AN; Here I am, chapter one of a – many chaptered story. Daria/Trent! It’s AU, from the point Tom and Daria broke up, set before ‘Is It Fall Yet?’ with the assumption Daria realized sooner that Tom was – Tom. This is a work in progress, so feel free to review with praise/criticism/whatever you feel.

That concentrated gaze

You gave my eyes

I've never looked this deep into myself before

And I'm pretty sure

That I'm only human, then again I could be wrong

- Foxy Shazam –

Remember to review!

Chapter One; Horizontal Sports

‘Are you being replaced at work by super-intelligent, super-amazing aliens? True stories of extra-terrestrial invasions tonight on Sick, Sad World!’

The tinny sound of a television out of tune drifted throughout the house, abandoned and ignored. The Lane house was, once again, void of most human life. The usual tenants were secluded to Trent’s room, playing with paints and twanging a guitar. Very rarely would the two create in the same room, being that they were very ineffective working partners. This was probably owed to accidentally and frequently pointing out the other’s issues or flaws. However, they gave it the good ol’ Lawndale one-two and tried anyway.

Jane was dappling paint onto a canvas, working the brush strokes the best she could to the slow, repetitive twanging of the same guitar chords over and over again. ‘Could you pick more than one? Just once?’ she asked out the corner of her mouth, a few other choice phrases remaining quiet. Her eyes strayed from the canvas to Trent, receiving only a grunt for her politeness. Trent continued through this ‘creative block’, managing a few scratched lyrics and a few more twangs of the guitar strings.

After a while, Trent took to singing whatever he had managed to concoct in his current state – a languid, vertically-challenged college drop-out. What course he dropped out of is, of course, a mystery to the world.

Something’s missing

Someone’s dissing

A presence I can’t beat

Something I can’t treat

At first it seemed like a replacement

Like before, the knight/night shall live in a tent (the word knight had been scrawled out, replaced with night)

Repent! Repent!

All your ambitions seem hell-bent

His voice ended with a tinny note reminiscent of the TV blaring downstairs, with his eyes focused down on the scrappy-edged book. Something titled ‘private’ for the protection of others rather than a need to keep things actually private. Whenever Trent would reveal his writing to the world, it seemed to throw it back at him in disgust. He looked toward his sister, his eyebrows raised slightly – a gesture of near-pleading, hoping she liked what he had written and composed.

‘It’s – er - interesting… much like cubism or… furbies!’ Jane faltered; her arms were now slumped across her knees, eyes averted across to Trent. She had abandoned her painting and was staring at her misshapen brother, with Trent rather awkwardly splayed across the floor with his guitar lying beside him. They seemed to be avoiding the piles of – things, intent on leaving the carefully-constructed ecosystem to function on its own.

‘It isn’t inspired,’ he mused, his fingers idly plucking the strings of his guitar. His voice kept its low grumble, barely audible above the guitar strings. In all his time on Earth, he knew he was meant to create, meant to play music – he sure as hell was not going to keep a normal job or even make it to a job interview. Anyone who knew Trent Lane thought the exact same thing.

‘This is Jane Lane to Trent Lane!’ Jane yelled as much as her level tone would allow, ‘Are you alright? Either the wall is way too interesting or someone’s actually thinking,’ she said in mock-seriousness, her eyes focused on her brother.

‘Thinking… funny, Janey,’ he said with a small nod, standing up from the floor of his own room about to leave. He, of course, ushered his sister from the room, his voice more plangent than usual. ‘Just being introspective. Chicks dig it.’

‘You were thinking then; even if it was for the wrong reasons,’ Jane accused with a small ‘aha!’ as Trent slowly moved toward the door the door, his movements never escalating past a dull crawl. As the door finally closed, Jane called out something about Daria coming for pizza and for Trent to get changed – as if he owned more than three shirts.

Jane strolled off, her hands tucked in her pockets as she dodged a fallen something and proceeded to slump onto her bed. While Daria was coming over, she had the distinct feeling that Tom would be coming along. Of course, this didn’t bother her – it didn’t – what did bother her was she had to invite her brother so she wouldn’t be alone. Her brother.

The thought sounded strange in itself; Trent was great and all, but he sort of… her brother; the thought sounded odd no matter how she worded it. No way could she make it sound less strange, ever. Jane was too distracted to actually notice Daria turning up, sans Tom. A thankful little smile flickered across Jane’s face before she stood up (uselessly trying to fix her hair as she did so).

‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you were practising for Gym,’ Daria said with a small inflection here and there, but her monotone prevailing as per usual.

‘Horizontal sports are my best – wait; that sounded much too elicit.’

‘Sure did. So, are we still going for pizza?’ Daria asked with a genial little quip to her eyebrow – as much as they ever moved, at least.

‘Woah there Morgendorffer,’ Jane warned, her hands raised, ‘I need to just get my equilibrium, or I’ll just tip over. One wrong step and I could be – hell, let’s go,’ Jane said with a twitch to her mouth, a smile momentarily flashing. ‘My humour is lost to me since Trent sung me some of his latest lyrics -’

‘They were that bad?’ A soft, muffled voice said from the door, eyes settled on Jane.

‘…What is this, foot-in-the-mouth day?’ Jane asked pointedly, hands resting on her hips.

‘No, that’s only every Tuesday… today is unfortunate-timing day… I’m secretly a mime,’ Daria noted before walking out of the room. She realised that Trent had appeared, but chose to ignore him; said ignorance was quite blatant, so much so that both Jane and Trent exchanged looks of confusion. Though these looks only lasted a few seconds before the Lane way took over and they shared an indifferent little shrug.

‘Pizza?’ Jane offered.

‘Sure. If Daria doesn’t mind?’ He was met with an indifferent noise from Daria, so took it as a ‘whatever’ – better than a no. He couldn’t really recall the last time he ate, so the pizza sounded promising. Jane walked out after Daria, a slightly reluctant Trent extracting himself from the supportive doorframe.

The three of them made their way past the television, Trent turning it off before they all hopped into his car. There wasn’t much of an exchange, outside of Jane insisting that Daria take the front seat. Despite the whole Daria-Tom epidemic since Jane-Tom had ended, Jane had been surreptitiously trying to intervene… maybe she wasn’t over it, not as over it as she would have liked to have been.

Or maybe it was just the idea of having Daria and Trent together that tickled her fancy – a sister-in-law that didn’t make her cringe for once. Jane’s mind flashed to Monique, a nice enough girl, but someone that Trent just wasn’t capable of maintaining a healthy relationship with. The two of them could barely remain friends, let alone a couple, for more than a few days at a time. Of course Trent was too much of a softy to tell her to leave right away, so the old bitch always seemed to work her way back into the Lane residence.

They arrived at the pizza parlour a short while later. It didn’t take long before they were inside, seated and ordering a few slices. ‘My treat,’ Trent rasped, his eyes flicking between Daria and Jane as he stood up to go buy the slices. Jane gave a small waggle of her eyebrow as Trent did so, her attention returning to Daria.

‘Usually he makes me pay. What did you do?’

‘What?’

‘Did you flash him or wrists? Or your ankles?’ Jane quipped, a hand coming to rest under her chin as she examined Daria.

‘Yes, I earned us free food with these,’ Daria flashed a wrist at Jane. Jane, rather theatrically, covered her eyes and gasped. The two laughed until Trent returned with a pizza in hand, curious as to what he had missed. Along with the pizza, he had been wise enough to buy drinks. Daria thanked Trent for the gesture, chewing away at a slice of the margarita whilst Jane and Trent stole from the spicy bacon half of the pizza.

‘Live fast, die young,’ Jane explained with a saucy mouthful.

Daria simply shook her head, wondering if the person who’d first said that ever intended on being so misquoted. Her eyes trailed back to Trent every few moments, her guilty teenage infatuation being a driving force through all the stupidity she dealt with on a daily basis.