Note:I'm not quite sure if I like this yet. It's a oneshot unless I decide to expand on it, and... yeah... I started typing one day and couldn't st - no, that's a lie. I could stop, since this was typed over the time period of about two weeks. I'm not a slow typer, my muse/inspiration decided to go on vacation. Yeah, the lucky... booger. I get to have a two week long break after next week, though, after I come back from a three-day-long school camp. Huzzah.

I don't find this humourous, but that's my personal style kicking in. You may. So, for the heck of it, I put it under humour. Don't flame me if it's horrible, though, as I've never written humour before. Ever. At least, not intentionally...

Anyway. Enjoy.

- Dee.

(SCENE CHANGE)

It was a boring day. Leading Earth to its end was out of the question, Azarath was safe (much to Trigon's chagrin) and he had conquered the art of counting to three million and sixty-four. There simply was nothing left to do.

He didn't even want to think about what his daughter was getting up to now. It had been ten years since the day he was thwarted – Raven must have been well into her twenties by now. For all he knew, she could be a mother!

Trigon shuddered. As much as he despised his daughter for ruining his only chance, he definitely did not like the sound of her running off with some boy from Earth. Why couldn't she marry a demon, if she must? At least then the child would be a three-quarter demon instead of just have one damn quarter in their blood.

How he wished that she had turned out more like him. But, no – she had to turn out the spitting image of Arella. It was an attractive look, certainly, for a mere human… but Raven, as he had so often been reminded by none other than his self, was not a mere human. She had Trigon's blood in her. Human beauty was simply not the same when it came to his daughter.

He sighed. Yet she was only half demon. She was as human as she was demon. How could he forget that? I suppose, he thought, she might look attractive still with another set of eyes and red skin. Yes, that would work marvellously.

"Dalias?" he croaked. His loud, booming voice had been reduced to a rough whisper during the past year. He had been in the cell for a few years now, with only a man and a… small thing as company. Many times he had been forced to stop Dalias from eating the specie-less animal, Jeremy. Their food trays were often days late in arrival. "Do you think it would be possible to alter my daughter's appearance?"

"You don't have that power, Trigon," Dalias muttered. His hollow eyes looked at Jeremy hungrily. "Unfortunately… she'd look very pretty with red skin… bright red, like a fire engine…"

Shit. Trigon had forgotten that the man could read minds.

"You're a human, Dalias. You won't be touching my daughter, no matter how attractive you may appear to her." He paused for a moment, looking down at the tiny-in-comparison man. "Have you ever seen a fire engine?"

Trigon could vaguely see the man's eyes snap up to him. It was a wonder, he occasionally mused, that he could stand being in the same cell as Trigon himself – well, cell was an understatement. The stone room was as high as those… skyscrapers.

"…things."

The demon blinked in bewilderment; for one, he had missed the better part of his skyscraper-mate's ramble. For two, Dalias never rambled.

Ever.

"They're redundantly loud, Trigon."

Oh, right.

"Yes, I suppose they are. Dalias, do you think that it would be a far stretch of our imaginations to bust out of this prison, go up to the mortal world, drug my daughter to sleep and then alter her features?"

"Indeed." Trigon surveyed the man's head with a scowl – was that a lice that he saw? – but, as all sensible demons do, he realised that his skyscraper-mate had a point. "You're incredibly tall, Trigon sir-"

"That I am."

"And the people are sure to notice-"

"That they will."

"-because, honestly, how many giant red demons patrol through mortal cities on a daily basis?-"

"Quite a few, I'm told."

"And – who told you?"

"Jeremy did."

"A mouse told you?"

"Yes."

"…Whatever."

"So, we leave at dawn?"

"We can't leave."

"…Oh."

Well, there went Trigon's plan.