TITLE: An Unprofessional Lie
E-MAIL: eli @ popullus.net
ARCHIVE: Ask, please.
RATING: PG-13
POSTED: March 3, 2005
AUTHOR NOTES: Ray was figuring out Fraser from the beginning. Written for the DS Flashfiction "lay or lie" challenge. The lovely Minnow is responsible for making sure Ray made sense.
DISCLAIMER: Read
Here's what it's all about: You can't decide, Hey, you know, I'm going to think total 100 percent truth today. Nuh-uh. Doesn't work. You could be real good at not saying all those thoughts, but they're occurring, like earthquakes, shaking and rocking.
Maybe that's why Fraser's head always tilts to the side. He's trying to get stable again.
Anyway, with all those lies rattling around inside the brain -- like, I don't mind sleeping in a glorified storage closet; or, Chicago air doesn't make me sick; or, here you go, I never, ever get the urge to take out a full-page ad telling everyone to solve their own fucking problems (just for this week, if you wouldn't mind) -- there's gotta be a release valve. If there isn't some way to let out some of that pressure, you'll crack like a radiator and grind to a stop, and there's no way to fix something like that. Rip it out and replace it, that's the only answer. Which doesn't work so hot when it's a person, you know?
Well, Fraser's got a doozy of a valve. The guy lies, all right.
Mostly, he puts 'em right out there, saying just a couple of those lies that nobody else around would even think of holding back. But he lies like a hooker; the words come out and you already know they aren't true, which makes 'em, like, clean. Not real. 'Cause you're not buying any of it. What you're there to buy is the high off the rest of the package: Him over there shaking his head, looking like he's thinking about writing himself up, or at least about scolding himself in a sticky note.
And that's the non-hooker lie, the big whopper, because not everyone's in on it. He's saying all the time with that body language that he's not messing with you -- shit, screw that; he'll come right out and say it, with an "I wouldn't" stuck on there somewhere -- when that's exactly what he's doing. He's got that act down so cold it might not be an act in his head, any more. It's become an unprofessional lie. A real personal one.
Didn't think it could be figured out, did ya? Well, sorry, Frase, but yep, it can when a guy doesn't take Dief for a pet. Because, too much protesting, your name is Fraser. See, you can't keep saying it. Spit it out, get it heard, move on. You say something so much and it doesn't matter how many ways you say it, you're gonna start repeating yourself. And if you got to repeat it, you're working to convince somebody.
Fraser gets away with it, though. Oh yeah. Partly 'cause everyone tunes him out after a while. Or after ten encyclopedia-type words, whichever comes first. Been only a couple of months and habits, they usually take a year, but this one's easier to fall into than sniping at Frannie. Fraser's off again. Don't blink and forget they're shut. So easy, he's just got to be helping it along. Guy knows his signs, and eyes with enough glaze to make Dief puke is more like a fist to the head.
Besides, Fraser's set for life. Someone else already told the lie that saves Canada's ass. Seriously, that "Mounties can't lie" line? Freaking genius. Wonder who got the shiny medal with a maple leaf on it for that one. Anyway, all he's got to do is stand up straight, blink a lot, and wait for someone to point out that that uniform doesn't make him the doorman, even if he is holding the damn door.
So, here you are, getting this act so often you could give it yourself -- Fraser making all over like lying to a person is a physical impossibility for him -- and you start itching to tear it down. You want to rip it apart so bad you think it might end up in more pieces than Humpty Dumpty, and you know it'll never come back together again when you're done with it. You're gonna absolutely shred that fucker.
That's natural, right? Wanting to tell someone they're not getting away with their bullshit. Especially if calling people on that kind of crap is the best part of what you're paid to do, anyway.
But it's not like you can toss him in interview and, one-two, jab and poke it out of him. That'd be...mean. Not nice. Shit. What it is is not buddies. Partners.
Friends.
Okay, you want it? Okay. Here's the hundred dollar question, the real bottom-out, it-all-stops-here line: How do you tell a guy you want him to treat you like his wolf?
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