[ If Fraser expected to be tugged sidewards into the closet he didn't show it, having been midstep at the time, but here they were, standing in the dark inches away from each other. His partner was typically dismissive, but he knew that unless the plan involved one of them getting shot or the potential to be blown up, destruction of a beloved vehicle, or rooting around in garbage, Ray would generally prefer to hear at least most of the plan. ]
Well, you see, Ray, the inuit fisherman has a trick, one that he has developed with practice--after all, all told he's spent whole years of his life in one place, perched over a hole in the ice. He teaches himself that no matter the distraction or the state of sleep he's induced in himself, one single trigger must snap him back to absolute readiness-- [ The door swung open, and an unsuspecting intern blinked at them twice before Fraser pulled the door shut again, grimacing apologetically. He resumed his explanation. ] That trigger being the twitch of the fish on the line.
[ None of which is an actual plan. ] None of which is an actual plan. However, it is a fact that alcohol only dulls the logic centers of the brain--actual brain damage takes somewhat longer. In effect I believe we can trigger ourselves into doing our duty irregardless of how dulled our other senses may be--a simple post-hypnotic suggestion would be all that was necessary.
[ His explanation of how he intends to hypnotize himself - possibly both of them - into against all odds and possibly against medical science overcoming skyrocketing blood alcohol levels, at last comes to a halt, though not really because he's done explaining. It's more as though he's suddenly become very much more aware of where they are, their closeness in the darkness, Ray's breath. The fact that they're alone for the first time since stepping into the club. Fraser licked his lips, shifting his weight on his feet very slightly. There was a different, plaintive note to his voice when he spoke again. ]
no subject
Well, you see, Ray, the inuit fisherman has a trick, one that he has developed with practice--after all, all told he's spent whole years of his life in one place, perched over a hole in the ice. He teaches himself that no matter the distraction or the state of sleep he's induced in himself, one single trigger must snap him back to absolute readiness-- [ The door swung open, and an unsuspecting intern blinked at them twice before Fraser pulled the door shut again, grimacing apologetically. He resumed his explanation. ] That trigger being the twitch of the fish on the line.
[ None of which is an actual plan. ] None of which is an actual plan. However, it is a fact that alcohol only dulls the logic centers of the brain--actual brain damage takes somewhat longer. In effect I believe we can trigger ourselves into doing our duty irregardless of how dulled our other senses may be--a simple post-hypnotic suggestion would be all that was necessary.
[ His explanation of how he intends to hypnotize himself - possibly both of them - into against all odds and possibly against medical science overcoming skyrocketing blood alcohol levels, at last comes to a halt, though not really because he's done explaining. It's more as though he's suddenly become very much more aware of where they are, their closeness in the darkness, Ray's breath. The fact that they're alone for the first time since stepping into the club. Fraser licked his lips, shifting his weight on his feet very slightly. There was a different, plaintive note to his voice when he spoke again. ]
Ray?