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Mareuer - Catch all
Who: Mikasa and open, with some closed prompts
When: Throughout the month
Where: The city
What: Working, trying to get into a routine
Warnings: Will be added as needed
Wine time is fine
[Mikasa wasn't a big drinker. Quite the opposite in fact. She'd only drank alcohol a few times and had little interest in it. But work was work. And carrying crates of fruits and filled wine casks was something she knew she could do.
The other part of the job... Well she could do that. Mess didn't bother her that much. But it was strange and she winced as her foot sank into the berry's, squelching them. ]
I'm never drinking wine...
[She didn't care if she'd cleaned her feet. It was dubbed foot juice. Not helped by the tainted wine she'd seen delivered to the higher ups. Mikasa was perfectly fine with the mindless stomping around on the berries to be her only contact with the stuff.
After a good few hours she calls it a day and started clearing up. Scowling and scrubbing at her hands. The strange splotch of colour wasn't shifting. Even after the second dollop of soap, and the skin around it was turning red. She huffs, looking over her shoulder at the person she'd heard. ]
Did he say we had to do anything to clean this?
[Despite this. She does turn up again. Wearing the same stained shirt and skirt. They'd been washed, but... No joy. So she wasn't staining anything else. ]
Green(and every other colour) - fingers
a. Supplies
[Now the initial money issue had been resolved and she had a somewhat stable income it was time to deal with that garden they'd inherited. But to do that she needed things. She had a vague idea of the tools she'd need. But some of the rusted ones that had been abandoned had been new.
So a trip to the shopping district was in order. Though she did need a better weapon for the next expedition, but from what she'd worked out that wouldn't be for a while. Now seemed like the best time to start this.
The first store she hits up was a relatively small. Mostly flowers. Mikasa's drab olive coat blending with the unopened blooms. Then she jumps suddenly, backing the hell away and into someone else in the cramped store.
That plant just turned into a bird? Many birds, all suddenly flying around.]
b. Sorting that garden
[Eventually though, she's got some gear. And she's been assured that all of the seeds she'd picked up were edible... And that the plants themselves wouldn't eat anyone...
But yes, now she had that it was time to get to work. Though for the time being she had to work out exactly what was in the garden, wading through the tall grass-
Where'd she just go? One second she was there, the next she wasn't. Anyone with good enough hearing would hear the quiet cursing about rabbits from the grass. ]
Full moon, preparations at dusk - limited to 2
[There was an odd amount of purpose to her movements during this full moon. Instead of the directionless wandering of the last, she was taking quick strides down the street. It was almost exactly the same as when she'd had a destination in mind.
The only things not normal about it were the two small... Twigs? Just poking out of her hair. Occasionally they'd move, but not much. And the two large pots she was carrying. The artificial smell of paint drifting from them.
Not that she stops. She's on a mission with her paint. ]
Wildcard
[If you want to plan anything just pm or contact me on![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
kittylyoko. I'm going to be adding a few closed things and more prompts later for things from my CR planning.]
When: Throughout the month
Where: The city
What: Working, trying to get into a routine
Warnings: Will be added as needed
Wine time is fine
[Mikasa wasn't a big drinker. Quite the opposite in fact. She'd only drank alcohol a few times and had little interest in it. But work was work. And carrying crates of fruits and filled wine casks was something she knew she could do.
The other part of the job... Well she could do that. Mess didn't bother her that much. But it was strange and she winced as her foot sank into the berry's, squelching them. ]
I'm never drinking wine...
[She didn't care if she'd cleaned her feet. It was dubbed foot juice. Not helped by the tainted wine she'd seen delivered to the higher ups. Mikasa was perfectly fine with the mindless stomping around on the berries to be her only contact with the stuff.
After a good few hours she calls it a day and started clearing up. Scowling and scrubbing at her hands. The strange splotch of colour wasn't shifting. Even after the second dollop of soap, and the skin around it was turning red. She huffs, looking over her shoulder at the person she'd heard. ]
Did he say we had to do anything to clean this?
[Despite this. She does turn up again. Wearing the same stained shirt and skirt. They'd been washed, but... No joy. So she wasn't staining anything else. ]
Green(and every other colour) - fingers
a. Supplies
[Now the initial money issue had been resolved and she had a somewhat stable income it was time to deal with that garden they'd inherited. But to do that she needed things. She had a vague idea of the tools she'd need. But some of the rusted ones that had been abandoned had been new.
So a trip to the shopping district was in order. Though she did need a better weapon for the next expedition, but from what she'd worked out that wouldn't be for a while. Now seemed like the best time to start this.
The first store she hits up was a relatively small. Mostly flowers. Mikasa's drab olive coat blending with the unopened blooms. Then she jumps suddenly, backing the hell away and into someone else in the cramped store.
That plant just turned into a bird? Many birds, all suddenly flying around.]
b. Sorting that garden
[Eventually though, she's got some gear. And she's been assured that all of the seeds she'd picked up were edible... And that the plants themselves wouldn't eat anyone...
But yes, now she had that it was time to get to work. Though for the time being she had to work out exactly what was in the garden, wading through the tall grass-
Where'd she just go? One second she was there, the next she wasn't. Anyone with good enough hearing would hear the quiet cursing about rabbits from the grass. ]
Full moon, preparations at dusk - limited to 2
[There was an odd amount of purpose to her movements during this full moon. Instead of the directionless wandering of the last, she was taking quick strides down the street. It was almost exactly the same as when she'd had a destination in mind.
The only things not normal about it were the two small... Twigs? Just poking out of her hair. Occasionally they'd move, but not much. And the two large pots she was carrying. The artificial smell of paint drifting from them.
Not that she stops. She's on a mission with her paint. ]
Wildcard
[If you want to plan anything just pm or contact me on
CLOSED Full moon madness - 'Pufficas' and Mettaton
The conversation with Momochan... That had only made it more apparent how strange it was. And Mikasa question why? Why had she been followed, why had the lizard been thinking of her? Why did he have multiple and probably fake names? It was a horrible burning curiosity. She hated it. She didn't want to think about it, but it was too confusing to drop and Momochan had made a good point. Was he dangerous and what did he want. Well Mikasa was going to find out. She'd had to ask for some help. She wasn't Armin, she couldn't twist words into convincing someone to listen. But her area of expertise had failed her. So it was time for another route-
--Being a pain in the ass until she'd gotten an answer. Or scared him off for good. Both were acceptable.
That was what led to her searching through the shopping district. Looking for the most obnoxious paints she could find. And she was pretty proud of her choices. A bright hot pink with small flecks of white and blue, and a strange yellow-green that seemed to glow. Then she'd just needed a vantage point. Easier said than done when she had no idea where to look. But she did find a small area filled with little metal walkways.
There she hid with her paint, on the lookout for her target. Newly grown antenna twitching at the smell of the paint. ]
no subject
denying himself the forbidden pleasures his dragon form had grown leaves him quite irritable once the sisters ripen. he has no space in his thoughts to paint the walls of his tunnels to keep calm, or the patience to find good enough company to speak to. tonight, closer to the bright wall’s guarded gates, his only company is a boar he’s messily managed to catch and feast on. the charred blood of an animal satiated hunger, but not the rest. never the rest. occasionally, the wyvern howls for someone, anyone, slipping not into ferality but a simple, primal desire to be seen as a pair, to be in a group of two, or three. he’s lonely, to put it simply.
he simply doesn’t have the capacity, at least for a few moments where actual words escape formation and only give him cries like metal clawing at metal, that he’s the only one to blame for that. animals, lizards, nor dragons, definitely, are capable of assuming such humble atrocities. he won’t remember it, anyway. seeing red was better during this slip of consciousness, all because he opposes who he is. ]
no subject
Which was more than expected, honestly. Her pupils expanded, reflecting light, seeing the unseen. Well, not quite. But she could see a lot better than she could before. Enough to know where she was going. Not that it helped. The city was too big for her to wander all night and find him-
What the hell is that? Her small ears twitched. Head turning to the noise. And she shouldn't bother, she should keep focused. But curiosity. It's strong enough to make her grab her paint and make her way over. The strong smell almost covering her own. At least it didn't seem that far from the outskirts ]
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On unusually light steps and lithe movements for such a heavy robot, Mettaton all but materializes at Mikasa's side... Though he provides at least a warning intimate enough for his friend in the form of a thump of his feet, declaring his presence. Don't get too shocked, Mikasa! His once silvery fur is blacker than night and stakes claim on more of his body, his gold eye glinting in the dark, an odd, ethereal aura following him around that may be responsible for his inability to be detected until he wished to be. The best adjective for his disposition might be ghastly, wicked and whimsical as he smiles at Mikasa, his canines an additional sharpness to couple with his already long incisors.
Mettaton appears to have gotten his own paint for the occasion... He wants to Help. He makes sure to show her soundlessly, intuitively picking up on the need for stealth and succumbing to that need, primal as it feels to him.
Of course, his is glittery. Pufficas is doomed.
Mettaton's ears stand at their full, healthy height, and they lean forward to indicate his interest in where their target is. When can they get this party started. He's not the one with a (properly) developed sense of smell around here!]
no subject
his nostrils make quite the sound, wet and bubbling from the mess of blood that froths and stains his snout and brilliant crystal talons holding the body in place— with it, he only snarls, a long, dragged out rumble that sounded like faraway thunder as his visitor approached with paint. stay back, the sound advised, his pointed ears and fins flicking and fanning to the coming steps, but doing nothing to truly evade it.
at least he wasn’t the one who sought her, and figures: if he has to ignore her, so be it. how much of that he’d be able to do, now that’s an entirely different story. ]
no subject
And Mikasa had proven she didn't care the last time they'd met.
She just casually walks out, holding her tubs. Eyes completely black and unblinkingly like they had been before he'd annoyed her. Moving at a very slow pace. Only just a walk, her head tilting slightly from side to side as if that would help her observe him. There's no arms spread in a display of threat.
Just a disturbing amount of calm.
That's right. It's her, look at her. Get closer so she can get him right on the snout. Don't notice Mettaton.]
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Speaking of notice, Mikasa's composure at beholding such a dragon... Well, let's rewind. Month's back. Mettaton is the unfortunate victim of a Dragon's fearsome jaws, a black Dragon, at that — and if he were asked on it, he'd say it was the very scariest experience he'd ever been through, one that nearly resulted in the death of something functionally immortal like himself. Had he known that this "Pufficus"/"Krüeger" was a Dragon himself...
He'd still have wanted to come along. It's a completely different story for a Puca to actually maintain any state of total fearlessness, but the sheer thrill of the situation is ramped up to the nines for him. His eyes light, his ears stand tall and alert, his eagerness more than ever to be aiding Mikasa on this endeavor, but it's all with the rare undercurrent of fear from the robotic Puca.
He can't be made to stand back, but it wouldn't be a surprise if he remained unnoticed thanks to his unusual state in the Faeform: he blends into the very air itself, spectral, something one would notice only when it was too late. No, he's only steps behind Mikasa, eye locked on Eren's form, mesmerized by the fascinating scene before him.]
no subject
his ears begin to pin back to his skull even amidst his chomping and tearing (almost done, really), but the second spectral taste in the air, like a waving mist he couldn’t quite put his talon on, is definitely, definitely noticed by now. and he’s not happy about it. the brilliant blue, crystal-stone horns, twist up and glint off the moon’s beautiful rays— the dragon himself isn’t so difficult to recognize if one had a sharp eye and memory: same color scheme, same unique gullion keratin, same tail, same runic tattoos etched into his wing membranes and muscular back. he was simply very, very monstrous.
of course, there’s one thing that does call. there is one thing in his heart that ropes around his chest and attempts to pull. go to her. smell her. be with her, but the dragon wholeheartedly rejects the taboo. the result is a turmoiling sense in his belly, a strain in his gut that no stable bond could quel, and— he’s picking his weight up, he’s on his feet, and wings, and ah yes he’s giving his back to them. plopping down. yes. finishing this ash black carcass.
but his hide is absolutely crawling underneath. he wants to fly and at the same time his dragon heart pins him to the ground, both out of attraction for fae scent and the lack of danger he feels. it’s like letting a few bugs walk on you. trivial. annoying at best.
the question of a lifetime, and when he decides to lift his skull and look over his shoulder— he’s looking over mikasa. he’s glaring at the puca, blue eyes and pin slit pupils only thin, threatening lines and the rumbles continues, for the sake of warning a friend. he fucking told you, bro, how could you betray him like this! (even though eren never mentioned having a dangerous faeattraction, and mettaton has never seen him in full dragon form). in a matter of moments there’s no more chewing, bone discarded and only the very tip of his needle filled tail rattles much like a snakes as he coils, licks his talons clean, and waits for whatever it is that they wanted to do with the paint.
so be vewy vewy qwiet....... from now on, i’m hunting wabbits. ]
no subject
Not one of the dragon's actions makes her back down, still slowly walking. Even as he gets up and moves. With the same calm certainty of a hyena's persistent stalking. You could move, but I'd still follow. Even if you got away this time. Eventually you'll slip up.
The only non-calm thing about her, was her eyes. They may have been that deep black that reflected nothing human, but those few glints of energy meant something. A vindictive little promise as they meet the dragon's icy ones.
As for Mettaton? Well, Mikasa doesn't stop him. He's free to do what he wants. She'd only asked for his help with the planning, if he wanted to be here for the rest that was on him. The small wisps that hid him only occasionally confusing her fae eyes. Eyes young enough to notice they were being tricked, not enough to see through the deception fully.
Mikasa was paying more attention to the dragon in any case.
Thanks for turning your butt to them and sitting Puffty. That'd be much easier to climb than his shoulder. Not that she's close enough for that yet. But that wouldn't last long, she was already within reach of his tail.]
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And if, if Mettaton ever gave Eren his word... He's a Puca. Bound to his word by strict honor and magic compulsion, had he noticed that this was Eren while also having given some affirmative, he would have grabbed Mikasa and bolted. This is merely some annoyance of a Dragon described by Mikasa over text, he reminds himself to steel his nerves, and he's here to help, even when he sees the way Eren glares at him and feels some form of... recognition. How? How does he know this Dragon...? Does he? Or does he feel like every shifted Dragon is Soren?
Even the shapeshifter has his lapses in judgement calls about transformations, it seems.
When Eren moves and only turns his back to them, Mettaton... laughs. His manner grows more eager, and he glances to Mikasa.]
This is who's been bothering you, darling...? He seems like a lot to handle... With a penchant for making a mess.
[His voice isn't loud, just meant for her.]
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The laughter gets a small noise from her, a slight, sharp snicker that barely lasts a second. Hardly heard of the the crunch of bone in the dragon's teeth.]
That's right. Same horns and marks...He's not as cuddly this time.
[It's not loud. But not as quiet as Mettaton. She didn't give a singular shit if the dragon could hear her. Even as she gets close enough to touch his flank. Which she does, with her booted foot. Carefully maneuvering the cans to try and climb higher. It wasn't as though he'd picked a nice spot where there was an over hang for her.
She'd climbed along titans before. Even without her gear, she could do this.
And even if she screwed up and got covered in paint as well? She already had splotches of purple and other colours from the wine.]
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Mikasa powerful, drinkin wine and paintin dragons. She dazzles and charms him, constantly. Peak human, becoming one of the Fae, as it turns out. She straight up plants her boot against Eren's scales, like she knows she owns this fool for his reported impudence. He'll leave her to climbing all over him, but he stabilizes her in the process — he has extendy-bendy arms, Mikasa, he meant it about that reach. Robot perks. He could literally pick her up and put her wherever she wanted: she doesn't look too heavy. Certainly not heaver than his Bonded, and he knows he could carry him.
He regards Eren this time. Since they're close enough to be touching him, they're close enough to be talking to him.]
Pufficus... Is it? Maybe. Haha. [What a STUPID NAME, and Mettaton's seen stupid names. He himself had a stupid name at one point in his life that he deeply disliked, but this one's actually worse.] Mikasa only wants recompense! It's good that you'd be so amenable to that.
[Recompense, in the form of painty payback and some demands for answers. He looks to Mikasa expectantly. She did say she wanted reasons, and this is an opportunity to extract those reasons.]
no subject
mikasa pulling herself on top of him has him frozen. tense, excruciatingly so where one could see the astounding amount of muscle mass underneath his scales rippling. clenching. flexing as if he were forcing himself to face an agonizing challenge, and boy had it been. his tongue flicks faster, he could feel his massive heart jump beats right into his throat, with the fizzy tinge of fae hugging around his senses and—
his talons dig into the ground, break the earth and squeezes with all his might as he constrains his skull, his tongue, away from her direction and into the dirt he uproots, keeping it close to where his neck ends and his shoulders begin. he’s reminded of her blood’s scent with every breath she takes. he’s frightened of what he wants to do when the actual want lacks a description. it’s unknown. he doesn’t know what he wants to do if he had his claws on her. he couldn’t say he’d never try to hurt her when he has, in the past. today was not the day where he wanted to find out. he rejects the plead the dragon in him adorns, and it causes his blood to boil right on the spot.
his pupils grow wide with no blue iris left to show for, his fangs clatter against each other, and with building stress of self-constraint, his molars grind. an ugly, disgusting sound that resembles bone twisting into shapes it shouldn’t.
they won’t get a word out of him, but efforts are welcomed for as long as his mentality could last. ]
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So she continues on. Carefully weaving her feet between spines, pausing as she passes the back of his chest. Giving a series of strange chirps... Well, maybe chirp wasn't the word. A cross between a chirp and a click. She remains in that spot for a moment, her feet rolling to keep her standing above where his heart seems to move his whole body. Antenna flicking in separate directions as she looks back over her shoulder to Mettaton.
Then she shrugs. If he wasn't going to be polite and greet them? Well, she'd told Mettaton her two options. Get an reason, or scare him off. And the lack of acknowledgement is answer enough for her.
The grinding of his teeth makes her push forward. It was only a few more steps until she was at his shoulder after all. His lack of resistance sending a trill of strange glee through her. Then there's an awkward moment. One where she has to crouch to put one of the paint cans down so she can pour the other. It was easy enough for her to balance. The delay was more of an annoyance that ears a hissing chirp.
Then that hot pink glitter paint is being poured right over the back of his head.]
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But he sure isn't speaking!
Just what is going on with this Dragon that makes him react so? What about Mikasa has made him choose to lick her and cause her trouble enough to irritate her? He hears him grind his teeth. It makes his ears stand tall, and Mettaton's attention flicks to Mikasa in time to meet Mikasa's eyes. She shrugs, and he does with his arms, broadly, rolling his eye.
HE'S COMING UP THERE TOO, EREN. With a deft hop, he easily clears the distance from the ground to standing at Mikasa's side, landing on his toes with a grin. Against his better judgement, of course, because what fun would it be otherwise??]
Nice choice, gorgeous! [Good pick! +700 for color and style.] Especially given his lack of communication. What a shame. And all she wanted to know was why you'd bother her so...
[He, too, is already holding paint. His own pick: gold, which is administered as a splash rather than an upend a la Mikasa. Art. Two colors Mettaton approves of deeply.]
no subject
he can only hear his own pulse, and when he holds his breath— the fae’s own fleeting exhales, calm and content with her work. he’s not even upset with her, for all he knew his throat would purring if not for the clash of feeling. his boiling ire wins in maintaining him mostly silent, as well as giving him a moment for himself to sort things out. as much as her blood was admirably attractive, he hadn’t wanted to harm her. far from it, he wanted to shield her, wanted to cup her in his talons and make sure she had never left his protective sights again.
when the liquid paint begins to pour, the softened weak spot at the back of his neck is the first to receive a chill that makes his dorsal spines erect; the runes that start from his back, all the way down to his arms and spanning across every corner of his leathery wings light up and animate. there’s a protective charm cast on him, one to seal the wetness away from his tissue and keep him dry. at most, they still moisten and cake his scales with brilliant colors. they just don’t, for the better, hurt him.
they could have their fun. the dragon still barely shifts apart from the expansion of his chest to breathe, the grinding of his teeth, talons slowly gathering more soil to squeeze and with a gaze fixated at a faraway point. somewhere, he was somewhere. it just wasn’t here. his tongue flicks out occasionally, as it would always do, mostly to know exactly where they were. ]
no subject
Not for now at least...That was a tomorrow problem. One she'd be annoyed about, and would also blame on the dragon.
Mikasa didn't have much in the way of magic. Not yet. But there was a distinct crackle in the air and the sparks in the depths of her eyes. For a second she braces her self on the dragons back. Then the crackling pops as she leaps off the front of his shoulder. Almost wooping with glee as she skips around in a half circle to look at her work. Holding her chin up slightly. Like she was looking down on him despite being so much smaller.
This was a stupid place to stand, right in front of something of fire, with claws and teeth. Even if she was capable of maneuvering properly. Which she wasn't. But the fae was audacious enough to try it.
But was the puca so recklessly free?]
no subject
And, knowing the subject of his fascination... The reason they're here in the first place. No, he's tolerating her. Odd. Interesting. Why?
Mikasa's thrill is also contagious, and Mettaton's always audacious enough to do most anything. As she leaps off his shoulder, Mettaton gives her a few moments to herself as he chooses to slather the remainder of his gold along his neck, the flecked paint catching moonlight brilliantly as it cascades down Eren's back. The Puca is almost hypnotized by it, enchanted all that's glitter and gold as he is.
But not for much longer, as he leaps from scales to join Mikasa in her Stupid Place of Choice: right in front of the Dragon. This is called immersion therapy now, and Mettaton's not scared, thank you, Sisters.
This isn't a stupid place to stand anymore, it's the place to stand. Mettaton grins at Eren, posturing at Mikasa's side with a sort of easy amusement — at him, or at the two of them in tandem, it's hard to say. He speaks regarding Mikasa, but his eyes are on Eren's body, ears leaning forward in interest.]
Oooh, is there anything you can't do, darling...? Surely you haven't had your fill yet. Think of all he's done to irritate you...
[They have covered Eren quite thoroughly in paint... But wouldn't Mikasa like to do more? He wants to see things unfold! And the Puca, the darker-leaning cousin of the Fae, can only encourage bad behavior.]
(1/2)
ah, it’s too late for him now. everything shuts down, and the full moon feeds him fuel to be completely reckless and indulge. she’s almost smiling, she looks proud. she’s looking at him as if she were ten times larger than she was, and the fire in eren’s chest only burns like wildness. one would expect a dragon to be furious, to be too proud to tolerate such child’s play, but here he was, large pupils on her, eating away until there’s no blue iris at all. forgetting, that he’s stretching his neck slowly and inching closer to her (but not close enough for a tonguing, good for them). if there’s anything he could think of, it’s that: i deserve worse— and you could do better.
careful with what you wish for, right? she was still a beginners fae. the silence of his breathing accompanies a growing rumble that mikasa has heard before when she climbed him— the sound an oversized cat would make if it were pleased. docile is much more apparent now, when earlier he had simply been passive. if he had the functioning lips to do so, the dragon would, indeed, be smiling right back, unable to realize that his wings were lowering completely to the grass, turning up like arms, and encircling around her, palm up, talons safely curled away and tail relaxed behind him (the tip is just a lot more pointy). he stations his wings in one place, a boundary he wouldn’t cross, of sorts— it almost resembles the gentleness one would have when trying to get close to a fluttering insect. careful. very careful.
there was no slavery in her eyes, no constraints that bound her to a proper way to act with her so called master. if her blood was so strong, she wouldn’t have done any of this to him, as stupid as it was. the truth is even more apparent, even though eren had already known it so: she was no slave. just like the creature the mirrors have translated to her, she was free.
he wished he could tell her that. ]
(2/2)
it all came back like whiplash. he does nothing, yet. he’s stone-still again, exchanging a long, long gaze with mettaton, a sharp one, like thousands of daggers being held to him, at knifepoint.
he’s in the process of locking him, but for now only waits for mikasa’s decision in the same silence he’d always been. ]
1/2
That dumb cheer at seeing the dragon that had been a pain in the ass for so long covered in such ridiculous colours. That slight thing. It wasn't enough to quench her irritation. But it was enough to make her tipsy.
A careless, intoxicating sense of freedom.
One that blinded her to the danger. Even once the puca joins her, she's just bounding back over. Nearly into him with enthusiasm. Pupils large and almost smiling, opening her mouth to spe-]</small
2/2
[Then there's a chill. That odd feeling she got. Like when she saw that ring on Annie's finger. Or the few seconds where she'd know to duck from the bomb. The almost joy drops from her face, smoothing out into something more blink as she's swerving. Her focus returning to the lizard.]
No...[Quiet. Only meant for the puca.] If he won't give answers, then we can't treat him so lightly, but I don't have anything else.
[But he'd been frustratingly okay with everything they'd done. The climbing, the pouring. That even if how silly he looked before had made her laugh before...It wasn't enough to override his lack of annoyance. Not enough to stop her's from building or her lips from curling back to show teeth. Antenna moving back behind her head where it was safe.]
no subject
Mettaton doesn't shrink under Eren's glare at all. As Mikasa stumbles backwards, Mettaton's arm reflexively presses against her back in perfect time for her to deliver her hiss of a response meant just for him... but something's changed about the robot. A carnal shift, letting go of all pretense for a rawer performance. He drops his hand as she rights herself and loses her joyous spark, but that spark remains in Mettaton's system to ignite into unrelenting appetite.
Mettaton stares deeply into Eren's eyes, blue with tight, draconic slits. His own golden eye is alight, impish, registering the sharp threat of danger behind Eren's intent and finding it nothing short of thrilling. Delightful. Desirable. He takes a step forward, black-furred ears leaning forward in his eagerness, falling deeply prey to being locked into the Dragon's stare by virtue of his unblinking watch. It'll be terribly easy to lock him.
Mikasa's fine, Mettaton thinks. He's not, and that's better yet. As he takes greater, more covetous stock of Eren, he notices more of the crystal, the blue, the scales, and rewinds to play back the way he looked at Mikasa...
He does know this dragon. Doesn't he? The darkness and the moon difficult to tell at first. But these crystal talons and tipped horns are radiant, almost as captivating as his sinister glare. Mettaton could best describe himself as smitten with Eren, at least in this dangerous way. There's nothing that could keep him from standing mere steps away from the threat of jaws, teeth, and fire. It's no more dangerous than anything he's done over the past few months. Ah, Mettaton keeps getting himself into situations with higher and higher stakes... The paint only makes him more desirable somehow.
He thinks he gets it now, why Eren's behaving like this. He quirks a brow, and addresses Eren directly this time. As Eren.]
You really do fancy her... Yes! So you'd irritate her to vie for her attentions, like this? Clever. But, why?
[Eren... why you denying yourself and then UN-denying yourself but like with an alternate identity... this is confusing and shady...]
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he has to bring him up and away from tipsy fae hearing, not too high and not too low. the difference, though— the difference is the dragon’s stare. it is no longer a glance one could simply look away from. no, it has snares. magical in nature, the glare traps the puca into an inescapable exchange, where eren’s energy becomes suffocating, ominous and overwhelming. it becomes as black as his insides were, when given reason to be. this was not the boy, or the man who would speak kindly of freedom and offer encouraging words. this was the monster who killed two men to save a little girl he barely knew. this was the man who destroyed a capital to protect his home. this was the man who would trample the earth for the sake of the woman skipping by them. this was the eren most people overlooked.
there is nothing amused from the guttural voice that comes wet from his throat and hisses with harsher emphasis when wording something with an “s” in it. he speaks slow, his snout close and the breath from his nostrils burning like fire itself. it is slow, but at the same time frighteningly compelling. laced with his intent and as constraining as his eye’s magic, it forces the strongest to shrivel and listen. ]
I’ve been staying away from her and you bring her to me. You. It’s been a month since I’ve been anywhere near her. Want to know why? [ his tongue slivers out, dances across the robot’s legs, his torso, ] I can smell her blood every time she breathes and it drives me up the fucking wall. Do you know what Fae tastes like–?
[ fae tastes fizzy. fae tastes sweet and exotic, otherworldly and addictive. every fae smells differently, every fae. and every fae, eren reacts differently, with one similarity to all- deep down, he wants them. he wants all of them. to protect, to serve, to care for, to take, to consume— it was still so confusing and he didn’t know which would happen when, and when he was too close, it was too late. he was infatuated. he was attracted to them and now that he sees a glimpse of that very taboo, he hates it. he’s become the one thing he’s lied to mikasa about her being. a slave to instinct. at times like these, it wasn’t asura’s comfort and clarity he heard. ]
Do you know what you’ve done now? Do you?
[ his scales give off a dangerous red hue, like fire that express his rage; the cracks and spaced plating down his throat begin to ignite, like live lava cracking through volcanic stone. his breath-sac is full, and the words he breathes have a foul smell of sulphur to it. there’s a rattling sound behind them. a continuous, fast paced sh-sh-sh that comes from the needles at the tip of his tail being shaken like a rattlesnake’s, fluorescent and heated. he’s never done this before, unless he was in combat. ]
I don’t have a problem with my priorities, Mettaton. I’ll protect her until the day I drop dead. If you ever endanger Mikasa again the way you have tonight, [ the remainder of his lips pull back, and there are just so many teeth. he’s salivating, the puca will realize. whether it was because of the fae high or what he was about to say, though— ] I don’t give a shit how aware you are. I’ll eat you where you stand. You won’t be my first.
If you’re still alive, it’s thanks to her. Get out of here and take her with you.
[ he sets the puca back down after a lengthy glare that closes up abruptly from its hypnotic pull, it should leave him with an urgent feeling— a feeling of choice that still stabs like thousands of daggers. make your choice, it urges him, with the same exigency. should he choose to accept eren’s presage, the spell-like aura would shatter, and grant him the monstrous will, energy and strength to do what he must. a power-up spell you’d expect to find from a witch. if not, the mental daggers stay behind, and rip him apart from the inside, assure him everything that destroys him is true. that he is a slave to the metal containment he’s bound to. that he does not live. that he was never born, and that he was nothingness. artificial. fake. plus, a dragon will physically be ready to sick him. ]
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She couldn't fly, and she couldn't climb him from this angle. Not without her gear. But that wouldn't stop her grumpily shoving at what she could reach.
Oi, down here. That's her's. Give it back.
Then the dragon does, plonking the bunbot down. Earning him one last heavy shove, that does little as nearly tackles Mettaton again.]
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GASPS HE SWORE!
backstage mtt ;) 1/1
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