A/N: This is an attempt I thought would be interesting. Daria belongs to MTV.

Manhattan, New York

September 1963

A young woman hugged her arms closer to her body as a wind passed by, blowing her hair into her face. She stared up at the tall building that she knew now as her apartment building. It was a rusty red color, made of brick. Not the most high end place you could end up. But it was cheap, and it was decent. A girl stood on a balcony, smoking and looking down. She waved and received one in return.

Once she had gotten her keys, she took a long, tedious flight of stairs to floor eleven of twenty. The girl with the cigarette was just walking out, and they collided. "Oh!"


"No problem," she was taken aback by the girl's features. She had bright blue eyes, high cheekbones, and wore red lipstick. "I was just going down to welcome you."

"Oh," was all she got in reply.

"That sounds kinda weird, I know. But no one interesting lives here! No one young."

"I'm young..."

"I am too." the girl brushed her short, raven hair out of her eyes. "I'm Jane Lane. Probably should've mentioned that earlier."

"Daria Morgendorffer," they shook hands. Jane had a strong grip. Her fingernails were crimson. She wore a white t-shirt with no bra and torn jeans that went to her ankles. This was quite the contrast to Daria's beige jacket and black skirt. Their features were also very different; Daria wore no makeup except for a light pink on her lips. She had brown eyes, and she wore large glasses.

"So your room is gonna be on this floor?"

"Indeed," Daria nodded. "I didn't think I'd meet my neighbors so soon, though."

"Come in and meet another one," Jane invited her into her apartment. She seemed like a nice enough girl, so Daria accepted. Jane was different. Daria liked it.

The girl's apartment was an explosion of color, paintings, and other various things lying around. "I paint," she explained.

"I see that."

"It's fun, but it's not the easiest business. I'm trying my hardest, though."

"Janey," a deep, male voice called out. A boy in a t-shirt and torn jeans much like Jane appeared. He had shaggy black hair and some facial stubble. "Who's this?"

"Trent, this is Daria Morgendorffer. She just moved in and I'm trying to make her feel welcome. Daria, this is my older brother Trent."

"Hey," Trent nodded in Daria's direction. She returned the nod. "So you're new?" he asked, joining the two on the couch. Trent looked very much like his sister, with the same light blue eyes and full mouth. He caught Daria looking at him and half smiled as she blushed and looked away.

"Yeah, I came from Lawndale, California."

"California. Fancy." Jane commented.

"Nothing special, really. Not in Lawndale."

"What brings you to New York?" Trent asked, a question that Daria did not know the answer to yet.

"I...I'm not sure. I wanna write...be a journalist, and I thought I might have...more of a chance here, I guess."

"I've lived here for about six months. Came when I turned nineteen and never looked back. Anything's better than the hellhole of Texas."

"And your brother came too?"

"Yup," Trent replied. "And I don't regret it. How old are you?"

"I just turned twenty."

"Same here, my birthday was in June." Jane replied. "So, Daria, what do you like?"

"What do I like? What do you mean?" I like a lot of things, Daria thought. I like...I like coffee...and cigarettes...I like the rain...I like the sound of my typewriter...I like Jane's red lipstick and I like her brother's hair and his eyes...I like how he smells like freshly washed clothes...I like words...

"Oh, you know," Jane said, leaving it at that.

"I like writing and...coffee." Trent chuckled, and a pink spread across Daria's cheeks again.

"I like paint and cigarettes. That works out." Jane smirked a red lipstick smirk.

"Janey, we should let her get unpacked and settled," Trent said.

"Oh, yeah. Daria, do you need any help? Trent can..."

"U-um, er...well..." she began to stumble over her words.

"I'll definitely help," he agreed. She and him walked across the hall to her apartment, bringing her few bags along. "Not a lot of stuff," he said.

"I guess," Daria shrugged. "What do you do?"

"I play guitar in a band," he replied, "and sing." The apartment was small, with one bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen and living room. The bedroom had only a small cot, dresser, and desk. They began unloading her bags, starting with her clothes, which she put in the dresser. "Whoa," Trent breathed, taking her typewriter out of a bag. It was one of her most prized possessions. "This is pretty cool."

"Yeah, my mom gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday," she said, setting it carefully on her desk. They unpacked the rest of her things, mostly in silence, until they were done. "Thanks for helping me, Trent. And tell your sister thanks for being so welcoming. Once I have things set up, you guys can come over for dinner some night, I promise."

"Anytime, Daria," he squeezed her shoulder. "By the way," he added on his way out the door, "I like your glasses."

Why he said it, she was unsure, but it made her chuckle. She immediately sat down in front of her typewriter, lighting a cigarette and placing her fingers to the keys that were so familiar to her. At the top of the page, she wrote:

The Girl With Red Lipstick

(and her brother)