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Chapter Fifteen: Artists Do It Better

With this horrible resolution in mind, Trent and Daria went back up to Trent's hovel and begun working at their music once more. Daria was thankful that Trent seemed to be working at a faster pace than usual; he was almost a man possessed compared to the usual sloth-like persona she was used to. He still seemed to have issues with the idea of a deadline, but he had offered this time – and, with only a few weeks left till she was 18 and Trent realising he needed the music done, he had pulled himself together. Something told Daria he had stopped smoking as much as he usually did, though that was just a small guess.

Brought back from her broad musings, Daria turned to face Trent. He seemed to be musing deeply about something a simple as a sound, causing Daria to allow a gentle smile to pass her lips – for a moment. A dull furrowed brow told her that the older male clearly had something in the works. Another part of her mind told her she didn't need to be here. 'So G minor…' his voice lulled, eyes trailing between the chord he was strumming and Daria's face. He noticed she wasn't paying attention.

In all honesty, the more Daria thought about it, the more it became apparent. She didn't need to be here for his actual composition of the music, though it gave the suppressed girlish instincts a chuckle. Her mind perpetually screamed about the unnecessary amount of time they had spent together over the past few weeks. Of course, her hormonally-addled heart didn't care. 'Just like D and A and all the other notes I agreed with… you know I don't get music. Not the same way you do…'

'I'm not all that great,' Trent pointed out as he ran through the song he had thus far, singing and playing as he went. Eventually he managed to get through without the notes or the lyrics – the pure implication of it made Daria smile inwardly.

'Still better than me, though practise couldn't hurt,' Daria countered, scratching absently at her elbow before she stood up.

'Where're you going?'

'Home… it's 5 in the afternoon,' Daria said in mild disbelief.

Trent hesitantly looked around for a clock before seeing the foreign flash of an analogue clock on his wrist. 'Damn, you're right.' His teeth were grit against his own annoyance, a small sliver of contempt coming through. He didn't want Daria, his current muse, to leave. 'Too bad you have school tomorrow.'

'Yeah, I'd hate to miss Mr. O'Neil crying to himself or DeMartino screaming.' Daria had gathered her things together and given Trent a wave.

'I'll give you a ride home.'

'I can walk.'

Trent just shook his head and stood up, placing the guitar aside. 'I owe you.'

'For what?'

'The watch…' he paused, a smile spreading across his face, 'and just for being a half-decent high school chick – I wish there'd been girls like you when I'd gone to high school… I wouldn't have flunked algebra so badly.'

'Fair point… but maths isn't my strong point.' With that sentiment the two fell quiet. The compulsion to head out to the car was shot when Daria examined Trent's lean tattooed arms, roughly tousled hair and lean frame – he had nice shoulders from what she could see, though Daria wasn't sure why she noticed or even cared. Daria didn't have a doubt in her mind he wouldn't remain some two-bit hack musician in the suburbs… he practically oozed the right kind of appeal for a band, especially with the progression in the music industry – Daria reacted a little later than she would have liked to.

'Trent?' Daria mumbled against his lower chest, awkwardly patting him on the sides with her hands. He seemed to have hugged her in the midst of her mental analysis. This was for the better, as it left her no time to flinch away or become afraid.

Trent offered no explanation or reason for the hug as he walked out of the room and downstairs. Daria said a horribly quick goodbye to Jane, feeling as if she had been neglecting her best friend this entire time. They would have pizza, sit at lunch together during school hours, and… probably do something else together. They rarely ever did anything exciting with one another.

'So how many people are going to be attending this little party of yours?' Daria asked as she busily sifted through sheets of paper and empty pens.

'About… eh… our whole class, a few other people and their dates…' Jane lied, idly fiddling with her nose. 'What would you say to me getting a nose piercing?' Jane prodded her nose a few times, raising an eyebrow.

'That many?'

'No, just one piercing.'

'I meant people. What are you expecting this party to end up as?' Daria ran her hands down her face as she gave up on the papers. They had a test for history and, despite her ease at the subject, she felt a nervous twitch to study and make sure she knew it all. Jane countered this perceived hostility with a pout.

'It might be nice to pretend to be cool for a night -'

'People getting drunk at your house is something that's considered cool and something you want to do? When did the aliens take you and brainwash you?' Daria pushed all her belongings into her bag and slung it over her shoulder. The party was, in actuality, that Friday. And with the week going by so quickly, the two girls could hardly organise a thing.

'Daria, it's not a big deal… we'll just end up watching everyone else act stupid and remember it for blackmail.'

'Sounds like a wholesome Friday night that we can all look forward to missing.'

'That's my girl,' Jane thankfully coddled, afraid she would upset Daria with her plans… in truth, the two were also going through an oddly tenuous period due to the stress of school and the prolonged familiarity. Loners weren't meant to settle down with other people, especially not other loners. And as if this wasn't enough of a reason for them to be out of sorts, Trent and Daria's budding thing was also making Jane the teeniest bit – confused and jealous were the emotions that best excused her horrid gut-instinct something bad was going to happen.

Friday approached with little hassle, with Daria holed up in her room and desperate for something to wear. Her green parka, her green parka or her green parka – the decisions were impossible. Eventually she was dressed and ready to go. However as she passed the mirror in the hallway, her footsteps slowly halted. Her hair looked ragged, her skin was deathly pale, there were dots all over her face; she could see a few odd blotches of red and the sleep-deprived signs of bags. All of this made her cringe and examine further, leaning into the mirror with a suddenly critical eye.

'Daria this isn't the bathroom y'know,' Quinn flared, walking passed and dressed up to the nines. She was clearly about to go on a date, her hair twirled up, makeup slathered on her face and a pair of shoes that made her look all the more elegant. Daria felt her mind jealously reel, but her physical appearance showed no reaction to her obvious aggravation.

A barb or two rested on the tip of her tongue but she pulled the comments back and chewed at her slightly cracked bottom lip. The feeling of her lips made her cringe all the more as she walked off towards the bathroom.

'Aren't you going out tonight? For your party or whatever?' Quinn asked, her hand elegantly propped against her hip. She was practised in the art of hand placement when she stood – it sickened Daria to the core.

'Mhh… I'm going out to sacrifice someone to my various gods,' the barb fell flat, Daria's expression faltering once more as she was faced with her reflection in the hallway mirror. She heard the voice of her aunt run through her mind. 'You're going to hell anyway,' she sighed under her breath before letting her head drop the slightest bit. 'Quinn, how much time do you have till your date gets here?'

'Which one?'

Daria shook her head and withheld another comment, hopeful she wouldn't regret the decision to reach out to her younger sister. In 'fighting' with Jane she found herself reassessing her relationships with others… and the worst off was Quinn. Despite Quinn's obvious capabilities, she never tried to do any better than those around her until the summer that had just passed. And, even though Daria had only heard the progress Quinn had made, it made her a little proud that her sister wasn't entirely vapid. Her sister had even managed to answer the question that stumped most students; 'what was the phrase, manifest destiny'.

'One time offer to smother me in makeup.' Daria felt her stomach drop a little at the sound of her own words. Quinn seemed to actually jump, quickly running off to her room and returning with clothing, accessories and a case of makeup. 'That'll do Quinn, that'll do,' Daria said almost unnoticeably, mentally imagining herself selling her soul to the Fashion Club.

'Prussian Blue is always a good bet, especially if you use Vermillion Vixen to soften the impact. I always find that…'

The words faded off into nothingness as Quinn begun to work, barely able to put more than a few swabs of each colour on before Daria would insist on checking what her sister was doing. As much trust as she had in her sister, there was no telling what sort of a clown she would end up as.

'So we're playing Delayed Investment, Coffeehouse Confidentiality and then…' Max looked through the list, eyes flickering between Trent and Nick as he did so. 'Then Trent is going to use his stage presence to woo some barely legal girl and – ow!' Max received a very noticeable push in the shoulder along with a narrowed glare from Nick.

'Funny the first hundred times, can you just keep reading?' Max just glared at Nick. 'Please?' Nick hesitantly pleaded, looking between Max and Trent now.

Trent was lost in his own focus, his eyes flickering between his wristband and his rings, trying to find something to fiddle with. He was getting actual butterflies before a performance for the first time since their battle of the bands a few years back. As he was about to say something to continue the discussion, Jesse turned up in his usual leather-vested glory.

'You get the stuff?' Trent asked, slinging his arm over the back of the seat.

'This is gonna be the best house party ever,' Jesse beamed in his own way as he wheeled in a fair amount of alcohol. He probably intended to finish off most of the alcohol himself, along with Trent and Nick (as Max rarely drank).

'Can we try and keep it legal though?' Nick asked from the corner, his fingers tapping against the table. His bass was propped up against the wall, the case half-opened. They had just finished a practise and tuning session in preparation for the evening.

'As long as we're responsible, mature adults it'll be fine…' The four started laughing, an amused gaggle of laughs that rarely occurred in unison. Max stood up and helped Jesse out with the drinks and foods he'd been sent out to gather as Nick and Trent ran over some cleaning issues.

'A gig in your own home – wonder if any other band as done it before…'

'Probably. But you'd never hear about it.' Trent explained.

'Ohhh…' Nick said with a small smile, tapping his fingers on the table.

At 7 o'clock, Jane and Trent had managed to clean and set up some kind of arrangement in the house. There was food laying around for people to scout out, ample sitting areas as well as the low ambient roar of some band or another to tide the early arrivals. 'Well partner, I say we did alright…' Jane smiled, her artistic side coming out to show. She was, for a lack of better words, sans her usual attire. She had replaced the shorts and shirt with black jeans and a loose shirt that boasted 'Artists Do It Better' – a shirt Trent kept half-glaring at. Her combat boots happily remained, nestled snugly under the pants leg.

'It's a bunch of high school kids who probably can't tell the difference between A-major and A-minor.' Trent seemed to think this was enough of a disgrace as he plucked at his shirt. He was wear dressier attire than usual, a clean pressed black shirt and black jeans, a combination he usually tried to avoid. The belt he wore helped to distract the eye, a studded leather thing that hung tightly to his hips.

'Do you know the difference?' Jane quipped, crossing her arms and smiling at Trent.

'When's Daria supposed to get here?'

'I knew had no idea what the difference was either.' Jane grinned, her eyes flickering to the door as she heard a knock. 'How much you want to bet the cosmic forces are against us and that's her right now?'

'How does a slice of pizza sound?' Trent asked as he walked over to answer the door, his attention still on Jane.

'Sounds like a bet.'

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