A/N: -waves from Tuscaloosa, Alabama-
It's ninety something degrees out. I'm hot, miserable, with Captain and Al and apparently, in the mood to resurrect the Bunny Buster 'verse. Let's see what happens, shall we?
The Stargate on planet MU0-B4LL flared to life once more with a flash of blinding white light, followed by a rippling pool of bright blue. Once the event horizon stabilized, through the gateway stepped Arca and Caesar, still in their traditional muses togas but armed to the teeth. Arca had compared poor Caesar to a plethora of Sylvester Stallone characters at least once every five minutes since they'd left the Muse's Syndicate, and he was bearing it as best he possibly could.
"So, which way we headed, Rambo?" Arca asked, hitching her AK-47 up a little higher by its strap and shielding her eyes against the all too bright sun.
Caesar spared her a withering glare but didn't respond right away. Muses weren't particularly happy with the idea of meddling in truly human affairs by nature. Other than the art of inspiration, most were content to leave humans to their own devices without messing about in their universes and the very act of entering a fandom with the intention of genuine, purposeful interference rubbed him the wrong way. He also found himself feeling more than mild apprehension at the idea of a battle on the forefront. Caesar was edgier than he had any right to be. Sure, muses were immortal, but that didn't mean they were particularly fond of being shot.
Especially if Arca's excited bouncing on the balls of her feet was any indication of the level of her bloodlust.
"Which way are we headed?" she repeated with more than a slight whine to her tone. "I want to kill things already."
"Arca," Caesar's voice was rough and gravelly as he spoke, "this isn't a game. This is a rescue mission. You should be taking this seriously."
Arca took offense and glared at her fellow muse with as much heat as she could possibly muster. "I am taking this seriously, Caesar! Comicus is my mentor! I want to save him. Like, now!"
Caesar looked at her skeptically. "Really?"
"Yes!" she exclaimed, before adding in a lower voice, "And the Syndicate can hardly do anything about it if a few plot bunnies just happen to get blasted to smithereens along the way on a rescue mission..."
Caesar looked at his comrade reproachfully. "How can you be thinking about bunny vengeance at a time like this?"
"At a time like this? Hello? My mentor-slash-man-I-think-of-as-a-father-figure has been kidnapped by plot bunnies! I'm allowed to be a little vengeful!"
He boggled at her for a moment. "Mentor? Man you think of as a father figure? You have a deep seeded dislike of Comicus, Arca, don't lie to yourself."
"Just because I don't particularly like working for the old fart doesn't mean I don't like him personally," she said with a sniff, nose in the air. "Besides, it's time we muses got some of our own back, Caesar. The plot bunnies are an abomination and you know it. Overrunning our fandoms, warping the realities that we so carefully construct and maintain with their rabid, often nonsensical, cracktastic plotting! They don't belong! Look at how many crack!fics pop up because of their mere existence!! Fics that never should have come into being--fics that never would've happened if the muses still had full control without the interference of the bunnies! Fics that should not have been allowed to happen!!"
A cough echoed from overhead with as much warning in it as the sound of a cough could possibly hold.
Arca looked at the sky and blinked, realizing her own troublesome contradiction. "I...mean. Crack can be okay sometimes, just not rabid crack. Rabid crack without a plot. Like, killer toasters and things."
Another, slightly more serious cough made Arca roll her eyes and sigh with dismay. "Okay, badly executed crack! Crack is fine as long as it's executed well! We covered, Coughy McWheeze-a-lot?"
"Yup," the phantom voice overhead replied. "Back to the story at hand, dear."
"Anyway, Caesar," Arca started again, sparing the sky one last glance before getting back to pushing plot, "haven't you ever wanted to destroy the things that overrun our place in the universe? Think about it, the bunnies are making a conscious effort to replace us. Us! Muses! We've been around since The Iliad!"
"It's not our job, Arca," he answered seriously. "The Great Muse War had so many casualties that after it was over, the Syndicate had to seek a truce and working relationship with the Anti Plot Bunny Agency to keep from losing any more of us. How many were banished to obscure fandoms or trapped in parallel dimensions by Time Travel bunnies and what-have-you? We learned our lesson and the truce states that the bunnies are the APBA's job now. We're in violation of the rules just for stepping into the fandom; we're in violation of the truce by killing bunnies that are rightfully someone else's responsibility."
"Now," Caesar leveled his eyes at his coworker. "This is search and rescue only. You don't kill a bunny unless your tangibility in is imminent jeopardy or someone else's life in danger. The Syndicate forbids us from killing these things unless we're about to be shoved through a hole in space-time or something."
"Vengeance is mine, sayeth the bureaucrat," Arca replied sadly with a forlorn shake of her head as she started away from the gate. "Alright. I won't kill anything unless it's absolutely necessary..."
"And no staging life threatening crises just for an excuse to 'splode bunnies," Caesar expanded, following after her.
She spun on her heel and glared at him. "Now you're just trying to kill my trigger happy buzz!"