A/N: "You can please some of the people all of the time, you can please all of the people some of the time, but you can't please all of the people all of the time". Great advice so I've decide to see if I can please none of the people all of the time. My version of how Gregary Blags might give everyone their moments when Michael Weather leaves after thirteen years. I'll be posting this story – a prologue, plus two chapters every day. And just to be clear, this is sheer unadulterated crack-fic, in case anyone expects there to be a real plot.
For those people who haven't been keeping up with how MW's departure has been covered in the media, this might not make much sense. For those of you who have – this story may still not make a lot of sense. :D Hmm what else…oh not beta'ed and rather rough. The inspiration for the title for this fic came from Frakking Toasters, but for another story and I ended up not using it. Still I think it works for this one too.
Warnings: Is it necessary for me to tell you that this is probably going to offend most of you?
Disclosure: I don't own them and I'm not making any money from this story. It's just for my own twisted amusement.
No Ship Sherlock
Prologue: I'm Gonna Wash that Man Right Out of My Hair
Gregary Blags groaned loudly. He could already smell the cloying scent of perfumes, and cosmetics co-mingling with sweat and various other bodily odours even before he even stepped in the room. It was already making him nauseous and he wished this farce was over and done with already. What a mess!
Ever since that doddering old fool let the cat out of the bag about the imminent departure of Anthony DiNozzo from NCIS, the media had gone cra-cra every time he set foot out in the public eye. Gregary had finally grown weary of all the media speculation and hysteria. He'd decided to take the bull by the horns and front the media horde head on. Hopefully to shut them up for a bit.
Entering the bull pen… um, the lion's den, to the accompaniment of flashing lights, yelling journalists, celebrity reporters and entertainment bloggers, Blags managed to fight his way into the room, feeling like he needed a whip and a chair. Maybe an electric cattle prod too. Darn he'd left his in his trailer on set. Ignoring the absolute hysteria, he focused on making his way to the lectern where the microphone was situated, intent on addressing the madding crowd before skedaddling again to the privacy of his limo which would whisk him back to his mansion somewhere in the Hollywood Hills. Due to stalkers and weirdos even he didn't know exactly were it was.
Ever since the news broke, they were all demanding he reveal details of the departure of one of the 'Fab Four. All screeching like a bunch of monkeys at the zoo. Gregary wondered how long it would be until they'd start chucking their excrement at him when they didn't get the information they wanted and FYI, enough information was never ever enough to satisfy them. The fifth estate was, by its nature, insatiable. Too bad they had such a symbiotic relationship with them.
Taking a deep breath, he waited for the melee to die down so he could speak.
"Thank-you for all coming today. I can't tell you much but I can tell you this – we're taking this situation very seriously and I'm sure that everyone will be pleased with the final outcome. Everyone will be very happy with the ending of a journey. I think you all know that for me it's not about the story; I like to give you all moments and umm crumbs. So I'll just say thank-you. I think that says it all."
As he bowed his head and headed for the exit, ignoring the the shouts and questions from angry media, he was pleased with his performance. Blags sent a text to his close colleague, Hank Marrom telling him he owed him one for shielding him from the ravening crowd.
Now all he had to do was figure out how to get rid of that aggravating Anthony DiNozzo character without setting off a riot. Beats him about how popular that clown DiNozzo was anyway. He wanted to go…good riddance. NCIS didn't need him… theyd be fine without him...seriously fine. The guy was an ungrateful joke after all.
Despite the roar from everyone in the room, as he departed he found himself singing a show tune from South Pacific – I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of my Hair and Send Him On his Way.
End Notes:
Yes I know I haven't managed to offend all that many people yet but it's early days. More tomorrow.
BTW, in the immortal words of the novelist Thom E. Gemcity, the characters in this chapter are fictional and any resemblance to individuals, living or dead, is purely coincidental.