middaeg | Deceuer Catch-All

[Exclamation point! Mettaton's hand drops a margin.]

WHY, YES! I DO MEAN EMET-SELCH! [Even Mettaton's a bit shocked. Soren... knows him? Mettaton got the impression that Emet-Selch didn't know Soren...] HAVE YOU TWO HAD THE FORTUNE OF MEETING? HE DOESN'T GET OUT VERY MUCH! WHAT ARE THE CHANCES?

[It's all very absurd to ponder. It almost doesn't seem real. Then again, he had seen them sharing company together at the Masquerade... The more it begins to make sense to Soren, the less it actually does. Their personalities are just so... incompatible. It's almost like seeing Styx and Eren together.

The phrase "opposites attract" really seems to hold its water here.

Most chillingly, Soren wonders what might have stood a possibility of occurring if Emet-Selch knew of Mettaton's previous antipathy toward him for knowing his secret, and chose to act against him on it. He may not be as powerful a threat as he had been in his native world, but he isn't exactly incompetent, either. There may have been several reasons Emet-Selch could have suddenly recalled his name during their encounter a few months ago... and strangely enough, it may have had nothing to do with the Crystal Exarch. That would, of course, depend on whether Emet-Selch truly loves this... unicycling entertainment robot shaped like a box with bunny ears and ill-fitting earmuffs, or if there's some inexplicable agenda involved in taking the star's four-fingered hand in marriage.

...?!? Soren remains somewhat stunned.]

We... met, once. What does he do all day, then?

Edited (i can write) 2021-01-21 05:02 (UTC)

[A weary sigh. Almost as weary as one Emet-Selch could manage. The Merge.]

HE NAPS.

[That is a gross and intentional diminishing of what all he does do in a day, but it's the easiest summary. At least it targets an activity Emet-Selch likes to do (that remains appropriate for public ears). Mettaton shrugs with the expanse of his arms, yet radiating warmth. So very inviting for distracted Dragons...

The boxy bot fiddles with those earmuffs, petting them with just his fingertips, enjoying their texture underhand. Textures are so nice to feel, now that he can feel them at all.]

ARE YOU SURPRISED? YOU MUST HAVE GATHERED QUITE THE IMPRESSION OF HIM... IF YOU'RE ABLE TO CONTRAST US SO READILY! I'M IMPRESSED.

[And he readily assumes that's what Soren's doing, though not to the extent Soren's actually capable of contrasting them. He has no idea.]

Don't be. It's immediately obvious to everyone.

[And then, he yawns. Even mentioning a nap reminds him how much he could use one after a hard day's work in the wintry cold. He budges just a half-step closer to the living heater. Why, it's almost as inviting as Ranulf's little trick...]

Does he sleep the night away, too, then?

[How dreary. But he did come across as terminally fed up with existence at large, stiff and jaded as an immortal being who has lived perhaps longer than even his own grandpa... who was an aging dragon, by the way.]

[Mettaton just laughs at the obviousness of their contrast. It's true! Though it takes paying at least some attention to figure that out, and his screen lights in bright yellow at the reminder of how different they are. He likes it.

But the Puca also notices Soren's zombie-like approach toward the heat of his body. It's very reminiscent of Alphys, a reminder of his earlier thoughts about the chill on Soren's scales...]

YES, YES. HE SLEEPS A LOT, LIKE THE OLD MAN HE IS. AHAHA.

[Roasting his fiancé like this... Though it's clearly affectionate, as Mettaton's yellow screen turns to a... pink? Yes, pink.]

SPEAKING OF SLEEP. [And away goes the pink, right back to yellow.] I WAS MENTIONING YOUR LETHARGY EARLIER. AND WITH THE TEMPERATURE DROPPING SO RAPIDLY, SURELY YOU CAN CALL IT A NIGHT, DARLING. YOU'LL HAVE PEOPLE WORRYING!

[Himself included, just as a matter of course (Mettaton connects with people easily, and he'd distantly concern himself over Soren's condition, yes). Though he just readily assumes that someone out there cares for Soren.]

[Everyone roasts their fiancé. It's just par-broil for the course. Soren can't be completely sure what those color changes mean, but it almost seems like the machine is... blushing?

The subject changes, and Soren rotates his head slowly to glance at his unfinished window. Then, he expels a sigh. ]

I would very much like to be home.

[He does have people who worry about him. They constitute a small handful, but that's how it's always been for Soren. The idea that he's cared about enough to be worried over... It's strange, and it still makes him a little bit ill at ease, not wanting to give anyone reason to fret or go out of their way for him, but at the same time, there's something about the notion that warms him up from within. If there is anywhere he would like to be right now - anywhere he can reach, that is - it would be curled up, warm and comfortable with Ranulf.]

The sun sets earlier in the wintertime. But if I'm being honest, this is the last thing I want to be doing. And my heating enchantments are almost all used up. ... I'll finish up this window frame, then head back.

[It should come as no surprise that the ghost-turned-robot should wish to harness these attributes of his body now that he has them to express with. Even a rectangle is an upgrade from an incorporeal sheet, and he'll use that screen to exhibit a pleasant emotion represented in pink if he pleases.

If this - this, what Mettaton assumes to be charity work (he hasn't heard of Soren's involvement in anything, only that there was some sort of behemoth scuffle) - is the last thing Soren would like to be doing and that it even risks his personhood... The robot's screen darkens in hue to red, tapping the lower corner of his screen thoughtfully.]

WELL, IF YOU INSIST ON STAYING IN THE CHILL... WHY DON'T I OFFER YOU MY COMPANIONSHIP UNTIL YOU FINISH? AS A ROBOT, I DO NOT FEEL COLD. BUT I SURE DO RADIATE WARMTH!

[He can tell Soren notices. He wheels a little closer—all 5+ feet of him, and wow is he warm. There also just doesn't seem to be much of a choice in this "offer."]

. . . WHY ARE YOU OUT HERE DOING THIS, IF YOU DISLIKE IT SO? ARE YOU EMPLOYED? BECAUSE REALLY. FOR BEING A MIGHTY DRAGON, YOU DON'T LOOK LIKE YOU'RE HAVING THE EASIEST OF TIMES!

[The tradeoff: suffering Mettaton's presence in exchange for his heat. Soren can deal with this. He scoots back over to the window to apply the finishing touches. This should only take a few minutes, and with the radiant Puca here, he can already feel some vitality return to him.]

Eren and I got in a fight over a sword we mutually could not resist hoarding. This resulted in damage to the surrounding neighborhoods. As penance, the Coven has decreed that we participate in community service to rebuild what we destroyed.

[He's not sure how much he wants to go into detail about how powerless he is before the other monster. It's not difficult to discover, for if he speaks to Eren at all, he could gather the same information, and when he reaches up to smear the putty in the crevice, his shackled wrist emerges from his dark sleeve.]

A SWORD...

[Oh, no. Mettaton's screen flashes yellow and red, and he gestures as though taken aback with his arms. The ambulate rectangle otherwise stops being so mobile, parking himself close to Soren by retracting his wheel and settling upon the ground close by. Melting snow and hard surfaces don't bother a man made of metal.

Mettaton's sufficiently distracted from Soren's powerlessness—though the very moment Soren mentions that the Coven's involved, he thinks about those bracelets. Mettaton's been to jail before, after all, and he spots the bracelet readily. He doesn't think too much of this, aside from the fact that Soren's been robbed of anything that makes him draconic save for his appearance. Instead, the Puca considers the two of them as having matching hoarding habits.]

YES. IN EARLY NOVEMBER, EREN CAME AFTER ME, UNPROVOKED. [It was provoked, perhaps... But for reasons Mettaton couldn't control, his brand new "power" too new for him to manage.] HE STOLE MY ARM, AND WITH ITS SHARP, TWISTED ENDS... DECIDED IT BELONGED TO HIM. THE NERVE! I HAD TO GET HIM A KNIFE TO TRADE BACK FOR IT!!

[Mettaton will never let that spite go. He crosses his arms.]

THAT YOU BOTH HAVE MATCHING INTERESTS... THAT SPELLS TROUBLE. [He gestures to the whole neighborhood, who weathered that trouble head-on.] I DON'T ENVY YOU, DARLING.

[The story he's told is so wild that Soren briefly turns his head to look at the Puca as he details what happened a few weeks ago. Afterward, he sighs, exhausted just thinking about how much trouble dragons could get themselves into and how personally acquainted he is with just how irresistible the instinct to claim and collect unnecessary trinkets really is, and turns back to keep working.]

Luckily, I have no interest in hoarding sharp things. If I did, my impulse would be triggered left and right. Unluckily, however, my habits are more difficult to predict. I would rather not discuss them overly much, but to give an example... There is a feather in my hoard; some animal bones; the sword I reclaimed from our pesky thief; an old tattered cloak... [He glances back.] Do you see any strong connections?

[Soren does, but most people in Aefenglom won't. To anyone who doesn't understand Soren well, they'll see an eclectic trash heap.]

[Soren introduces this to him like a riddle, a puzzle. And what are monsters if not adept at a good puzzle, to stump their human counterparts? ...Mettaton's not much of a fan, but he considers these objects anyway, curling a fist under his screen.]

A TATTERED CLOAK, A FEATHER, SOME BONES. [He's clearly thinking this matter over. Does Soren somehow not understand his own proclivity? ...Well, Mettaton doesn't see the connections either.] IT SOUNDS SENTIMENTAL. BUT YOU'D KNOW BETTER THAN ME!

[A sentimental trash heap! Mettaton isn't prying. He's pretty sure it must be sentimental, whatever it is.]

SO THIS ONE SPECIAL SWORD STRUCK YOUR FANCY, AND THAT'S HOW YOU CAME TO BLOWS WITH... EREN. [Sigh. Eren. What a headache, that man is. And what a headache the two of them are together, decimating this whole block or two...

Dragons.]

[His dispassionate face falters at being called out for his sentimentality. Ah, so it's true... Soren chooses not to go into any more detail on his hoarding habits beyond that. Instead, he responds to the next topic.]

It came from the mirrors, like your diaries. I recognized that sword, and something about it triggered my unfortunate habit. Eren refused to give it back. I lost my sense after that.

[The Puca of all people is familiar with what that looks like, which is quite terrifying to a prey animal especially.]

[Boom, there it is... So Soren does know, and Mettaton chooses not to pursue in this moment. His sourness is enough reason to withhold, but never trust Mettaton not to pry. Nor to not gossip.]

A SWORD BELONGING TO YOU! THAT ALONE MEANS IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOURS FROM THE START. [Eren.

Indeed, the mention of Soren losing his sense... Mettaton's screen dims. He can't rotate his head to look around, but his silence suggests that the Puca's drinking in the neighborhood in his reflection. The violence enacted upon the neighborhood's a sure representation of what they did to each other.

Mettaton shrugs weakly before bringing his nails in front of his screen, fiddling with them, feeling their neatly filed, dulled ends. Nails he files nearly every morning to keep up with their growth.]

BEING A MONSTER IN GEARDAGAS ISN'T EASY. YOU WOULDN'T BE THE FIRST OF US TO ACT SO... UNCONTROLLABLY.

I know that, [he snaps quietly, not entirely a fan of discussing the unpleasant obvious right now. Cleaning up the edges and appraising his own work, he decides to call it a night and begins to collect the tools and materials supplied to him.] But as a Puca, don't try to sympathize with a Dragon.

.....

[The silence he pays Soren is to examine him. His draconic features, comparing them to the beast who nearly killed him. ...It was so easy for him to do, to kill even a robot between his jaws. To kill another Dragon.

And yet. Mettaton raises a finger. His screen blanks out, leaving their space that much darker.]

DID YOU KNOW... THAT I HAVE ALMOST KILLED MY FIANCÉ, IN A FIT OF MONSTROUS, SPITEFUL IRE? THAT I NEARLY KILLED HIM AGAIN, PURELY BY ACCIDENT? IT WAS PERILOUSLY CLOSE, DARLING. THESE TEETH AND CLAWS... GROW TOO SHARP FOR A HUMAN BODY. AND PUCA, LIKE HARPIES AND MERROW, ARE PRONE TO A FULL MOON SHIFT AT ANY TIME OF THE MONTH, IF INCITED.

[When his monitor lights again, it's dimly. Mettaton crosses his arms.]

I'M NO DRAGON. BUT I'M YET A MONSTER, LIKE YOU. WERE I IN CONTROL OF MYSELF... I'D NEVER HURT HIM.

...

[It's worth a pause and a long, grave look as Soren tries to envision the Exarch's old enemy bleeding out beneath a monstrous, moontouched rabbit. If their feelings ran true (it still hasn't quite sunken in yet, the conjugal nature of their bond), how remorseful and frantic the Puca who would never want to hurt him must be when he comes to. This fear he can relate to, and perhaps more than ever, now that his tender, budding feelings have finally matured enough start blooming for someone other than Ike.

The snowfall picks up into flakes heavy enough to hear. Soren turns his sober, pensive face down and focuses on packing up so he can finally bask in the warmth that emanates from home instead of his preposterous unicycling acquaintance with the inadequate earmuffs. It's true that they are both subject to bouts of mania and indiscreet destructive behaviors, but harming one person hardly compares to a chunk of the city. It's not that Soren feels necessarily sorry for the people whose lives he'd impacted. It's not that he doesn't from time to time when the reminders become poignant enough to leech past his cold walls, either. It's the understanding of how this power is viewed by the humans who fear more, and what else they might do to him should he go berserk again.

Pushing into this grim topic further seems too tiresome. He feels crummy enough as it is, and it's... pointless. ]

I'm ready to head off.

WELL. BEST OF LUCK TO YOU ON YOUR REBUILDING EFFORTS, DARLING.

[Mettaton's singular pole sticks out from his body, raising him up that might higher—to Soren's height, in fact. Their ears and horns each exceed them, to boot.]

AND HOW ABOUT YOUR TREK HOME? WILL YOU MAKE IT, OR COULD YOU USE THE WARM COMPANY?

[As obvious as anything, it is an offer. Mettaton doesn't even think about it. Of course he'd offer something like that, just because he can.]

[The dragon looks as thrilled as ever, not to mention (or have we already mentioned) tired. Resigned.]

Your heat is too convenient to pass up. Though I don't see what's in it for you...

[Maybe he's secretly trying to find out where he lives? What if there is some lingering umbrage from the time Soren had dirt that Mettaton was afraid he would reveal to others if he did the wrong thing? Soren is ever the suspicious creature looking out for his own skin.]

[Mettaton laughs, screen bright once more as he waggles his finger.]

IN IT FOR ME? YOU'RE TOO MODEST, DARLING! YOU MAY NOT BE A STAR LIKE MYSELF, WITH FANS CLAMORING TO GET TO KNOW YOU... BUT I'M HAPPY TO SPEND AN EVENING'S WALK WITH YOU. JUST BECAUSE!

[Believe him or not, but there really is no caveat. The hope would be to ultimately gain Soren's favor, in the most distant sense, but with these sour types Mettaton doesn't expect much. He shrugs with one of his arms.]

BESIDES. IF I CAN DO SOMETHING TO HELP, I NEVER PASS UP THE OPPORTUNITY!

How pompous of you to assume I even care about your fame.

[He'll just... find a spot to stop that isn't close to where he lives. Soren begins moving along now.]

WELL! FINE THEN! [Red screen of death.] BUT THAT WON'T STOP ME FROM ACCOMPANYING YOU HOME! MAYBE SOMEDAY, EVEN YOU WILL UNDERSTAND THE ALLURE OF METTATON... OHHH YES.

[With Soren moving along, MTT deploys his wheel to accompany him. Snow, uneven streets... They kinda suck on a wheel, but Mettaton doesn't complain.]

Deceuer Catch-All

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