Disclaimer: Everything in the Stargate Universe belongs to someone else. However, I own the Techieverse and everything associated with it (characters, creatures, items, organizations). If you even think about stealing from me, it might be a good idea to prepare your hard drive for a nasty crash. Using things with my permission is perfectly acceptable, but used without...well, you're in for a universe of hurt. Comprende vouz?

Warning: I'm not responsible for any injuries sustained as a result of reading anything I write so don't bother trying to sue if you fall off your chair and break your tailbone. Wouldn't do you any good, as I'm broke and it would be comparable to trying to get blood from a radish.

A really, really snarky radish.

Radish is a funny word...say it with me. Radish. Radish, radish, raaaadiiiiish.

What? No, I haven't had any Doctor Pepper and pixie sticks...why do you ask?

Opening Statement: If you haven't read the Magnum Opus 'When Plot Bunnies Attack' yet...well, what are you doing reading this? This is the sequel. As in it comes after. Go read the other one first.


Somewhere in Southeast Wisconsin...

If you can go to bed at three in the morning with the world outside looking like the perfect autumn night and then wake three hours later to find three feet of snow on everything, it's a pretty safe bet that you're a mid-westerner.

If you can do this without registering shock, you're definitely a mid-westerner.

And while sudden snow isn't the least bit shocking to someone who's lived on a lakefront their entire lives, it's still just as inconvenient for them as it is for the rest of the world.

Especially if this particular person had been enjoying the mild thirty four degree weather and forgot to go out to the shed to retrieve her winter coat, heedless of the fact it was December and she would need it eventually.

Quite clearly, she wasn't the shiniest penny in the fountain.

Now that the shed door was blocked by a pile of white powder six feet high because some idiot shoveled and decided 'Hey, this looks like a good place to put all this stuff', Techie (the aforementioned idiot without a winter coat in the house) was trapped inside for the duration.

Now she sat sprawled in her worn second hand office chair half asleep, wearing her green flannel 'Eat At Joe's! pajamas that had coffee cups printed on them, a pair of faded Betty Boop toe socks and fuzzy purple slippers with a hole in one of the soles.

While this ensemble was less famous than her blue sock monkey pajamas it was no less comfortable, and it was a perfect fashion statement for a woman who had one foot propped on a dining room chair and the other left dangling as she dozed, one arm wrapped around her middle and the other hanging over the edge of her chair arm, knuckles brushing the floor in a position that would have caused a person with less flexibility pain.

Techie's head nodded a few times in her sleep and the coke bottle frames slipped from her face and hit the brown indoor/outdoor carpeting, landing at a pair of sandaled feet that hadn't been there moments before.

The sandaled feet led to a pair of ankles, which led to pair of knees which were brushed by the hem of a toga. A freshly mended toga that used to have a shotgun blast sized hole smack dab in the middle of it, which belonged to a short, squat little man whose hands were planted firmly on his hips.

Comicus, the Muse who regularly tormented Techie into writing Crack!fic in the interests of stupidity, silliness and falling out of one's chair. Comicus, fandom Muse of comedy, parody and goofy antics.

The old man leaned down and snapped up the pair of plastic rimmed spectacles that had fallen at his feet, which he then used to tap on the sleeping geek's forehead.

She grumbled and swatted his hand away drunkenly.

"You!" he knocked on her head again, making several hollow sounding thumps in the process, "Up! Now!"

"Hunggenmph." Was the unintelligible and almost unpronounceable reply.

"Up, up, up, up, up!" He insisted.

The author whined deep in her throat, "What do you want?"

"I'm here to inspire," Comicus gestured grandly.

She cracked one dark, bleary, bloodshot eye open and glared at him, "Get bent."

Techie rolled over in her chair, back to him and face smushed against the rough fabric of the chair. She waved behind herself dismissively, "Go pester Nenya for a change...I'm tired."

Comicus stalked around the chair so that he was facing the author once more, reached over and yanked one of her eyes open by the eyelashes, "You're not tired, you're hung over."

She shoved his hand away, "I am not."

"Get up, nebish...you've got work to do." Comicus poked her in the shoulder repeatedly.

She slapped at him awkwardly, eyes only open a crack, "Go awaaaay. I'm done with Bunnies and Muses and APBA agents. I got nothin' left to give."

"You have a trilogy to complete, remember?"

"Trilogy...trilogy...doesn't ring any bells."

"The Plot Bunny Trilogy," he put one hand on his hip, "You had the naming scheme all picked out and everything. When Plot Bunnies Attack, The Plot Bunnies Strike Back, Return Of The Plot Bunnies...remember?"

Techie groaned, "Stupid Star Wars."

"I don't see why I have to do it," she grumbled.

"You're the one who created the whole mess."

"Operative word: mess."

"Get up and get to work!" He snapped.

She flung one arm over her head, covering her eyes, "I don't WANNA! I have other things that need to be finished! I can't start something new."

"You've got to."

"What about everything else I've got on my plate? Do you realize how long it's been since I updated my Lone Gunmen story? Or the Law And Order one? What about the Smallville thing I started all those weeks ag-"

Techie suddenly found herself two inches off the floor, held up by the collar of her shirt by the incredibly persistent, incredibly short fused Muse, "Now look here, we've got a crisis situation on our hands you shmuck."

"Crisis?" Techie squeaked, "You mean other than the fact a fictional character has me by the neck? I think it's time for my doc to up my dosage."

Comicus ignored the fact that Techie was questioning her own sanity and continued, "A CRISIS! The APBA agents are only officially active when you're writing them."

The geek that was held above the Muse's head squirmed, "Yeah? So?"

"So? So the longer you wait, the worse it's going to get! We need them! They were the only thing that was keeping order going in the fandoms! It's utter chaos out there!"

"Alright, ALRIGHT! Put me down!"


Techie was dropped unceremoniously into her chair, glasses replaced on her face and the keyboard was placed in her lap.

"Get to work," Comicus said urgently, watching as Techie's fingers flew over the keys, "Faster!"

She glared up at him. "Would you give me a break? I only type a hundred words a minute and I need thinkin' time too, geez."

"If you actually think about what you're writing we'll be stuck here all week," The Muse countered, "Fly by those pants!"

"For cryin' out loud, Comicus, don't get your panties in a bunch!" Techie exclaimed, still typing, "What's this crisis you're on about anyway?"

Comicus looked at her severely, eyes fearful.

"They're calling it the Angora Strain."


A/N: I'm baaaaaaaaaack.

A whole what, two days without an active APBA story? You must have been positively dying without me.

I want to thank flubber, who coined the term 'Angora Strain', which gave me the idea for this story's plot. WPBA was blamed on Strawberry Cupcake, I'm blaming this one on flubber. Hey, maybe someday one of you will get to be blamed for a story of mine. It's something to aspire to, ain't it?