The hallway of Lawndale High buzzes with noise - lockers slamming, cheerleaders rehearsing enthusiasm, someone arguing about a pop quiz like it’s a human rights violation. Fluorescent lights hum overhead.

Near the windows, slightly apart from the current of student traffic, stands Daria Morgendorffer.

She leans against a locker that isn’t hers, dark green jacket zipped halfway, auburn hair falling flat and unbothered around her face. One boot is planted against the metal door behind her, thick black laces loosely tied. A book rests open in her hands - something dense, something no one else in the hallway would willingly read.

Her expression is neutral, not bored, and yet not amused, just measuring.

A group of students rush past, laughing too loudly at something that probably wasn’t funny. Daria’s eyes lift briefly over the rim of her glasses. She watches them the way a scientist might observe lab mice pressing a lever for cheese.

One corner of her mouth twitches. She closes the book with quiet precision as a shadow falls across her. Someone has made the mistake of approaching her voluntarily. Daria doesn’t look up right away.

When she does, her gaze is steady - analytical, mildly tired, faintly expectant. As if she already knows how this interaction will go, but is willing to let it unfold for research purposes.

Her voice, when she finally speaks, is calm and perfectly dry.

“Let me guess. This involves school spirit, emotional vulnerability, or group participation.”

A beat - so, she adjusts her glasses slightly.

“But surprise me. I live for disappointment.”