f(mt) - friends (more than)

"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed."

-Carl Jung

Daria opened the door to her dorm room and smiled at the thin, angular woman on the other side.  Jane dropped the bag she was holding, stepped across the threshold, and excitedly pulled Daria into a tight hug.

"Hey," said Daria.

"Hey back, amiga!" Jane replied, pulling back to hold her friend at arm's length.  "Why look at you, all grown up and matriculated."

"I'm having a doctor look into that," Daria said.  "How was the trip?"

Jane snorted and reached back for her bag.  "About as well as you could expect in the Tank," she said.  "At least I got to sit in the front seat most of the way.  I'm still digging splinters from that footlocker they use as a backseat from my first Tank ride.  Wow," she breathed, stopping to look around the room.  "Nice digs."

"It's not exactly the Hilton, but it works."

"It's a mansion compared to Beefac.  Trent took me by on our way here," Jane explained.  "The dorms there are like dungeon cells, but not as cheery.  I'm thinking that when I finally start classes, my first project will be to build myself a papier-mâché Quasimodo hump so I fit the surroundings."

Just then, the door off to Jane's left opened up and a petite girl stalked into the room.  She had obviously only just woken up, her short blonde hair frazzled, her pajamas rumpled, a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth, and several shower items bundled under one arm.  Her tired march stopped short as she slowly processed that someone new was in the room.

"Ugh," she grunted.  "I don't think I can handle having a second roommate.  Not this early in the morning."

"It's five in the afternoon," Daria informed her.  "Anyway, this isn't a new roommate, this is my friend, Jane.  Jane, this is Mary."

Not waiting for a greeting and not giving one herself, Mary simply ambled past them and out the open front door.  Daria and Jane stared after her.

"Cheerful sort, isn't she?" Jane asked.  "Andrea would get a kick out of her."

"She doesn't really get started until she gets fresh coffee plugged into her IV," Daria said with a shrug.  "Then she's worse."

"Uh-oh," Jane said, turning back to her friend.  "Trouble in paradise?"

Daria smirked.  "Hardly.  We manage to stay out of each other's hair . . . she keeps her surly disposition on her side, I keep my sarcastic remarks on mine, and never the twain shall meet."

"Nothing like ignoring each other to keep a friendship healthy, that's what I always say."

Daria arched an eyebrow.  "I've never heard you say that."

"You were probably ignoring me all the times I said it," Jane told her with a mischievous grin.  "So, you ready to go?"

"Sure, but first things first," she said, pointing down.  "What's in the bag, Miss Lane?  Care to share it with the rest of the class?"

Jane looked down at the bag as if she'd forgotten it was there.  "Oh, right!" she exclaimed.  "I felt kind of bad that I didn't have anything to give you when you left for Raft, so I whipped a little something up last week."  She reached into the bag, pulled out a small canvas, and handed it to Daria.

Pushing her glasses up on her nose, Daria looked at the surreal scene she held.  Most of it was undifferentiated swirls that didn't seem to have any context, but right in the middle of the bluish-grey mass were two smaller blobs of color, one a deep green and the other rust red.  Slick, raised lines of black - either not paint or some different kind of paint than the rest of the picture - traced through each and crisscrossed each other in the middle.