Titled: Life Altering Events...Of soap operas and Television schedules...

A very short, cheesy story. In three parts. In the key of Z minor. (Sorry old musician's joke, and no I am not a musician, the world collectively sighs in relief, but my hubby is.)

Author's Notes and Usual Disclaimers: I had this idea, it came from a single phrase blasting through my brain. Damn the Muses! Damn them all! Damn them to Hell!! Aargh!

*Sigh*

So...I created this cutesy little ficlet. It's cheezy, it's lame, but it made my husband laugh. Which means he is either easily amused, or I actually wrote something funny. And it also made my beta-reader and one of my best friends, my sis, LepAngel laugh. A HUGE thanks to her for beta-ing this sucker! *Smooches!*

What is it? Just goofy stuff. The muses are kicking me up the errm bum. Each time I finish one, they continue. They are mocking me!

Anyway, look at this like a sort of "Day in the Life of."

Normal sorts of stuff. Well, normal for two who are demonic. *Evil laughter* Be afraid be very afraid.

Enjoy... Oh yeah and this isn't terribly detailed, doesn't need a ton of detail. Play DMC and you can visualize for yourself. ;) Or not.

Pairings: Sort of, Dante/Trish, not romantic. But, oh well.

Perhaps, someday.

Rating: PG for the hell of it, and BECAUSE I SAY SO!! Blahahahahahahahahaha!!

*Runs screaming* They're coming to take me away, ha ha! They're coming to take me away! To the Funny Farm I say...

Oh yeah the usual disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue me. Etc. Blah blah blah...

In other words: *Official announcer voice booms* Dante and Trish are the creations of Capcom from the games: Devil May Cry, and Devil May Cry 2.

*Smacks Official Announcer away* Ahem, this is MY gig dude! Go away! *Straightens self out. Dusts self off.*

*Glares at muttering announcer, calling me a cheap biyaaaaaaatch.* The check's in the mail. Now, shoo...Go away, go home! Before I break out the FOOT OF GODZILLA and smack your punk-ass down!

There. *Tosses FOOT OF GODZILLA over shoulder* Gah! Anyone got any odor eater's that are like size 5000? Godzilla's got nasty foot odor! ACK!

On with it: I, sadly do not own either Dante, (dammit!) or Trish. They are not real, so neither will be insulted by any abuse I throw at them. Thank God!

The rest are mine. And any and all possible connection to soap operas, real and imagined are unintended. Do not attempt this at home.

And last but not least: Flamers, aren't liked all that much. But are highly amusing when they're hung from a wall, mocked for a month, laughed at hysterically, then used for target practice with a bazooka, and at the end will be bitch-slapped with the overly malodorous FOOT OF GODZILLA. Get the picture?

An office door blew open and hit the wall behind it with a resounding bang. He barely glanced up from the newspaper he was currently perusing. The recent Major League Baseball scores were far more interesting than one of the doors being blown open by the wind. He'd close it when he was cold enough.

But the wind wasn't the reason behind the door's sudden and unexpected opening. The "reason" came through the doors like the hounds of hell were after her. A flurry of long blonde hair, and black leather streaking past the slightly startled man sitting casually at the desk. "I see hurricane Trish has made landfall." He smirked and raised his booted feet onto the top of his desk and shook the paper out to continue reading.

"Hmmmm, Card's've got a chance at the Series this year," he muttered to himself. Engrossed, he didn't pay attention to the sound of a cupboard door being slammed in the kitchen a few minutes later. Just turned a quarter of his attention toward it. Dismissed it as inconsequencial. She'd only managed to blow up the nuke once since she'd been there. The vagueries of appliances had been a problem at first for the demonic female.

She came back out toward the office, and stood in front of his desk. He paid her no more attention than if she'd not been there. A dramatic sigh, "My life is now officially over."

"Hmmmmm, over...Yeah." Came the muffled response from behind the newspaper.

She groaned. She was fuming mad at the world and wanted to at least take it out on someone, "Didn't you hear me?"

"Yeah. Life, over...Sure." Again from behind the newspaper.

With a growl she grabbed the nearest sharp object at hand, a sword that was holding a demon head up. She didn't pay attention to the trophy hitting the wood floor with a rather nasty, squishy sort of splat, and brought the sword down smartly over the newspaper, effectively cutting it in two. Only to have a pair of lighter blue eyes, framed by shaggy white hair, and a very bland expression, look at her between the two halves of the paper, "Is there a problem?"

"Yeah, there's a problem all right." Trish was staring at him, battle in her eyes. Barely controlled fury all but oozing from her.

"And?"

"You don't care. Why bother?" She turned and stomped stiffly away.

"Ah Trish? What was it you said about your life being 'officially over?' They run out of shoes at Payless?" A snicker, and he quickly blanked his expression when she turned and he saw her expression was thunderous. It wasn't wise to piss off a demon who could likely kick his ass into next Tuesday, but since when was he wise? Besides she was rather cute when she was steaming.

"No! That is NOT the problem."

"Then why is your life officially over?" A perfectly reasonable question, and perfectly logical. And spoken perfectly, logically, reasonably as well.

She growled and parked her black leather clad butt on his desk, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, dragging him halfway over the desk and toward her snarling face, which was a shock to him, he'd forget sometimes she COULD ACTUALLY kick his ass into next Tuesday. "Because you moron, they canceled my favorite afternoon show. NOW IT'S OVER! I will NEVER know if Shane and Kenny got together! Or if Amanda's baby's Sebastian's or Donald's! I HAVE NOTHING TO DO AT 2pm!" With that said, she let him go, and watched as he fell back into his chair and stared at her blankly.

She got up and walked back to the kitchen, to grieve the loss of her favorite afternoon soap...

He quickly picked up a pen and dug in his desk for some paper.

"Note to self: Do NOT Talk To Trish About:
1. Life altering experiences. IE: Soap Operas being pre-empted by other important things. Like the President's Address to the Nation."

He choked back the laugh. He knew, she didn't understand that particular vaguery of television yet. He'd read the TV Schedule, and knew that all the afternoon TV schedules were messed up by the President. Tapping the pen against his mouth, he gnawed on the cap for a moment then continued: "2. Never tell Trish that I knew what was happening. If I value my life as I know it."

And as an afterthought, he quickly added: "And if I don't want my ass kicked into next week." There, done. He carefully put the pen down, and folded the paper and stuffed it in his coat's inner pocket. It would save his sanity, he was sure of it.