Disclaimer: I do not own Daria or any of the following characters.

Quinn's POV

"Quinn," my mother interrupts my phone conversation, "will you go ask your sister to come down for a minute?" She's too busy to even look up from her mess of papers as she speaks to me.

"I'll call you back, Sandy." I sigh, hanging the phone up on its receiver, and head upstairs, toward Daria's geeky room with the padded walls. "Daria, Mom wants to see you in the kitchen." She sighs, as I had, lifting herself from her spot on the floor. As she passes by me, I lean against the door frame with my arms crossed, surveying the outfit worn by her artsy best friend, who raises an eyebrow at me. "Hey."

"Um... Hey, Quinn," Jane says unenthusiastically. "How's the weather on your planet today?" Whatever that's supposed to mean...

"I have a fashion emergency question for you..." Unlike Daria, she at least has style—however unconventional it may be—and I think she'll approve of the outfit I've coordinated. I could really use a third opinion, and she's the only one around with anyone fashion sense. "Do you like my outfit?"

She quickly scans my attire; not quite the reaction I'd been hoping for, considering how skimpily I'm dressed. "Sure... Purple and yellow make for a nice colorway."

"That's what I said, but Sandy thinks I'll look 'dorky' if I wear this to Brittany's party." I roll my eyes, replaying Sandy's words through my head.

"Who cares what Sandy thinks? You should think for yourself, Quinn. Trust your own judgment."

"You're right," I say in realization. "I totally trust my fashion sense over her's... Last week, she wore the ugliest poncho."

"What are you guys talking about?" Daria asks flatly, returning to her padded room.

"I'm afraid it's a little too over your head, Daria." I flip my hair over my shoulder, walking away coolly; because the exit you make, is as important as your entrance.