Hey, here's the next chapter. Enjoy.

DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING AS CLEVERLY CONSTRUCTED AS THE TV SERIES DARIA.

Quinn yawned and opened her eyes.

Instead of her glorious room of fashionable pinkness, a different room greeted her. Quinn frowned. Now that she thought about it, she didn't remember leaving the kitchen at all. She had a vague memory of reading a copy of Vogue while drinking a cup of herbal tea—which did wonders for her skin, by the way. It stops acne from destroying her flawless face.

Quinn shuddered at the thought of a pimple-covered face, then snapped back to the present. Her eyes were blurry, so she blinked. And blinked again.

Nothing. The world still remained a blurry haze.

Confused, Quinn rubbed her eyes. Maybe the lack of sleep affected her eyes. Damn, they better not be all bloodshot. Bloodshot eyes are so gross.

She shrugged and and got out of bed, making her way to the huge rectangular thing that she assumed was the door.

On her way there, Quinn tripped over something square, which she thought was a shoebox, but when she picked it up, she was surprised to see that it was a book. Squinting, she held the book near her face and tried to read the title.

"Atlas...Shrugged. Is this thing really a book? Why is it so, like, thick?" she wondered aloud.

Her eyes flew open in surprise at how deep and...well, croaky her voice was. Whoa, no more herbal tea for me!

For the first time, Quinn took in her surroundings. Gray walls. A desk and a chair at a corner.

Well, that explains the book, Quinn thought. But why am I in Daria's room?

Quinn quickly stood up from the floor and ran to the door, tripping even more over some other books. She needed to get out of there before she got some 'brain' vibes.

Daria groaned as the sunlight hit her face. For some reason, it shone even brighter than usual.

She didn't even bother opening her eyes. The last thing she needed was to get blinded—well, even more than her already horrible vision—by the annoyingly cheerful sun, which signifies the dawning of another day of pointlessness.

Eyes mostly closed, she felt her way around the room until she reached the door. Then she headed for the bathroom.

When she was halfway out the hall, she opened her eyes. Instead of facing the door to the bathroom, she was facing the door to her room.

Daria muttered, "That's bizarre."

Yawning, she opened the door and headed straight for her bed. It was probably the universe telling her to go back to sleep because there's nothing to miss for today. Not that she cared what the universe thought.

Just as she slammed the door shut to her room, Quinn blindly made her way from the bathroom to her own bedroom. Feeling adventurous, she grabbed a tube of red lipstick from her dresser instead of her usual pink lip gloss. Just when she was about to turn to her mirror to apply it on her lips, the doorbell rang.

Quinn stood still for a minute, waiting for someone else to get it. Then she heard her dad yell, "Can someone get that? I'm busy doing something here!"

She sighed and headed for the staircase while trying to line her lips with the tube...

...and then she tripped, because of her strangely blurry vision.

Her eyes widened as she stumbled headfirst to about three steps, the lipstick accidentally spreading to her chin.

"Ow!" Quinn shrieked, clutching her forehead, where she had brutally landed. Thankfully, they had some carpeting on the living room floor...or she could've gotten a bruise that no amount of foundation can cover.

In a flash, Jake appeared from the kitchen, looking alarmed. His face exhibited utter shock at the sight of his daughter lying on the floor and quickly ran to her side.

"Kiddo?" Jake said hesitantly. His daughter's eyes just stared back at him, flustered. Jake gasped in horror when he saw red on her mouth and chin.

"Helen! Call an ambulance! Daria's bleeding!"

The doorbell rang again.

"Daria?" Quinn repeated. "What do you mean—" through her hazy state, she made out flames on the hem of Jake's apron, inching upwards. "Oh, my God, Dad!" she shouted. "You're on fire!"

"I'm on—GAHHH! Helen! Quinn! Help!"

"I'm right here," Quinn muttered confused. Helen rushed outside of her room wearing only her skirt and a bra. She noted her panicking husband, who was wearing a flaming "Kiss the Cook" apron. She calmly took the fire extinguisher they she had purchased after Jake had set their house on fire before. (A/N This, obviously, is a reference of the episode "Fire!", but let's look at it in an angle without Tom Sloane.)

"Jake," Helen began sternly.

Jake gulped as he stood there, half-covered in white fluff and smelled of burnt hotdogs. "Sorry?" When Helen's eyebrows ceased to go up, he said indignantly, "Well, if only my old man had taught me a thing about fire safety, this would never have happened! But, nooo! He didn't even lift a finger when the campfire explo—"

"Ew!" Quinn interrupted, feeling horrified at witnessing her mother in her undergarments. Helen sighed and looked at her daughter's red-streaked face. "What happened to you, sweetie?"

"Lipstick," Quinn said, holding out the half-smushed tube.

This time, Helen's eyebrows lifted. "Oh? Well, it's...great that you're becoming more conscious of your appearance. You're a very pretty girl, after all."

"Of course I am!" Quinn chirped, brushing her hair behind her ear. "I mean, I don't look really cute in yellow, but..."

Helen stared at her for a moment. "Are you feeling alright, Daria?"

"Dammit, Helen!" Jake shouted. "She fell down the stairs! Of course she's not alright!" Helen gave her husband an evil look, and he shut up.

Quinn scowled. "Other than my perfectly moisturized forehead possibly acquiring an unfashionable bruise, I'm okay...hey, wait, what do you mean...Daria?"

The doorbell rang, for the third time.

They all heard a door creak open upstairs, and Daria stood at the top of the staircase. "Is anyone planning to open—" She saw her sister and abruptly stopped talking, her eyes turning huge behind her glas—wait a minute, she wasn't wearing glasses.

So how come she can see everything clearly?

Swallowing, she ran to the bathroom and headed straight for the mirror. A glimpse at herself confirmed her worst fears.

Daria sank down on the bathroom floor. "I'm Quinn," she muttered. "Either hell just got a bit colder, or I am in desperate need of a shrink."

Downstairs, she heard her sister's voice—or rather, her own voice—scream.

Daria winced. "Screw the shrink. Hell just turned into Antarctica."

I apologize to those who are Daria/Tom shippers, but Tom isn't in this fic. Sorry, I'm just not a huge fan of Tom. Please review!