A/N: Just a little fluff for the twins while they were younger. And complete. (Yowcha). I guess this one happens before Gene finds out about 'Noll' as an alternative nickname for Oliver.
Sorry, I know I have a lot of other unfinished works... I'll get to updating them... eventually ^^;;
A steel box sits in front of him. He watches it intently; his scientific curiosity and moral conscience clashes, a war of ideals waging unrelentingly inside his head.
If all goes well, the state would collapse into an outcome where the cat is alive. In that case the experiment would be a semi-success. But would the cat remember how it felt, what the world was like in the haze of semi-existence?
If, however, the state collapses into an outcome where the cat is dead, there would be no way to collect data and the experiment would be a failure. Would he, as a scientist, accept defeat, or would curiosity spur him on to find another test subject and redo the experiment until he acquired results?
Oliver stares at the box, admits his curiosity would always win. And he understood its cruelty.
Finally, the time limit is up. He looks down and finds that he is no longer sitting, but he doesn't remember moving.
'Meow.'
It was weak and faint, but he hears it. It's poisoned, he thinks immediately. It's dying. It's writhing in pain, alone in the dark box, terrified beyond comprehension.
He moves quickly.
Open the box; look him in the eyes. It was the least he could do.
'Meow.'
Before he knew it, he is already hovering over the open container, its door ripped from the hinges. The cat grooms itself, licks its hind legs lazily before perking its ears and looking up at him with dilated pupils. A little ray of hope inside him bubbles forth.
It survived.
Beside it, the cyanide bottle is still intact and Oliver quickly reaches out to put it far away from reach.
It survived.
It survived the superimposed state of death and life, and only if he were able to understand its thoughts! What would it tell him?
He frowns and hoists the cat up, then proceeds to hold it at arm's length. The black cat stares deeply into his eyes, but its thoughts were unfathomable.
It is a cat, after all.
"Oliver."
He blinks.
"Oliver, what are you thinking of?" it asks.
A talking cat was an anomaly, that much he understood immediately. Little by little he realized the absurdity of the whole situation. There was absolutely no point to doing such an experiment. A cat obviously cannot talk and tell him of its experiences. More importantly, any outside observation would render the experiment null, so even the presence of the Geiger counter alone would have collapsed the state well before he opened the box to make an observation. Furthermore the cat would be aware of its own status, and would thus be an observer itself. There was a reason this was called a thought experiment, after all.
Gene's voice rang out right beside his ear, shattering the stillness of the room and jerking him completely awake.
He blinked the sleep out of his eyes.
He had been dreaming of the most ridiculous things.
"Hello? I said: do you remember Ollie?"
"...What?"
"Do. You. Remember. Ollie?" Gene repeated loudly.
He groaned. "It's late. If you're not going to sleep, then go back to your own room."
"But I'm not sleepy yet. I don't want to just stare at the ceiling."
Oliver felt too tired to speak so he replied using their hotline, "I'm sleepy. I was sleeping."
"Oh, were you?"
Based on his intonation, Oliver could tell that his brother was not in the least bit repentant. Gene's hand clasped his own before scooting himself closer so that the two of them were now touching foreheads.
Gene whispered mockingly, "Okay, but you're awake now."
Oliver kept his eyes closed, but eventually he grunted out irritably, "What Ollie?"
"Mr. Oliver J. Dragon, from Kukla, Fran, and Ollie. That old puppet show on the telly back home?"
At the mention of 'back home', Oliver frowned in disdain. He felt a jolt of Gene's momentary panic.
"I meant back at the orphanage," his twin quickly amended. "We used to catch parts of the show, remember?"
"No."
"Yes you do. You didn't like him, but he was really funny. I'll call you Ollie because you remind me of him. He was a silly, cocky little smarty-pants. It's a good nickname, right?"
He mentally groaned but did not say anything. Eugene laughed softly.
