Categories > Cartoons > Daria > Slight Return0 Reviews
Things begin coming to a head, and Hell sends someone to deal with the matter.
Part 3: Quicksilver Songs
Crossover with /Good Omens/: Lawndale gets to deal with fallout from the end of the world... well, sort of.
Disclaimer: Neither involved universe is mine (nor is the line from Bohemian Rhapsody); just shoving them together for the hell of it.
Also, this will make a lot more sense if you've read /Good Omens/. If you want to carry on wihtout, do so, but... it's a wonderful book.
"I know what they think, but I also know what I think. And for my money, the, um - yeah, hosts, thanks - probably don't even know anything's up.
"You remember what happened last time they just trusted the Plan. Well, the one they knew about, anyway. They won't be doing that again any time soon, I don't think."
The car had been quite an attention-grabber during the leg of the trip he'd needed it for. Most people just assumed the steering wheel was on the wrong side.
Everybody knew it was old, and the few who realized it was British had also seemed to appreciate the restoration job.
But as far as he could tell, not one of them had noticed on the occasions, such as now, when he wasn't actively driving the car.
"Huh? Oh, I think I'm about halfway there. No idea how long the actual job will take, but I don't think whoever came up with this mess does either. So, it evens out.
"I have no idea. If they did set a time limit, chances are they changed their mind. You know, only one time and that's Too Late. Or maybe you don't know, though you should have noticed that by now.
"For my money, they're getting antsy. Nothing truly important on that scale has happened for... six weeks now, I think. They want action. Possibly even another go at the Big-
"We'd both prefer if they never spoke of it again, but seriously, what's the likelihood of that? I believe you're the one who said your people want it to go down.
"Knew you'd see my side of things eventually.
"Oh? You do that, then. Call you later." Assuming control of the car as he ended the connection, he started poking around in the glove box for a cassette. He finally came up with Bach.
Any way the wind blows, d-
Never mind that idea. The glove box was evidently up to its old tricks again. He'd have to take his chances with the radio.
-ly matter to me...
Obviously he wasn't meant to win tonight. Adjusting his sunglasses, he drove on through the night and just listened to whatever came on, even the commercials.
Commercials had to be one of his better inventions.
"You had two trays of food - if the stuff can be called that - at lunch," Daria pointed out. "What makes you think you'll be interested in pizza by the time school's out?"
"Trust me. I'll be hungry by then. The stuff they serve isn't very filling." Jane had to lean into her locker in pursuit of the textbook she was after. "'Sides, you didn't eat anything."
"Watching you eat more or less destroyed my appetite. Mystery meat almost makes Dad's kitchen sink stew look good."
I notice you didn't say taste."
"Have never tried the former, and still am not out of excuses to avoid eating the latter. You're not stuck in there, are you?"
"No..." To prove the point, Jane got her head and shoulders out of her locker, but kept both hands on her history textbook. "Think my book is, though."
Daria raised an eyebrow and started pulling what were primarily art history books off the trapped text: "Escher... Monet... Picasso... how many of these things do you need here, anyway?... Matisse... Durer..."
think I can get it now."
"Good. My arms are full." As they started putting the art books back in Jane's locker, Daria continued, "Anyway. I think you said something about Trent between mouthfuls?"
"Oh yeah. He's acting weird again. Besides the regular sleeping schedule thing. He was going around yesterday like he was planning something, and the only thing I could get out of him was 'come and see'... whatever that means."
Come and see... I've read that somewhere... But Daria didn't have any more mental leads on the matter.
< A pair of heavy boots clunked down the basement stairs at Casa Lane. The owner of said boots, Jesse Moreno, stopped on the last one and looked at the lanky figure perched atop an amplifier.
"Hey, man, you okay?"
Trent Lane looked up. "More or less. Don't feel like I got enough sleep."
"You get too much sleep, I thought."
"I don't know. If I ever wanted to keep track, I slept through it."
Jesse snickered briefly, then move on to a more serious topic. "McGrundy's gonna get on your case, man. We've missed at least five gigs. How'll we get house band if we don't go play?"
"Do you see a point in performing when we haven't even started a practice without skipping straight to the pizza break lately?"
"Point." A pause for thought, then: "Hey, speaking of pizza, I think I'm gonna go get some. If I see Nick and Max, I'll tell them to be over tomorrow, okay?"
"Works for me."
"Cool." Jesse clunked back up the stairs, and Trent stayed downstairs thinking for a few minutes. Then he stood up and headed out himself. Yes... let's get some pizza. Or, better yet, let's not and say we did.
He parked the Bentley in a reserved space, but that was all right because it was reserved for him. Look for yourself: Reserved for Anthony J. Crowley, 24 hours, all events.
The inside of the school looked to be relatively devoid of life - presumably the students had been let out for the day. Those few who remained were on their way out. A pair of shirts, or possibly jackets - one red and one green - caught his attention, and he decided to see if they could help.
The one in green stopped first. "Only if you have a good one," she shot back after turning to face him.
The other girl turned around and just looked at him for a few moments, finally saying, "Wait a minute, you're not with those immigration officials, are you? As much as I'd like a free class period for a few days, I don't think Mr. DeMartino could handle being arrested again."
Crowley blinked, though either of the girls would have been hard-pressed to spot any movement behind his sunglasses. "What?"
"I think that counts as a no, Jane," the first girl said. "In that case, what do you want?"
"I'm looking for a girl," he replied, using his best lead on who he was meant to find. "Red hair, about so tall, probably about your age."
"Quinn?" the two girls chorused. After a short side conversation, the one in green said, "I don't know why you're looking for my sister, but you won't find her here. She left as soon as school let out. Probably a big sale at the mall." She hesitated a moment before continuing. "You're welcome to come to Pizza King with us, if you want."
"/Now/ who's inviting someone they hardly know out?" the other one - Jane - questioned, in half-jesting, half-accusatory tones.
"Can it, Jane. If we must have that conversation, let's do so later. Weren't you the one who wanted pizza after school?"
"Well, yeah, but... oh, never mind. Let's just go." She turned to leave, then remember they possibly had a guest. "You coming?"
Crowley thought it over, then shrugged. "Why not?"
He followed the girls out of the building, then nearly walked into Jane when she caught sight of the Bentley. "Nice," her friend commented, clearly impressed but staying subtle about it.
"Oh, come /on/, Daria, that's several steps over 'nice.' That... that is one hellacious car."
"One does one's best," Crowley replied, smirking.
< "I could have told you the cassettes wouldn't do you any good. Next time just disregard all the labels."
"Oh, it's all right, I figured it out," Jane replied. "...Wait a minute. Did you just say all of them are like that?"
"Every single one of 'em. You expect it to play 'Here, There, and Everywhere,' and it gives you 'Now I'm Here' instead."
Daria considered that. "Is it possible for a car to have a sadistic sense of humor?"
"Only on truly bad TV sitcoms," Jane shot back.
"Shut up and order the pizza, Lane."
The three of them decided on extra cheese and pepperoni, and Crowley offered to stake out a table. Once he had left to do so, Jane commented, "I hope he's not going after your sister. He's cute."
"I hope so too, but mainly because he seems to have better taste than that. I really don't think it'd be worth your effort."
"Just because you stole my boyfriend-"
"This has nothing to do with Tom," Daria explained, "and besides, you said you were over that. I've just got the impression that he's... taken, more or less."
"Doesn't mean I can't think he's cute."
"If you start sounding any more like Quinn, I will hit you."
"Nice to know you're looking out for me, amiga."
One of the workers approached the counter with a boxed pizza and three soda cups. "We're out of plates," he said by way of explanation.
They took the box and (filled) soda cups over to the booth their guest had picked out. "Do you ever take those sunglasses off?" Jane wondered.
"Only under duress." That hadn't really helped to satisfy her curiosity, but she wasn't really interested in asking questions. She was interested in eating, now that the opportunity to have real food presented itself.