VALENTINES CHARITY - Feoveuer 14th

[thejoyrider]

♥ THE FESTIVAL OF LOVE ♥

"At the Festival of Love: Shine like thunder
At the Festival of Love: Cry like rain
At the Festival of Love: Hear my calling
At the Festival of Love: Hear my name"

...wait, who prepared this poster? The vibe it gives off is totally wrong... ah, well, it will do! ♥





I. Welcome! ♥

On Feoveuer 14th regulars of DiplomaTea will immediately notice that the place looks different. Fresh flowers, garlands and paper decorations are everywhere, all in lovely shades of pink and red. Heart-shaped confetti is falling from the ceiling, magicked to disappear shortly after touching the floor so it would not make a mess. Quiet music is filling the whole cafe, one of the many masterpieces of Amadeus Mozart and a particual favorite of Marie who picked this particular song to play. Even those who have missed Marie's flyers and announcements about the upcoming event would definitely notice that something joyous is going on inside, why not check it out and join everyone?

If you haven't heard before, the posters will explain everything. Today's event, The Festival of Love celebrates the holiday known as Valentine's Day some Mirrorbound might be familiar with. This is the day to celebrate love in all shapes and forms. Spend a wonderful, romantic evening with your partner... or your friends and family, because these kinds of love are important too! Or get some sweets and eat them all by yourself, because self love is also important! All money collected during today's event will go to aid the refugees and help those who have been affected during last month - celebration of love for your fellow woman, man and everyone else.

a. Preparations ♥

Of course an event this big cannot happen without the help of many. Making and putting up the decorations, enchanting the confetti and music, building the booths, preparing the tables, all of this and much more took almost the whole previous day. Everett will also defintely need part-timers to help tending to the increased number of custoers during the event. If you visited DiplomaTea during that time, you probably couldn't enjoy your drink in peace... or maybe you were roped into helping? Marie gives you a pleading look. Every pair of hands is useful, you know!

II. The Festival of Love ♥

Kissing Booths ♥

Two hastily made but lovingly decorated wooden booths have been placed on DiplomaTea porch. For supporting the cause with a small fee of 100 cunes the person inside will gladly give you a lovely kiss... though you are, of course, welcome to throw an even bigger amount into the donation box! The Mirrorbound staff the booths in shifts so nobody will be forced to sit out the whole event and more volunteers are always welcome... come on, don't you want to support the charitable cause? Marie is quite persuasive, she might find a way to convince you even if it's not something you would have usually agreed to ♥ Or maybe your crush is currently in the booth and this is your big chance? Either way, thank you for your support, good people!

Bake Sale ♥

Are you skilled with the cooking appliances? Would you like these skills to serve a good cause? The tables just next to the main entrance of DiplomaTea have been filled with cakes, pastries and other kinds of sweets donated by Mirrorbound - help yourself to some! You have to pay for it, of course, but all the money collected helps the charitable cause! For those who are not fond of sweet things, savory and spicy snacks are also found on the table.

Did you bring a dish? Would you like to buy something? Or maybe you are just staffing the tables and helping with the bake sale itself? All kinds of help are appreciated! Are you culinarily challenged but refuse to admit it? Thank you for your donation anyway, it is going on sale! Did anyone see the Fae who donated these cupcakes? These appear to be enchanted and eating one will cause you to say the opposite what you mean for fifteen minutes. What do you mean, Marie, we are putting these on sale as well? Could it be... that Fae was... No, impossible!

Auction ♥

Want to support the cause with a bigger sum? As a part of the main event, a couple of items will be auctioned. To show their support, the Coven donated several valuables that could definitely be of use for both Witches and Monsters:

• an ornate golden ring Fae-blessed to provide the wearer 12 hours of invisibility (which does not have to be used consecutively, it's 'turned on and off' by rubbing the stone set into it, and does not conceal the wearer from other Fae)
• a suit set and a dress that will both transform magically to fit whatever Monster form the wearer has (and will also take on the wearer's color and design preferences)
• a book on imbuing baked goods with minor luck spells - good and bad both.

Place your bids now! But that's not everything that will be put on sale today - donations from Mirrorbound are also accepted and will be auctioned! Do you have any items you no longer need and could contribute? Maybe it's something you have crafted yourself? Or a voucher for any kind of services you can provide? Whatever it is, thank you for your donation! Yes, even if it's enchanted. Especially if it is enchanted!

Not donating or buying anything? You could certainly help with the organization part! That pile of items over there... Mind checking out what we even have there and assign starting bids?

A Word from our Sponsor ♥

DiplomaTea is offering a couple of special offers on this special day, all proceeds will be donated! Extra large mug of cinnamon cocoa you can share with a special person to warm up your bodies and hearts. You can also drink it yourself if you want to, nobody will judge you and certainly not Everett. However, even if you came here by yourself... Are you sure you can finish it by yourself? How about splitting the cocoa with someone who also came alone? That's the spirit of the day! 

For those interested in a drink that can provide more thrill than simple cocoa, Everett is offering a tea blend called Ardric's Warmth. In his own words, it tastes like a live firecracker and has enough caffeine to raise the dead. And yet, this blend seems to have its dedicated fans in Aefenglom, especially among Dragons. Dare to try it? Or maybe someone tricked you into drinking some?

Inkchanted Corner ♥

Caster Cú Chulainn is doing a promotion on behalf of his and Waver's tattoo shop, Inkchanted. Still undecided if you would like to visit their place? Unsure about a permanent tattoo? You can try it out here and help the cause! For a low fee you can have Caster draw a small, enchanted painting on your skin. It can make you give off a charming aura, perfect if you are still looking for someone to spend the evening with or trying to grab the attention of that particular person. Or maybe you are celebrating self love and just want a spell that will allow you to eat a lot of sweets without consequences tonight? Perfect! Another idea? Be sure to communicate it well, you would not want to end up with an enchanted painting that gives a different effect you originally wanted... though even if you do, the magic will only work for a few hours. You can wait that long, can you?

Magic Show ♥

Trucy Wright, one of the recent arrivals to Aefenglom is on stage and about to perform her splendid magic show! Huh, that's nothing special in Aefenglom, you might think. Magic is an everyday thing for every Witch after all. However, this young lady here is not a Witch, so how does she do it? With totally real magic, of course! Get your seats and pay close attention to everything she does, but you are not very likely to notice anything - this girl is a professional, after all. In using real magic, of course! Or maybe you have similar skills? You are welcome to join her on stage and perform your own well-practiced trick. If it's not as well-practiced as you thought... well, at least you made the audience laugh? In need of a charming assistant? Just pick someone more or less willing from the audience!

III. Cleanup ♥

Tired after a busy day? Congratulate yourself on a job well done, we managed to collect a nice sum that will certainly help a lot! But before you can rest in your bed, there's more to be done. Taking off decorations, removing the confetti enchantments, washing the dishes, collecting the trash and cleaning the whole place. We cannot leave Everett alone with this mess after he was so nice to allow the usage of DiplomaTea for today's event, can we? You can stay and help, can you? Maybe there are some leftowers from the bake sale to sweeten the deal?

Comments

[unsundered]

[Oh, that is a very unhappy glare that Mettaton's getting now. No, he was not going to describe Mira's visit. Nor was he going to tell him to go ahead and imagine it, and he especially was not going to consider that the robot had actually seen it. Not that he'd cared about being seen at the time, but...

It was personal, even if it'd been terribly public.

And his mood darkens yet further at the concept of having to do all this again. Not because this was even so terrible, or was any more than a minor nuisance, but that someone else would try to use it as a point against him. As though this were something he was meant to be humiliated by. And just the idea of that was insulting. And when it came to the rest....

Doubled what he'd earned?

And Mettaton knew just the way?

For a few moments Emet-Selch just stares blankly across at his Bonded, unable to find the words that encompassed his feeling of absolute no. In the end, there's only one thing he can think to say to all of this.]

...Do you actually despise me, or are you only putting on a good show of it?

[It's something of an earnest question. He couldn't think of any other reason why Mettaton would go to all this trouble to hassle him.]

[glitzandglamour]

[If Emet-Selch's question were meant purely as a joking remark, Mettaton would have replied easily with a vague response that begs more questions. But he considers that maybe Emet-Selch really doesn't understand him, and he can't have that. His brow arcs high, surprised to hear such an assumption about his character.]

Despise...? You have me all wrong, gorgeous. Come on. Think about it. You're clever.

[And a truthful answer he'll get. He cups his own cheek and leans into his palm as he tries to make clear his stance on the man sitting before him.]

I would not pay such special attention to somebody I truly despised. Though... I can see why you'd think that.

[Nor does he treat people he loves in this way, that's for certain... Though by virtue of his being, he warms to people quickly. A smile of a less malicious kind makes it way onto his features, one far warmer than his coy and playful smirk from earlier.

And wearing this softer look, he... deposits cunes. It's an overshot from doubling, but forget counting; he has high standards. It's for a good cause. Weird flex, Mettaton.]

You amuse me. And frustrate me equally. You haven't made me adore you yet, but you could say... I've grown fond of you. Mira's partially to blame for that... Though so are you.

[unsundered]

[And the Ascian does listen, gaze fixed upon Mettaton's features, the shifts in tone to something more- genuine? More worrying but less annoying. Though his attention does briefly flicker to take note of that donation. And what a donation; a note of concern crosses his expression, knowing a statement was being made, and not at all sure if he approved. But it didn't strike him as a pity-offering, and it takes Emet-Selch a few moments to even begin digesting all of this.

In the end he decides:]

I think I'd prefer the dislike.

[...But he does relax marginally. It's barely perceptible, but it's there. And though grumbly, there's only a normal amount of bite to it.]

Your tastes are questionable, but I suppose I can't fault you for them. Or perhaps you have no taste at all, and thusly accept every passing stranger with the same enthusiasm.

[...which would be a touch insulting, actually. The Ascian was contrary enough to not want Mettaton's particular attention, while being simultaneously offended at the idea of being lumped in with everyone else. He sighs, in the end.]

So I'm to blame for my own misfortune. How irksome.

[glitzandglamour]

Ha-ha... You say. But I don't think you mean that. You wouldn't want my pure dislike, either.

[Truthfully, dislike from Mettaton is much the same, though unrelenting and easily mistaken for loathing. There exists some dislike in him for Emet-Selch already: nothing the Ascian has told him about his view of mortals, of humanity, of sundered souls sits well with Mettaton, even as he knows his history. But feelings aren't so simplistic, and for all he remembers Emet-Selch's frosty explanation, he too remembers each look of sorrow or painful heaviness. Even his anger made better that explanation: it wasn't heartless, that's for sure. Mira didn't hesitate to call him caring on multiple occasions, too, and though he's sure his care is reserved for very specific issues, this isn't a clear matter of good and bad.

It's these complexities that earn MTT's attentions, after all. If he purely loved him, he would leave him be until the rare thought struck him to pay attention. If he purely despised him, he would do away with him to the best of his ability.

Mettaton rounds the booth, deciding that even if it were against the rules to do so, he's exempt from them. He always is. Shifting his weight into one leg, the android gazes down upon Emet-Selch with the same easy smile, appraising Emet-Selch with his eye as he curls a fist under his own chin.]

I prefer that you take all of the blame for this, yes. And frankly? Not even I knew my tastes could be so... questionable. How lucky are you, to earn them?? But enough of that. [He narrows his eye, his smile more menacing.] You can't back out of this one, darling!

[unsundered]

[Dislike would probably be a bother too, he assumed; the best option was to not be noticed, but it was far too late for that. The Ascian was stuck with him, and this.

The encroaching on his booth comes as an annoyance but not a surprise; what was personal space or convention to Mettaton? And in a way, he could respect that. As much of a nuisance as it was for himself, he couldn't quite scorn it. If nothing else, he was interesting, and Emet-Selch could appreciate the unique.

Which didn't make him any less frustrating.

And with Mettaton blocking the path, Emet-Selch quite literally couldn't back out of this one (well, strictly speaking, he could teleport, but he wasn't so dismayed to bother). And while a bit surprised at the robot's apparent intent on getting what he'd paid for (why else would he have stepped back there?), that was fine. He'd done stranger things.]

'Tis not as though I'm unused to being blamed for one calamity or another. [This whole... everything clearly qualified as calamitous.] But if you insist on claiming your reward....

[With Mettaton standing over him, Emet-Selch has to get to his feet as well. But apart from throwing him a somewhat suspicious look, he doesn't wait for further invitation; he had a job to do, right? Closing the distance between them, he doesn't hesitate to lean in, bringing their lips together.

Money can't buy sentiment, but, perhaps, effort? At the very least, it's not an indifferent gesture.]

[glitzandglamour]

[Calamity....... He is so dramatic, thinks Mettaton, and he rolls his eye.]

As if I'd pass up on it.

[What he didn't anticipate was that Emet-Selch would rise to meet him after all, almost like he's capable of overcoming any reluctance for the sake of making good on his debts. "Debts," like ridiculous gambles in jail cells or ones that come from a kissing booth for charity, sure, but he has integrity to follow through. He was sure he'd end up having to meet him in his chair because he's Too Tired — he would've given him a hard time for that. But the only way he expresses his surprise is a quirk of his brow, for he's already smiling with how pleased he is.

The idol allows for Emet-Selch to meet him first, his eyelid shuttering closed like it should in any good cinematic kiss. Though he pays an unusual amount of attention to the way he positions his own body in a situation like this, he's also largely arrested by the experience. One hand snakes upwards to rest against Emet-Selch's cheek and the other winds around the Ascian's waist, pulling him in as firm and demanding as Mettaton himself as he finally leans forward, into him.

Mettaton is not like any other organic sensory experience. His expressive features synthetic yet pliable and cold at first touch. But he warms quickly: his core temperature is surprisingly high, alive as he is. His body, which he presses to Emet-Selch's, is all hard angles and sudden curves. For as artificial as he is, his manner is intense.

He'll linger a good, long moment before breaking away if he's allowed it, giving Emet-Selch a smirk.]

[unsundered]

[A somewhat unfamiliar sensation, but not an unpleasant one; though the Ascian had little need for novelty for its own sake, there was, perhaps, something to be said for the unusual. And he did find himself a bit unwillingly curious of how much a machine could feel, what capacity for sensation he possessed. Not that he was surprised that it existed; he'd seen Mettaton in pain, after all. But this was a bit different.

Though he didn't expect the additional contact, or to be pulled against him, Emet-Selch makes no protest, nor attempt to disengage. Instead, he wraps an arm around Mettaton in turn, hand firmly splayed against his back. If it was a strange body to be pressed against, he doesn't seem to care, leaning into him as reply.

If not quite able to match Mettaton's intensity, there's still a certain degree of demand to that kiss nonetheless, and he lets it linger for as long as the other man chooses. And when it finally ends, his own eyes flicker back open to regard him, seeing that smirk and answering it with a frown.]

...Well? Is that sufficient?

[glitzandglamour]

[As Mettaton continues to hold Emet-Selch close, appreciating the feeling of his arm around his body and his fingers pressing into his back, he doesn't bother to mask a desirous gleam in his eye. There is so much here he wouldn't mind more of. Even with that frown, Emet-Selch strikes him as more attractive the more he acquaints himself with him. (god, is that the "acquired taste??" though he's never been unattractive, his personality did wonders to push people away.)

It's completely on the mark, then, that the Ascian wonders what capacity for sensation he has. It's that ever-increasing ability that stokes in him the desire for more. Pain is all he's known for these past few months and it continues to dominate much of his senses: he's only recovering, after all. Even this much improvement's remarkable in comparison, and as the pain wanes with time, he discovers his true capacity for developing sensation. It's so pleasant, intoxicating even, that it's impossible to say that this was sufficient enough. Harder yet in becoming a Puca, though the robot doesn't take that into account as he takes inventory of his feelings. If he went any further, he doesn't know if he'd stop.

His grip tightens on Emet-Selch, his arm like a constrictor in how it winds further around his waist. One could call what he's feeling a brand of sensory overload. And to many, it would be uncomfortable. To Mettaton, it's thrilling in how dizzy it makes him feel. But...]

... Yes, darling. That's sufficient! For now.

[＊ Mettaton is aware of the content rating. ...As soon as he says it, he leans in to kiss Emet-Selch on the cheek fleetingly as he lifts his hands away, but not before taking a final tactile survey of the feeling of Emet-Selch beneath his fingers. Emet-Selch isn't a human by definition, but he sure resembles one, and with that comes the softness of being one.]

[unsundered]

[It was true that the Ascian's personality was his greatest defense against most things, whether he wanted it to be or not.

But that certainly was a grip Mettaton had on him. Even if he'd wanted to pull away prematurely, it might've been difficult, and Emet-Selch wondered distantly just how strong the robot was, and how much he was aware of it. The intensity was the smallest bit infectious, or at the very least, not at all unpleasant.

But eventually he's released, leaving the Ascian the smallest touch off-balance, though he recovers quickly, withdrawing his arm.]

I'll take what reprieve I'm afforded, then.

[Though he huffs a bit at the bonus kiss and being not-quite-felt-up, it's a mild enough response. They were Bonded, he reminds himself; a connection that would be useless to him if it weren't strengthened. If he was forced to endure the more troublesome aspects of Mettaton's company, it was going to be worthwhile.

Honestly, the physical contact was downright tolerable compared to being teased or mocked or otherwise spoken to.]

[glitzandglamour]

[95% of being with Mettaton is the joy of having him tease, mock, and speak. Enjoy.

Even as Mettaton pulls away, the temptation to pull Emet-Selch right back into him runs deep, but he possesses great patience and self-control for being somebody so inclined toward whimsy. He narrows his eye, less at Emet-Selch and more at his own appetitive impulse that strikes him as absurdly strong. Is this what a Bond does? Mere attraction? He's not sure. But he's positive he can make this easier on himself by focusing on anything other than the ghost of Emet-Selch's lips against his own.

The android cants his head, his smile falling somewhat.]

Your eye. When I first met you, you had use of both, striking even as you awaited death. Can you see out of it, anymore...? Will it heal?

[His right one, he means. He never asked about it. He'd assumed his body would be able to just heal up, but he's beginning to wonder if that's not the case.]

[unsundered]

[Unaware of any threat of being pounced upon, Emet-Selch wasn't sure how to interpret Mettaton's change of expressions. It gets a more curious look from him, a small head-tilt; it was, at least, a break from his automatic display of Unspecified Irritation. Anything that wasn't outright flirtatious was unusual, and possibly worth noting.

But the actual topic was unexpected, and to keep himself from touching the area around said eye, Emet-Selch crosses his arms in front of him, shrugging diffidently.]

A bit off-putting, isn't it? It's healed as much as it will ever heal, I'm afraid. This world seems determined to blind me entirely.

[First soul sight, and now half his physical vision as well; he was still in the process of adjusting. In several ways, really.]

As my flesh was permanently marred, so too this eye- mortal bodies are quite fragile. Your own form has certain advantages.

[Unless there were parts that couldn't be replaced. The living pieces presumably had the limitations that living things tended to have, but what of the mechanical? Assuming one could manufacture the appropriate parts...]

You at least appear much improved.

[glitzandglamour]

And there's nothing anybody can do for it, is that it... Too bad.

[What does he know about healing magic in this place? Then again, healing and recovery are foreign bodies to Mettaton as it is, aside from his understanding of medicine through media exposure. Which is about as great as any other human experience observable through human media.

Their closeness already allows Mettaton the ability to look with more care, and he does so unabashedly. It's true: he must not see out of it any longer, giving him only one eye to see from. His hand rises on reflex as if to touch, but not with the actual intent to do so. The scarring is distinct, and though it scars (healing must have accelerated its recovery), it still appears fresh. Perhaps because Mettaton remembers what he looked like with both eyes.

Emet-Selch's meaning doesn't go unnoticed by Mettaton: he remembers his their discussion of the perception of souls, and Mettaton meets his good eye with his own for a moment to acknowledge that misfortune in the lack of sight before fixing on the right side of his face again. (Though he still doesn't understand why the Ascian possessed such an ability in the first place.)]

There's something to be said about mechanical repairs versus organic healing. Yes, I can have an arm restored to me if it's lost. Some of what you see is brand new. [Most notably, one of the segments of his arm is, though he doesn't bother to point this out.] On the flip side... I'm mostly dependent on the aid of others to recover. At least your body can repair itself... Usually.

[Mettaton sighs.]

Unfortunately, metal isn't easily obtained around here! Much less wires. Aefenglom's severely lacking in technological resources, compared to my world.

[unsundered]

[Surely television wouldn't lie... would it?

Though he throws Mettaton a wary look, when no prodding is forthcoming, he relaxes it slightly. Along with the scarring around it, the eye itself is discolored, a darker shade of gold. And while it clearly isn't focusing on anything, it's at least still able to move with the other one, when he looks at something- even if all it witnesses is darkness.]

As with everything, there are good and bad points to either approach. [Because when thinking about it like that... having to rely on others to recover at all? Unacceptable.] Still, 'tis not as though I would have healed without the assistance of others. I wouldn't even have survived.

[Which was also an uncomfortable thought. He didn't like relying on anyone, and in this case, being primarily healed by an enemy remained a bit awkward.]

Though not needing to source my parts from elsewhere is a certain boon. This place is quite... primitive, in many aspects. Although-- [As he regards Mettaton more thoughtfully.] --one of the magics I've been specializing in is Conjuration, the creation of objects. And being as I'm familiar with technological concepts... I may be able to provide replacement parts. And with your body as a point of reference, the differences between my knowledge and the particulars of your world... well, it shouldn't be impossible to create something you can use.

[He might not necessarily be able to install anything correctly himself right away, but still.]

[glitzandglamour]

[Ah, Mira's a Witch, after all. He doesn't know if she's practiced in healing, but he knows she's practiced in rescuing and looking truly formidable and stunning while doing it. (That doesn't matter to anybody but Mettaton.) So that's how he got to where he's at: rescued by their hand (obviously! he saw Mira down there) and healed by somebody.

He looked pretty wretched when he found him on the day they Bonded. It must have taken a lot.

...As he continues to regard the state of Emet-Selch's blinded eye, he wonders what kinds of looks he gave to the Rathmores before they took his sight from him. How he treated them, and how they treated him. All he recalls is the look of wariness he wore, curled up in the corner of a cell upon his first sight of him. His wrist, broken, and probably much more.

Emet-Selch's suggestion has Mettaton lighting up anew, in wonder this time. Unlike his Bonded, Alphys wasn't a Witch — she was flustered by her inability to do much of anything here, save for work with what he had on his body already. ...Which was mostly damaged. There were no resources she could easily tap into, no garbage dump with all of the stuff humans threw away, and certainly no laboratory. All of Aefenglom's magic strikes Mettaton as new since he knows little of it. He had no idea that such a discipline existed that might create something out of nothing at all.]

You can do that!? [He's envisioning it now. If Emet-Selch could do that, comparing his body to what he wishes to create, maybe sourcing parts won't be so futile after all!] I haven't met a single person who's focusing on Conjuration. Enchantments, plenty. Evocation, many. I hadn't even thought of this...

It would be... An immense relief, Emet-Selch. Not having to worry whether or not I'll have to give up my body, while I'm here.

[unsundered]

[It had been a series of disorienting and inexplicable events. Being rescued by two people who had killed him, and a kid he assumed indifferent. And then healed by someone who he'd tortured (or would torture, in future, apparently). Uncomfortable didn't even begin to describe it.

Marks would always remain, especially those imperceptible to sight.

But the Ascian had noticed, from other witches he'd met and observed, that not many seemed to utilize Conjuration. Sure, he's also learned Evocation, like just about everyone, but apart from teleporting, those two fields were it. Emet-Selch preferred to specialize, rather than be mediocre in everything.]

It's similar to an ability I once had, so I was, perhaps, more attuned to its usefulness. [And he was, as ever, drawn to the familiar. It's a thought that gets a half-smile.]

And if you already have someone who can repair you, [Seeing as Mettaton was in considerably better shape than before.] with my approximation of materials, we should be able to keep you in fair form.

[As tempting as the idea of a Mettaton incapable of movement and/or speech was, it was probably better to keep him in decent condition. --Plus, the robot had actually used his title this time, rather than that appalling shortening of it. Even if it wouldn't last, it was a moment of favor towards him.

And, well... with no longer being able to change hosts himself, the Ascian can sympathize a little with the concern of being trapped in a non-functional body. It wasn't something he'd wish on most people.]

[glitzandglamour]

[He nods, smiling again. Partially at the offer, and partially at Emet-Selch's expression. Even if it's for an inward thought, he doesn't see that look on him often.]

Haha. Yes. Though she's no Witch, I have somebody plenty capable of repairing me... Considering, she built me! [The friend he referred to before.] Not that the offer to put myself forth for your vague intrigue isn't still on the table. And I do mean on the table. Oooh, unless you prefer to do your work elsewhere...?

[ＯＨ, ＹＥＳ... ? Mettaton sticks out his tongue cutely. There is nothing seductive about working on robots. Some people might disagree.

Back to being somewhat normal. He blinks away the expression and shifts his weight into his other leg, still keeping close quarters with the Ascian. ...Nobody is flocking to the booth at all, though every once in a while, somebody will stare it its misuse.]

It's a good plan, picking the path less traveled. Conjuration should be incredibly useful. It has the potential to do me some good, anyway. Thank you, darling. I picked one hell of a Bondmate! You surprise me at every turn...

[unsundered]

[And at that response, the annoyance is back, the mild exasperation automatic enough to qualify as reflex.]

Your friend must be possessed of remarkable patience.

[So the person repairing him... had also built him? Someone from the same world, then. And while they likely couldn't be blamed for Mettaton's personality, they were to blame for his appearance(s), so their taste was dubious. Or at the very least, eccentric.

On the other hand, considering Mettaton's opinionated nature, Emet-Selch wouldn't have been surprised to find that the puca had held considerable creative input over the design.

That they were loitering in a booth barely even registered to the Ascian. It wasn't as though he had any interest in this job. Even if someone complained, he'd either ignore it, or point out that Mettaton had paid well enough to stand wherever the hell he wanted, really.]

So you approve of some of my choices after all. [He sighs.] 'Tis as much for my own good as yours. If you deteriorated, I can only imagine the degree of complaints I'd be forced to listen to. And it would hardly reflect well on me to have so damaged of a Bondmate.

[Not that he remotely cared about how much of anything would reflect on him. No, if Mettaton was going to have any sort of use at all (not that Emet-Selch was at all sure what that would be), it would probably require a healthy status.]

[glitzandglamour]

[Alphys is probably shrinking under the judgement without realizing why she's even doing it at this very moment... Mettaton, however, looks proud to have earned Emet-Selch's annoyance with his remark, smug as ever. He'd argue that he's growing used to getting such looks, but he enjoys that it's practically reflex.

He also finds great amusement at the Ascian's reasons for helping him along in his endeavor to remain in good form in a technologically inept world such as Geardagas, his cheeky smile growing stronger yet. Being reacted to at all is Mettaton's lifeblood. He brings his free hand up to cradle his metal-plated cheek, sighing as he leans his face into it as though smitten.]

My. I'm so flattered that you'd work to mitigate my complaining, darling... of which you would hear ceaselessly, if I were in such poor condition! And while it's a treat to hear my voice, always... I can understand. I sound divine in all circumstances, but you must enjoy me best when I'm cheerful and appreciative, as opposed to weakened and desperate... You really do care about me.

[That's a minefield of a statement that Mettaton will certainly twist around, no matter how it's replied to. That look's in his eye, the one where he knows he has the power to misconstrue any response provided into whatever shape he'd like.

The longing to make affectionate contact strikes him again, and this time, Mettaton gives in to its powerful influence. He rotates his body somewhat, reaching out to place a hand against Emet-Selch's chest as though he finds him dreamy and has to lean into him. Which he'll do, if he doesn't resist.]

[unsundered]

[And watch that frown deepen ever further, both from Mettaton's words, and at the realization that yes, there was no possible way to respond to that without it being turned around in unintended directions. The verbal flexibility would almost impress him if it weren't being used against him.

That look and those words are far more trouble than being touched, which he permits without protest or recoil, eyes only flickering down to his hand, as though taking stock of its presence there, before back up to Mettaton's oh-so-frustrating countenance.]

Care...?

[He draws out the word, lading it with as much distaste as possible. As if the very concept was unappealing.]

You say I should not want your dislike. I'd suggest in turn not to seek my concern.

[He almost adds 'you wouldn't enjoy it', but stops himself, because on reflection, no, he wouldn't be at all surprised if Mettaton somehow managed to find entertainment even in that. What a troublesome man. The Ascian lets out a huff of breath.]

Is there any mood you have that involves not speaking at all?

[Even when he'd been asleep (in box form, at least), he'd been making noise.]

[glitzandglamour]

[Mettaton has only been able to use this particular body of his for a grand total of six months in any way that wasn't a test run, including his time in Aefenglom, but he's incredibly good at knowing how to position himself given his odd anatomy. His broad shoulder guard is tucked above Emet-Selch's as he sidles close to him, his contented humming interrupted by a few laughs as he presses his entire palm to his chest rather than only his fingertips.

The mere notion that he'd have a mood that didn't involve speaking is ridiculous. He wouldn't even allow many moments to go by in the Rathmore's basement for not speaking, and that was a trying ordeal. He did have his moments, though few were spent in the presence of others. In fact, it was only with Emet-Selch and, to a lesser extent, Papyrus, who were treated to his silence. Papyrus, so he could allow him some sleep out of pity, and Emet-Selch because he found a chance to mentally withdraw from it all. In his presence, of all places.]

How sad would that be? Me, not talking as I always do. If it isn't for the sake of repose... Any other mood where I'm not talking would only be bad news. Because they don't exist. How disturbing, my silence.

[What's that supposed to mean, comparing Mettaton's dislike to Emet-Selch's concern? It makes him want it, after all. Even as he falsifies Emet-Selch's concern for the sake of his own enjoyment, he knows the true article exists. Though he'd say that wanting him in good shape equates to caring, anyway.

He spits the very word like it's gross. MTT finds this endearing.]

Maybe then you'd be concerned.

[unsundered]

[His personal space being invaded further was probably the least aggravating part of Mettaton's presence. If anything, it allows him to lean slightly against him in turn; the Ascian's leg still wasn't completely well, and standing for any length of time was uncomfortable. So, if Mettaton insisted on being there, he might as well be used for a small degree of support.

But it was true, he had convinced Mettaton to be quiet for a time. Once. In a torture basement. And as much as Emet-Selch would appreciate silence from him again, getting it was not quite worth reenacting those circumstances.

And so he opens his mouth to protest that silence would be the opposite of bad news, it'd be very good news, worthy of celebration, perhaps- he stops himself as he thinks about it more, brows knit in small consternation.]

...No, you're right. It would be quite disturbing.

[And he already looks disturbed, at this realization. Raising his own arm, he taps Mettaton on the center of his chest, for emphasis. His expression makes it clear that he's blaming the puca already for this, somehow.]

To know you were there, but not saying anything? Unnerving.

[It would clearly mean he had something worse planned. And that would be concerning... if not exactly for Mettaton's welfare.]

[glitzandglamour]

[As Emet-Selch leans into him in turn, Mettaton's unused arm maneuvers up his back and rests against the nape of his neck. The Puca presses him closer with the length of his arm, delighted by having some outlet for his desire for proximity. The fingers against his chest bend, gripping slightly into fabric. He's sure of it now: being Bonded to him is probably what makes this better than he imagined.]

Ahahaha. Yes! The implications are staggering, aren't they...??

[He'll gladly take the blame, though were it voiced, he'd make sure Emet-Selch knew that any feeling he has for him is his own undoing. It's just caused by how charming Mettaton is, you know.

His gaze softens thanks to the Ascian's contact with his chest. To compensate for that tenderness, his smile grows more mischievous: it's the interplay between the two types of MTT-Brand Silence. One's the kind resulting in something as horrendous as unrelenting torture, and the other is exactly as Emet-Selch fears. The robot grounds his weight a bit more, allowing for Emet-Selch to do more leaning. He is quite heavy, after all, and he can feel the way he leans. MTT's accommodating, even though he doesn't know the extent of his lingering injury.

They're just cuddling, vertically. Incredible.]

Let's just hope you remember not to hope for my silence. Nobody would like that. Least of all you, beautiful.

[Yeah, because it'd probably mean awful things were coming. Puca are known to keep their predictions for disaster to themselves on a whim if they so desired, but Mettaton doesn't need to be a Puca to be this way.]

[unsundered]

[Was it the insidiousness of a Bond, or was the world wearing on him, in some way...? He didn't know Mettaton that well, and while physical proximity to strangers was something Emet-Selch viewed with apathy rather than discomfort, this was still more than he typically would've allowed.

Not that they were really strangers at this point; shared strange experiences counted for something, he supposed. And very few knew his history. Perhaps altogether that made things like this easier to tolerate. And a stronger Bond was a useful Bond; that was something to remember.

So the hand at his neck has him pause, but not twitch from it. And after a moment's thought, he lowers his hand at Mettaton's chest, to drape loosely around his waist instead. And though the look he gives him is unimpressed, skeptical, it doesn't keep him from ducking his head in, to rest the side of it against the crook of the other man's neck.

Most of the Ascian's associates were far (far) shorter than him, and even if they were strong enough to support his weight, it wouldn't have been a comfortable position for anyone. Not that he was resting entirely against Mettaton, but it was a relief to get some pressure off his leg. So even if it was the robot's fault that he was standing up to begin with, at least he was being a useful support. It balanced out.]

As though caught between fire and flood....

[It's a long-suffering tone, his sigh carrying the weight of his quite clear misfortune. Nevermind that he seems otherwise quite content to be resting against the robot's somewhat strange body.]

Were you always this way, or is it the result of some long-honed, terrible habit?

[glitzandglamour]

[Mettaton yields, allowing him close to his neck and taking the extra weight with ease. The hand he had pressed to Emet-Selch's chest moves, up and around to encircle the other man in his arms, his one hand still resting against his neck. He offers stability, finding the gesture unusually cute coming from his Bondmate. Feeling Emet-Selch's arm wrap around his waist brings him to hum, admiring their closeness. Mettaton doesn't mind their relative newness to each other — he finds that he has reason enough to be close to him.

He presses his cheek against him affectionately for a moment, in something of a nuzzle. Possessiveness overwhelms him then, and that catches Mettaton off-guard. It's not the kind that makes him want Emet-Selch all for himself, no, but more the kind that he wants everyone to know he's his Bondmate.

(Another thing Bonded people do? Mettaton should really try wondering if it's a trait that comes from becoming a Puca sometimes.)

Having Emet-Selch come so close to him on his own only serves to deepen the Puca's sense of wanting, but it brings him satisfaction all the same. His fingers at the Ascian's neck press into his skin fondly, snickering at the remark that he's somehow caught him in such a paradox that he acknowledges his chattiness is... Preferable, Mettaton decides. Preferable to silence. Though his question for him doesn't exactly give him pause, it does confuse him...]

Just what are you asking after...?

[Because there are legitimate replies, and not all of them are ones he likes as much. Is it before he became a Puca? A (sexy) robot? A robot at all? So he settles on answering a different question by equivocating:] This is the true me.

[unsundered]

[If nothing else, Emet-Selch was neither shy nor self-conscious. If he felt like resting against someone, he was going to, and that was all the concern that such an action warranted. He tended to not think too closely on his own motivations (that path never led anywhere good).

Though he still huffs a bit at the- affectionate?- gestures he was receiving in response. Was that really necessary? As casual as it all was, it was still something he was unaccustomed to receiving. But it wasn't unpleasant. It did little to shift his unending sense of absolute loneliness, but for what it was, it wasn't... terrible.

It had been a vague question, and not one Emet-Selch expected much of an answer to. He hums quietly to himself as he thinks, though he's distracted somewhat by taking stock of the form he's leaning to. Human-shaped (more-or-less) but not human, and not as uncomfortable or cold as he'd expect from something that was mostly metal.]

Is that so...? How unfortunate.

[Mildly stated though, and his fingers tap idly at Mettaton's waist.]

You're aware of much of my history. And yet I know very little of yours. That hardly seems fair, does it?

[For someone so self-absorbed, Emet-Selch really didn't know much about him. Granted, initially he wouldn't have cared to find out, but, the robot had gotten his attention, along with his annoyance.]