FICLETTINO: Ogi Ogas/Sai Gaddam, or: My Response to the Neuroscience Fail Survey
Title: Who Wants To Be A Neuroscientist?
Race of author: I'm skipping this rubric.
Biological sex of author at birth: Other.
Sexual orientation of author: North.
Year in which author first tongue-kissed: 1976. I believe this to be a most salient (and scientific) detail, pertinent to especially lines 23-27 of the fic below.
Level of neurological activity within author: Beta.
Fandom: Cognitive Neuroscience Fanfiction Survey
Pairing: Ogi Ogas / Sai Gaddam
Rating: 18. NC-17. Adult.
Subsidiary fandom: Who Wants To Be A Millionaire (the episode with Ogi / Sai)
Category: Real-person slash, whee!
Length: 843 words.
Warning: This fiction may affect the neural dynamics of your crack!cortex. You have been WARNED!
Disclaimer: I do not know the people represented herein personally. What I know I have gleaned from entirely public internet platforms. This is a work of amateur fiction. None of it is true. None of it ever happened nor will it ever happen. I made it up. No personal libel is intended. No money is made.
Acknowledgments: This text includes phrases quoted from the websites linked above (under the rubric 'Pairing') and from this email exchange.
A/N: A memristor device.
The telephone rings. It is Ogi, ringing a friend.
It was easy, ringing his friend during the game show. The adrenaline had been pumping, the money had been beckoning, Sai's voice had been firm and forceful over the speaker phone.
But things are different now. Now it is only the receiver pressed against damp skin, and Sai's voice pouring, hot and crackly, into the cochlear fluids of Ogi's inner ear.
"Professor Ogas?" says the voice, and the fluids wobble and vibrate in ecstatic throes of cognition.
"Please. How often do I have to tell you, Sai? Call me Ogi."
"Okay, sir. I mean, Prof... I mean..."
Even the stutterings of his student send subcortical shivers down Ogi's dentate gyrus.
"Now listen, Sai. After our amazing victory today..."
"Your victory," says Sai modestly.
"Our victory, Sai. Our victory! The victory of neurological mnemotechnologistic research versus the televisual colossi of mammon! Science over greed! Mind over matter!"
A ticking noise interrupts Ogi's raptures.
"Sai, what is that? What are you doing? Are you doing something while I'm talking to you? You're not playing Tetris on your phone, are you?"
"Goodness no. Um. I'm just adjusting my nanoscale memristor devices here."
Silence ensues. Several unilateral thought patterns patter across Ogi's frontal lobe. His fingers twitch.
"Your memristor devices, eh?"
"Yes, sir. It is they, after all, that enabled me... I mean to say, when you rang from the TV studio where the quiz show was taking place, when they were asking you the million-dollar question and you rang a friend, well, it was the memristor devices that suggested the answer, wasn't it?"
Ogi's intestines turn to oil. "Hang up the phone," he says.
"Don't argue. Hang up the phone."
Sai hangs up the phone.
Ogi hangs up the phone and opens the door to Sai's office.
Receiver in hand, Ogi advances into the lab, towards Sai, towards the memristor device balanced between Sai's thumb and forefinger.
"Shut up and undo my zip."
"How can I, with the memris..." But then Sai understands, sinks to his knees and, carefully protecting his outstretched hand, puts his teeth to dizzying primate use.
"There," says Ogi. Harsh sounds gust past his swollen vocal folds. "And now-- insert."
"But... is this a physiologically plausible neural model?"
"Fuck plausibility. Just... oh yes."
The nanoscale memristor device slides in easily, lubricating itself against the renal cavity. Tiny charges spark along its prongs. Heat suffuses cool metal. Matter engulfs mind. Claws extend. Antennae unfurl. Whole universes rotate in the arse of darkness.
"Oh god," says Ogi. Sweat drips from behind his designer specs.
"Well, that is a misleading invocation," mumbles Sai. "God is not a source of data, nor even the subject of our research."
"Christ," says Ogi. The lab convulses.
"But I suppose you are speaking in metaphors," continues Sai. "Not that I know a lot about metaphors. After all, I don't in any way wish to acquire titillating behaviour."
"Of course not," gasps Ogi. "This is all strictly scientific."
"Strictly scientific," echoes Sai.
"Research," moans Ogi. "Not at all fetishistic."
"Definitely not. Neurological only."
Ogi cries out with boyish activity. Sai grunts a heterosexual grunt.
The memristor falls to the ground. It tinkles against the tiles. Its tines glisten.
"Congratulations, Professor O... I mean, sir. You have once again demonstrated that the next stage of understanding the commonality and connectedness of desire is here."
"Not so fast," says Ogi, holding onto a microsurger for support. His legs buckle and buck up again. "I need a digestive rest. This situation is evolving too speedily for my neuroprocessors."
"Achcha. You're as slow as Akshay Kumar on a bad day. Now, please, stay there while I do my measurements. And remember to wire me fifty percent of that quiz show money."
"Sure, Sai. As soon as you upload that chick lit survey. And quit babbling about that Bolshywood stuff."
"Bollywood, sir. Love me truly and I'll be your lab assistant forever."
So he does, and he is, and they live happily ever after, in effervescent multilaterality and apparent heteronormativity.
Liek, 4 evah + evah.
1 September 2009