'." Jane reasoned. "Dammit, Daria, don't let you sink to his level."
Daria expected Christian's smirk to vanish off his face. But it was quite the contrary; His smile grew brighter and brighter, until he burst into laughter.
"Don't fool yourself, Jane. I don't believe in levels." He shouted in almost a maniacal manner. "You wanna hit me, Morgendorffer? I dare you. Because the second you lay a finger on me, I will set out to make your life a living hell. And don't say I'm not capable of that, because you just saw what the fruits of my labor did to my... previous subject." He said, motioning to the doorway where Quinn had run out seconds earlier. "I think you'll enjoy life so much more if you choose to be my friend instead of just another victim."
Daria stood firmly where she was, unphased by Christian's remarks. "I can't believe the nerve of you, Wormwood. We aren't going to be friends and I'm not going to let you torture my sister anymore. As far as I'm concerned, I never want to speak to you again."
"You're making a mistake. I'm especially kind to my friends, Daria. Why else do you think I called the bomb squad into the school? I was trying to save your ass." Christian's previously cheerful tone was slowly becoming more and more venomous.
"We don't need your charity." Jane shouted at Christian.
"Blow me, Lane." Christian shot back.
"You're right, Jane." Daria said, sounding like if she'd had a gun, she'd shoot Christian until he looked like Swiss cheese. "I'm outta here."
As Daria and Jane began to walk away, far away from this complete hell, she heard Christian calling to her. She didn't respond or even turn her head, but she'd heard his words clearly:
"Daria!! I don't know what made you realize it, but you're completely freaking right!! I'm NOT a good person!! I'm not even a nice one!! I AM the proverbial- fucking- scum of the Earth!!"
As he watched them vanish into the crowd of students, Christian was pleased but he couldn't help but be confused as to the origin of the flyers. If this wasn't the doing of Daria, who he'd given the picture to, then who was responsible? Somebody's bein' sneaky... He thought to himself. Christian caught a glimpse of a buxom brunette wearing a jumpsuit-thing who seemed to be just as pleased as he was. Not simply amused, like the other students, but genuinely pleased. Hmm... And wasn't this person connected to the Fashion Club...?
"It's time for some answers, bitch." Christian said to himself as he approached the girl.
~~TO BE CONTINUED~~