Spoilers: Through "Apprehension"
Archive: Wherever, but let me know.
Disclaimer: The characters herein are owned by other people and I make no money from their shameless exploitation.
Genre: Humor. Plant tongue firmly in cheek.
Renewal
By The Mad Fangirl
"I suppose you're all wondering why I called you here today," Kenneth Irons began. "You may think me mad..."
Nottingham coughed. Irons glared.
"...but I must hope for all our sakes that all of you can work together, and with me, or face the end of the universe as we know it."
Sara Pezzini scanned the two-story den. Ian Nottingham stood in the corner (quite a task as the den was mostly round), hands clasped behind him, legs wide, head bowed. Irons sat by the fire. Before them ranged herself, Jake, the hated Captain Dante, Gabriel Bowman, and to her at least, the late Danny Woo.
"I'm supposed to work with the guy that ordered my father's death. Pull the other one, Kenny, milk comes out."
"Yes, you are, just as I expect him to work with the fed who's gathering evidence for a racketeering indictment."
"What!?" from Dante.
"Hey!" from Jake.
Nottingham might have been smiling. It was difficult to tell.
"What could possibly be so damned important," asked Pez.
"It's simple." The white haired aristocrat gestured with his wine glass. "Turner Network Television only ordered eleven episodes of "Witchblade," not counting the pilot movie. We're currently between episodes nine and ten. As yet, there has been no word on renewal."
All heads came up and focused on Irons, except of course, Ian's. "Whoa," Gabriel said. "That is big."
"Hey, Rookie," Pez said, "Could you mark today down on your calendar? The old bastard's actually telling the truth!"
"Look, why am I even here, then," said Bruno Dante. "I'm pretty much dead this season, right? 'If you want to keep her alive, you're going to have to kill me.' What the hell was I thinking?" The captain looked hopefully up at Irons. "Unless of course I misinterpreted you."
"Oh, no, Captain," Irons replied. "You are, most assuredly, toast."
Dante sighed. "Figures."
"But you should, at least, have time to mail a letter before I have you killed. Shouldn't he, Ian?"
"Yes, sir."
"Mail a letter?"
"I've instigated a write-in campaign for the show's renewal. In your honor, Sara, the program director at TNT will be deluged with PEZ candy, along with letters pleading for renewal. Now, I've purchased all the PEZ in a five-state radius..."
"So *that's* why I couldn't find any," Jake broke in.
"What, you knew about Irons' little scheme?" Sara asked.
"No, why?"
Irons ignored them both with studied indifference. "And every employee in every division of Vorschlag Industries is currently writing and mailing a letter with either a dispenser or candy wrapper included. I have, of course, candy and stationery for yourselves as well."
"H-how about postage," Gabriel asked, casting nervous glances at the forbidding Ian as he spoke.
"Oh, come now, young Gabriel," Irons said. "It's your universe too. One would think you'd be interested enough in its preservation to buy your own stamps."
Jake looked at him. "One thing I don't get. If you're so rich, why didn't you just buy TNT?"
"Detective, there are certain walls between the realities that even I cannot penetrate."
"Not that he hasn't tried," said Nottingham from the corner.
"Oh, who asked you? Really, it's so hard to find good help these days."
"All right, all right, so why this little pow-wow," Sara asked. "A handful of letters from us isn't going to add much to the avalanche from your staff, so why are we here?"
"Because, as you well know, letters aren't always enough."
"Tell me about it," Gabriel piped up. "I loved 'Prey.'"
"So," Irons continued, "I invited you to see if you had any other ideas."
"Well," Dante put in, "You could always send her over to the program director's house with a gun."
"Yeah, because it worked so well with you, Bruno."
"Look, Pet-zini, it made me want to torture you mercilessly. Now while I'm not necessarily gonna get the chance to do so..." He looked at Nottingham, who met his eyes and shook his head, "...anyway, the program director could talk to the writers. They do another season full of crap happening to you. I'm happy, they're happy, you all still exist."
Sara looked around the room again. To her dismay, everyone seemed to be considering the idea. Even Danny. She looked at the dead cop and mouthed "et tu?" He shrugged.
"Does it bother any of you that the bad guys are the ones coming up with these plans?" she asked.
"'Bad guys?' Sara, you wound me yet again."
"Not as much as I'd like to," she said, flexing a gauntleted hand.
"Hey," said McCartey, "A good idea's a good idea..."
"Oh, nice, Rookie. Now say 'You can trust me, partner.' Like you mean it."
"Ouch."
Pezzini tried one last time. "Nottingham. *Ian.* You say you love me. How can you support my having another year like this one? Whatever the writers do, they're gonna try to top the deaths of my... let's see. Best friend, partner, boyfriend, mentor..." She ticked them off with metal fingers. "Am I leaving anyone out?"
"Anything they can imagine, we can defeat, my Lady Sara. Together."
"Great! Just great." Pez threw up her hands. "So before I head off to Georgia to sabotage my life, can I get just one straight answer?"
"I think you know that that depends," Irons replied.
She sighed. "Why us? Why did you invite this group to be your little war council?"
"Sara, look around you. The answer should be quite obvious."
So she did, and the Witchblade stayed dark against her wrist as she figured it out on her own. "Oh, right. Because we're all the..."
"...recurring characters. Exactly. Now, I think you should be going. My Town Car is..."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Warmed." Pezzini headed for the door. As she reached it, she heard twin shouts of "Good luck!" and "Fare well, my Lady!" She stopped and turned.
"Jake? Ian?" Both waited expectantly.
"Get stuffed." And she was gone.
--
END
TMF
Archive: Wherever, but let me know.
Disclaimer: The characters herein are owned by other people and I make no money from their shameless exploitation.
Genre: Humor. Plant tongue firmly in cheek.
Renewal
By The Mad Fangirl
"I suppose you're all wondering why I called you here today," Kenneth Irons began. "You may think me mad..."
Nottingham coughed. Irons glared.
"...but I must hope for all our sakes that all of you can work together, and with me, or face the end of the universe as we know it."
Sara Pezzini scanned the two-story den. Ian Nottingham stood in the corner (quite a task as the den was mostly round), hands clasped behind him, legs wide, head bowed. Irons sat by the fire. Before them ranged herself, Jake, the hated Captain Dante, Gabriel Bowman, and to her at least, the late Danny Woo.
"I'm supposed to work with the guy that ordered my father's death. Pull the other one, Kenny, milk comes out."
"Yes, you are, just as I expect him to work with the fed who's gathering evidence for a racketeering indictment."
"What!?" from Dante.
"Hey!" from Jake.
Nottingham might have been smiling. It was difficult to tell.
"What could possibly be so damned important," asked Pez.
"It's simple." The white haired aristocrat gestured with his wine glass. "Turner Network Television only ordered eleven episodes of "Witchblade," not counting the pilot movie. We're currently between episodes nine and ten. As yet, there has been no word on renewal."
All heads came up and focused on Irons, except of course, Ian's. "Whoa," Gabriel said. "That is big."
"Hey, Rookie," Pez said, "Could you mark today down on your calendar? The old bastard's actually telling the truth!"
"Look, why am I even here, then," said Bruno Dante. "I'm pretty much dead this season, right? 'If you want to keep her alive, you're going to have to kill me.' What the hell was I thinking?" The captain looked hopefully up at Irons. "Unless of course I misinterpreted you."
"Oh, no, Captain," Irons replied. "You are, most assuredly, toast."
Dante sighed. "Figures."
"But you should, at least, have time to mail a letter before I have you killed. Shouldn't he, Ian?"
"Yes, sir."
"Mail a letter?"
"I've instigated a write-in campaign for the show's renewal. In your honor, Sara, the program director at TNT will be deluged with PEZ candy, along with letters pleading for renewal. Now, I've purchased all the PEZ in a five-state radius..."
"So *that's* why I couldn't find any," Jake broke in.
"What, you knew about Irons' little scheme?" Sara asked.
"No, why?"
Irons ignored them both with studied indifference. "And every employee in every division of Vorschlag Industries is currently writing and mailing a letter with either a dispenser or candy wrapper included. I have, of course, candy and stationery for yourselves as well."
"H-how about postage," Gabriel asked, casting nervous glances at the forbidding Ian as he spoke.
"Oh, come now, young Gabriel," Irons said. "It's your universe too. One would think you'd be interested enough in its preservation to buy your own stamps."
Jake looked at him. "One thing I don't get. If you're so rich, why didn't you just buy TNT?"
"Detective, there are certain walls between the realities that even I cannot penetrate."
"Not that he hasn't tried," said Nottingham from the corner.
"Oh, who asked you? Really, it's so hard to find good help these days."
"All right, all right, so why this little pow-wow," Sara asked. "A handful of letters from us isn't going to add much to the avalanche from your staff, so why are we here?"
"Because, as you well know, letters aren't always enough."
"Tell me about it," Gabriel piped up. "I loved 'Prey.'"
"So," Irons continued, "I invited you to see if you had any other ideas."
"Well," Dante put in, "You could always send her over to the program director's house with a gun."
"Yeah, because it worked so well with you, Bruno."
"Look, Pet-zini, it made me want to torture you mercilessly. Now while I'm not necessarily gonna get the chance to do so..." He looked at Nottingham, who met his eyes and shook his head, "...anyway, the program director could talk to the writers. They do another season full of crap happening to you. I'm happy, they're happy, you all still exist."
Sara looked around the room again. To her dismay, everyone seemed to be considering the idea. Even Danny. She looked at the dead cop and mouthed "et tu?" He shrugged.
"Does it bother any of you that the bad guys are the ones coming up with these plans?" she asked.
"'Bad guys?' Sara, you wound me yet again."
"Not as much as I'd like to," she said, flexing a gauntleted hand.
"Hey," said McCartey, "A good idea's a good idea..."
"Oh, nice, Rookie. Now say 'You can trust me, partner.' Like you mean it."
"Ouch."
Pezzini tried one last time. "Nottingham. *Ian.* You say you love me. How can you support my having another year like this one? Whatever the writers do, they're gonna try to top the deaths of my... let's see. Best friend, partner, boyfriend, mentor..." She ticked them off with metal fingers. "Am I leaving anyone out?"
"Anything they can imagine, we can defeat, my Lady Sara. Together."
"Great! Just great." Pez threw up her hands. "So before I head off to Georgia to sabotage my life, can I get just one straight answer?"
"I think you know that that depends," Irons replied.
She sighed. "Why us? Why did you invite this group to be your little war council?"
"Sara, look around you. The answer should be quite obvious."
So she did, and the Witchblade stayed dark against her wrist as she figured it out on her own. "Oh, right. Because we're all the..."
"...recurring characters. Exactly. Now, I think you should be going. My Town Car is..."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Warmed." Pezzini headed for the door. As she reached it, she heard twin shouts of "Good luck!" and "Fare well, my Lady!" She stopped and turned.
"Jake? Ian?" Both waited expectantly.
"Get stuffed." And she was gone.
--
END
TMF