middaeg | [open] december catch-all

Entry tags:

[open] december catch-all

Who: Mettaton (

glitzandglamour) and YOU
When: Deceuer
Where: Throughout Aefenglom, and perhaps even at your doorstep. . .? In your bed??
What: Some winter event prompts, as well as some full moon prompts
Warnings: A touch of body disfiguration, constantly. A lot of prompts, and even more Mettaton.

1. Snow Way Out (12/6 - 12/10)
Lending a Hand

1A. → Aristocratic District
[Pathways are cleared in a portion of the district, with someone clearly hard at work. And if the rich folks themselves are too reluctant to set foot outdoors, who better to curry their favor than one enterprising robot who can't feel the cold?

But as he worked, Mettaton became distracted by the snow he began piling up in a blank space aside from the buildings. Snow, as he discovered, is very satisfying to dig. With his sore-ridden ears tied and hidden by a burgundy velvet scarf wrapped into something reminiscent of a pin-up's, Mettaton stands in front of an impressive pile of snow, compacted and constructed into what could only be described as... a fashionable snow-burrow, complete with ornamentation and even a sign sculpted atop its entrance: MTT, it reads in curly script. An absolute mad man.

The robotic Puca turns, his gloved fists planted on the closest approximation of his hips while he gestures to his sculpted home.]

I SEE YOU'RE ADMIRING MY HANDIWORK. NOT THAT I COULD BLAME YOU. THIS WOULDN'T BE THE FIRST PROPERTY I'VE OWNED... "OWNED," HA-HA. OR DESIGNED! SO NATURALLY, I HAVE AN EYE FOR PRIME REAL ESTATE.

[He pauses; his screen flashes a dim red.]

THIS... IS ONLY A REPLICA OF THE VISION I HAVE! YES. [Back to the letter M with his display.] ACTUALLY. IF YOU ARE ALSO IN THE BUSINESS OF CLEARING SNOW... WOULD YOU BE A DEAR AND BRING IT MY WAY? I HAVE PLENTY OF OTHER IDEAS TO FLESH OUT... AND I HAVE TO ADMIT. IT'S ODDLY SATISFYING, DIGGING THROUGH SNOW. YOU MUST AGREE WITH ME.

1B. → Refugee District
WAIT!!

[Lots of the Mirrorbound are hard at work in the Refugee Districts, clearing up debris, snow, and situations more dire than that in the posh Aristocratic District. If anywhere needs the attention, it's here, what with collapsing buildings, fallen snowdrifts, and frigid conditions. Perhaps you were also lending a hand at doing some good, all the way up until this odd rectangular robot grabs your shoulder with an extended arm.]

DON'T LOOK SO SHOCKED, DARLING! SURELY YOU NOTICED MY PRESENCE BEFORE I EVEN SPOKE... NOW. [He withdraws his hand and folds his fingers together, giving off the impression of tenseness.] LISTEN CAREFULLY. WHATEVER YOU WERE GOING TO DO? ...DON'T!!

[That's cryptic.]

Warm Company

1C. → Dormitories (...or your character's very own bed????? I won't stop you, as long as the locks won't stop Mettaton.)
[Finally, somewhere marginally warmer than the rest of Aefenglom. The room is dark, the fireside crackling, and the bed is so inviting. A bit lumpier than it looked before, but inviting nonetheless.

That is, until you approach and realize that there is somebody underneath the plush sheets. He shifts; props himself up on his arm. His heavy-lidded eye, a striking gold, beckons without words while he offers a charming smile from across the pillow. He's keeping it warm. ｏｈｙｅｓ...]

Oh... Lonely, on a night like this? Or is this purely a chance meeting? [Either way, Mettaton... pats the bed. Invitingly.] Well. There's plenty of room for you, too. I don't mind! You're so lucky tonight, chancing upon me in this bed.

[∗ It's cold. Mettaton is made of metal.]

2. Full Moon (12/12)

2A. → Entertainment District
[Full moons have been a disturbing affair at best. Mettaton knows by now to tuck himself away for the night to prevent an audience from catching sight of him in unseemly ways, especially as he fancies himself an up-and-coming star. On the evening of the 12th, MTT slips into a stagnate, unoccupied theater — a usual destination for him on these nights, and one that has yielded ample privacy to him so far.

In an attempt to distract himself, Mettaton sings lines into the still air of the theater. They're lines he can recite on automatic, lines to a musical he knows by heart — one of the many from the Surface that he's watched over and over, a distant memory sitting in front a pink television set. They're lines he used to sing to, in fact. And when he closes his eyes, he can almost hear the sound of his cousin's remastered tracks they made to go with a voice so haunting that it was unmistakably that of a ghost's. His voice is the biggest difference, he thinks, replaced by a tune strong and resonant in the dingy theater.

When a shock of pain courses through his legs and up his back, that note carried on his voice doesn't even falter. It's so unlike anything he's experienced so far, and it rattles him enough to bring him down to his knees. Eye squeezed shut, Mettaton grips onto his head crushing with pain. His legs... Dread overcomes him. Why would his legs be hurting so badly?

But he knows the answer. When Mettaton tries to stand, he finds that he can't. The toe of his boot doesn't click against the smooth surface of the dusty stage but instead, the drag of claws. The robotic idol lets himself fall to his hip and swings his legs out before him, his eye fluttering open. Instead of noticing that he has company, he fixates on his pink heels that erupt with raw tissue and inky black fur. Fur, claws, paws. Sores, welts, and oozing blisters. It's all of the works he's been dealing with, but the way the very structure of his leg appears to be distorting...]

They're—

[His voice hitches, and he spots the faint figure of unexpected company. His eye widens.]

...What? Oh, these? ... They can be replaced, my legs. Not a problem!! [He tries to smile from his place on stage, his incisors long and pronounced. His ears hidden in the fashionable black scarf tied around his crown. His claws buried underneath matching black gloves.] There are perks to having a custom-built body! It's not a big deal for someone like me. Nothing I haven't dealt with before!

[Having his body change so much, he thinks, but he means explicitly the damage and subsequent repair of his metal body.]

Don't worry about me, darling. And... what brings you here?

2B. → Entertainment District
Yoo-hoo! Yes, you. Come here.

[This command is difficult to ignore, carried on such a loud voice. It's much later into the night. Taking his first night outside of the theater, those without night vision can see the white of his smile and the faint glow from his heart-shaped core, but little else. Mettaton curls a finger.]

Yes, you'll do. Listen. I'm in the mood for a bit of fun. Anything to distract us all from the full moon, am I right??

[In that moment, Mettaton changes shape — into the mirror image of the person standing before him. With a sweet smile, MTT cups his own cheeks — the face of the person standing before him, actually.]

Fabulous! It's not fabulous like me, but... You know what I mean. Now. Rrrready to play??

[(A Yes or No prompt was not provided.) ...But he waits for a response all the same.]
[WOW GOOD THING I DIDN'T GET ANY BITES ON THIS I TOTALLY MISUNDERSTOOD SHAPESHIFTING]

3. Modranicht (& Modranicht Accessories) (12/17 - 12/23)
Caroling

3A. → Your Front Door.
[This is the prompt you choose if you want Christmas I mean Modranicht carolers. Ha, you thought that slight rap on your door was a small child? It's not. In this case, it's Mettaton, the sexiest rectangle in Aefenglom.

He's wearing a santa hat.]

OOOOH YESSSS! GOOD EVENING, BEAUTIFUL. IT'S ME, METTATON!! I HAVE COME TO DELIVER UNTO YOU GOOD TIDINGS, AND THE DELECTABLE TONES OF MY DEEP AND MELODIOUS VOICE! 'TIS THE SEASON, AND ALL THAT! THE OPPORTUNITY FOR A LIVE PERFORMANCE BY MOI, FROM THE COMFORT OF YOUR OWN HOME... IS IT NOT THE SECOND BEST THING TO TV??

[Yes, this is your chance to try to slam the door on him. Try.]

3B. → Your Front Door.
[This is the prompt you choose if you want Christmas I mean Modranicht carolers. Ha, you thought that slight rap on your door was a small child? It's not. In this case, it's Mettaton, the sexiest ... in Aefenglom. Just the sexiest.

He's wearing a santa hat.]

Ooooh yessss! Good evening, beautiful. It's me, Mettaton!! I have come to deliver unto you good tidings, and the delectable tones of my smooth and delicious voice! 'Tis the season, and all that! The opportunity for a live performance by moi, from the comfort of your own home... Is it not the second best thing to TV??

[This is the same prompt as before, but with a different version of Mettaton. How observant. It just smacks a different way.]

Kiss-tletoe

3C. OH, I AM DOOMED TO AN ETERNITY OF WAITING. WAITING FOR A WORTHY HERO TO LIBERATE ME WITH A SMALL ACT OF AFFECTION.

[Yeah, he's out here doing this. Mettaton presses the back of his velvet-gloved hand to the approximation of his forehead, his screen a perpetual red.]

IT'S NOT FAIR TO ENTRAP ME IN AN AREA OF SUCH SECLUSION, KNOWING THAT IF I WERE IN A BUSTLING CROWD... EVERYONE WOULD BE FIGHTING FOR THE CHANCE TO KISS MY GLISTENING SURFACE! OH MY! THE DASTARDLY AMBITIONS OF INANIMATE ENCHANTED SPRIGS OF MISTLETOE. THEY DO SEE FIT TO STOP ME IN MY TRACKS, AND FOR WHAT CAUSE?? SURELY, I MUST BE SAVED. I MUST BE!

BUT WHO IS BRAVE ENOUGH TO APPROACH SOMEONE WITH MY RADIANCE? SOMEONE BOLD ENOUGH TO SEE PAST MY ELEGANCE... ENOUGH TO NOTICE THE INVISIBLE VINES THAT BIND ME TO MY SPOT. COULD IT BE...

[At this, Hotland's star clasps together his hands and displays a red heart against a yellow backdrop as he turns to his newfound company. Pressure's on, and expectation hangs heavy in the air.]

...YOU?

3D. [Even if dodging mistletoe plants is your forte, it seems one has gone miraculously unnoticed — and just as Mettaton passes, too. The sly, mischievous glint in his eye betrays anything but surprise, though he makes a show of it anyway.]

Oh... So. There's mistletoe above us, isn't there.

[Said more like a statement, less like a question. His arm retracts (from wherever; what was he doing?), and his fingertips land against his jawline.]

But really. There's no rush, darling! Why not get to know each other a little better first? Unless... Your idea of getting to know me is by kissing me.

Eat, Drink, Be Merry

3E. [Everybody who knows me knows that Mettaton Eating Seductively Despite The Fact That He Doesn't Have A Mouth is my favorite kind of prompt, so that's what this is.

Robots, unable to eat?? Shut up. If there's a will, there's a way, and Mettaton has both of those things. Propped up on a tabletop he's cleared for his hunk of a body, Mettaton reclines next to plates of food as he hand-feeds himself with such poise and deliberation that it's sure to turn heads. And if it doesn't turn heads because of his charisma, it turns heads because it's an electric box "feeding" himself a dainty tea sandwich. (Naturally, all of the food he's selected are aesthetically pleasing.)

When he notices he's being watched by a fellow Mirrorbound, Mettaton gestures toward the plate. ...Like a magic trick, the tea sandwich he was holding has disappeared somehow.]

I SEE YOU'RE EYEING ME. DO YOU FIND ME ENTICING...? OR ARE YOU JUST FANCYING MY TASTY TREATS?

[The plate. Mettaton. Which is more uhhhhhhh enticing?]

3F. [what the fuck are those

Whatever they are, they're glittery. Food shouldn't be glittery. They look like they've been absolutely bedazzled on a cellular level, and with their absurdity and light-reflecting qualities, they absolutely steal the show. In reality, they probably imbue awe and fear into party-goers.

Mettaton sidles up.]

So? What catches your eye among this spread? I'm all ears for areas of intrigue. Or should I make a guess...?

0. Other

Feel free to get in touch if you'd like me to write up a custom prompt, or reply on the CR meme!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Fugo opens his mouth, trying at several points to interject. Perhaps it is to explain the connection between Christmas and Christians, or the tradition of the zampognari, or what caroling is all about. But he doesn't really get a chance to get a word in edgewise before the conversation... sweeps him back into his own house?! He is momentarily too startled by Mettaton's pushiness to object, stumbling backward into the foyer, although that doesn't last long.]

How about you don't? [He plants his feet on the ground, resisting being pushed around by a giant-- robot? This is a robot. A caroling, loudmouthed robot.] Look, you can't just barge into someone else's house uninvited! The only way you're going to mess up our heating bill is if your performance lasts for hours! And the whole point of caroling is that it's an outdoor performance!

[It's... ... it's not going to last for hours-- no, it can't. Nobody would go door-to-door to perform long sets of music. That's totally impractical and inefficient.]

I JUST DID. I'M NOT KNOWN FOR BEING TERRIBLY CONVENTIONAL BY MY FANS!

[Fugo is treated to a heart on his screen as Mettaton downplays forcible entry like it's no big deal.]

AND WHILE I COULD SING FOR HOURS, I DON'T PLAN ON IT. BUT WITH CAROLING... COMES THE POSSIBILITY OF WARM COMPANY, DOESN'T IT? WHO KNOWS HOW LONG THAT COULD LAST! AND ABOVE ALL ELSE, I'M HERE TO PLEASE. IF I CAN REDUCE YOUR CHILLINESS BY COMING INSIDE, THEN I'LL DO JUST THAT! JUST FOR YOU, BEAUTIFUL. YOU CAN'T TELL ME THAT YOU'D RATHER STAND IN YOUR DOORWAY, ENDURING THE ICY COLD.

Aren't you the reason I'm cold to begin with? [Before he heard the door knock, Fugo was studying in Giorno's room-- one of the warmest rooms in the house, in a futile effort to try and keep him warm. If he's not listening in from the hall, he's probably going to hurt himself laughing when Fugo explains what kept.] Fine. Whatever. You're right, but only because winter is absolutely miserable here.

[He never thought he'd miss Italy's winter rain, but that was before he had to deal with Aefenglom's rain and blizzard.]

So what are you going to sing? [For the first time in the conversation, there's a note of curiosity in his voice.] Once you exclude the Christian carols, I can't think of what you would actually sing.

OH, DARLING. DARLING, BEAUTIFUL, DEAREST. YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT KINDS OF NON-SECULAR SONGS EXIST IN THIS WORLD. A PERSONAL FAVORITE EXAMPLE OF MINE: "GRANDMA GOT RAN OVER BY A REINDEER." [Mettaton laughs.] I'VE EVEN MADE SOME UP FOR MY OWN BRAND... THOUGH, I'LL STICK WITH SINGING ONE EVEN A HUMAN LIKE YOU SHOULD RECOGNIZE.

[Humans probably got Christmas from the monsters where he's from. That's what monsters think. Mettaton isn't sure. There are so many human Christmas movies... (The entire library from the Hallmark channel was DEFINITELY available in the Garbage Dump.) But it baffles him that Fugo wouldn't be familiar with the numerous non-Christian Christmas songs! He'll change that.

Mettaton begins to sing... Santa Baby. Santa ought to be sending him a duplex and checks, yachts (that's not a lot!), a light blue '54 convertible, and a trip down his chimney, as compensation for all of the fellas he hasn't kissed and fun he's missed. Stop him whenever, Fugo.]

[This is a lot. This is... a lot. The longer Mettaton talks, the more Fugo's expression shifts from suspicion to wide-eyed bewilderment. Grandma got run over? He is genuinely too stunned by the title drop and the follow-up of Mettaton, without the context of the rest of Christmas, writing his own carols. And that's before he begins his heartfelt rendition of the 1953 Earth Kit's record-smashing Santa Baby.

Truthfully-- Fugo's only ever heard it once. And not even it, just Mista's tone-deaf, hip-waggling, sung-into-a-wooden-spoon interpretation. It's a bittersweet memory, but he does recognize the tune. And he does his best to keep his face still, but by the end of it he's hiding an uneven smile and, given the way his shoulders are shaking, a chuckle behind one hand.]

I don't. [He takes a breath. It's cool. He's fine. He's not about to laugh. Honestly, where the hell is it coming from?] I didn't-- listen. To a lot of pop. Are you sure... [He clears his throat. It's fine. He's totally fine.] I'm not sure that counts as a carol.

IT DEFINITELY COUNTS. ALL SONGS THAT ARE PLAYED EXCLUSIVELY DURING CHRISTMASTIME COUNT AS A CAROL.

[If Mettaton is good at anything, it is at being confidently and unabashedly wrong at human things. Which he is, but he doesn't doubt himself for a second. He displays a red heart, seemingly pleased by Fugo's reaction, even if it's because Fugo's laughing.]

THOUGH YOU CLAIM YOU DIDN'T LISTEN TO A LOT OF POP... IT'S CLEAR TO ME THAT YOU'VE HEARD IT BEFORE! THIS PLEASES ME. WHAT DID YOU THINK? I HAVE A VOICE SUITABLY SULTRY AND ENTICING... PERFECT FOR SETTING THE HOLIDAY MOOD.

[Imagine being Mettaton and saying things.]

[Okay. He's got it under control. He can keep a straight face during the rest of this conversation. Probably?]

Just once. And it wasn't the original, a fr-- [He frowns, then quickly changes course:] Someone I knew once sang it while fooling around. You sang with panache, which is probably the most important thing for that kind of music. So it was pretty good, I guess.

That being said, I would argue that what you sang is a Christmas song. [He holds up his hands and, as he speaks, ticks each type off of his fingers.] Secular music sung around the holiday is a "song". Christmas "hymns" are exclusively religious. Christmas "carols" aren't necessarily religious, although they often are, but they are often sung using traditional melodies. Caroling as a practice, at least in my world, actually dates back before the rise of Christianity. It survived because it was adopted as a celebratory tradition during one of the religion's high holidays.

[No one asked for this tangent. Thankfully, Fugo opts to give the Abbreviated version of the lecture rather than rambling about the etymology of the word or the push and pull of control of music between the church and everyday people.]

Anyway. My point is that "Santa Baby" is probably too modern of a composition to be considered a proper carol. But in a few hundred years, given the song's popularity, I think it would meet the qualifications.

[This time, it's Mettaton who listens to Fugo's lengthy explanation about the difference between carols, hymns, and Christmas songs. The dedication to this lecture, abbreviated though it might be, really reminds him of lengthy explanations about Mew Mew Kissy Cutie or some other anime he can't remember the title of, and it amuses him to create this parallel. Once Fugo's finished, Mettaton just stands there. He takes a deep breath in.]

OH MY GOD.

[Breath out. Mettaton has no lungs, so this is obviously for dramatic effect.]

I CAN'T TELL IF YOU'RE A MUSIC FANATIC, A CHRISTMAS FANATIC... OR A TRIVIA FANATIC. [He raises his own finger.] BUT AFTER HEARING YOUR HELPFUL BREAKDOWN ON CAROLS, SONGS, AND HYMNS... I HAVE MADE THE EXECUTIVE DECISION THAT THEY ARE ALL CAROLS, HERE IN AEFENGLOM. INCLUDING "GRANDMA GOT RUN OVER BY A REINDEER." WHAT YEAR IS IT?? LIKE 1810? "SANTA BABY" HASN'T EVEN HAPPENED. IT'S A CAROL.

[Why does he even bother. Briefly, Fugo considers arguing: Mettaton is obviously, objectively wrong. You can't just declare a song a Christmas carol. That's not how it works. But given the rest of the conversation, he can't help but feel that Mettaton is the sort of person (sort of robot?) that is impossible to win an argument with.]

Your executive decision sucks. But I guess I can't stop you, so you can sing whatever you want. It will all be new to most people here anyway.

[Good call, Fugo. Mettaton is impossible to reason with most of the time. In fact, he blissfully ignores Fugo's opinion that his decision sucks, and claps his hands together.]

HOW SMART OF YOU TO CONCEDE TO MY IMPECCABLE JUDGEMENT. YOU HAVE FANTASTIC TASTE, DARLING. BUT BEFORE WE GO DOWN ANY MORE MUSICAL AVENUES, I ALREADY INTRODUCED MYSELF... BUT I'D LOVE TO KNOW THE NAME OF MY FELLOW MIRRORBOUND, WHO I'VE SPENT SUCH QUALITY TIME WITH.

I'm not conceding, I'm just not wasting my time arguing with someone who has already made up their mind. [For someone who supposedly doesn't like to waste time arguing, Fugo sure did just... argue about the particulars of how he's giving up. Contrarian, much?] ... it's Fugo.

[So contrary. Mettaton just laughs knowingly.]

TALKING BACK EVEN ON THE POINT OF YOUR CONCESSION... I LIKE A LITTLE SPICE. WELL, FUGO, IT'S YOUR PLEASURE, AND MY DELIGHT... TO DISAGREE ABOUT THE SPIRIT OF CAROLS. AND, OF COURSE, TO SING TO YOU! WHAT ARE YOUR PLANS THIS FINE MODRANICHT? SURELY, YOU HAVE LOVED ONES IN MIND.

[Fugo rolls his eyes and irritably blows his bangs out of his face with an audible pfft. Fine! Whatever! As long as the argument is over and this conversation is winding down!]

Anatomy and physiology coursework. Class isn't in session this week because of the holiday, but our instructor gave us plenty of work to do on our own.

[Ah. A true void of holiday spirit, this one.]

[Why do you hate the holiday spirit so...? Mettaton crosses his arms, tapping with his finger as he meanders to the side.]

ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY... COURSEWORK. THAT'S WHAT YOU PLAN TO DO WITH YOUR LOVED ONES.

[Hm.]

It's my coursework, so I'm planning to do it by myself. We don't have any household celebrations planned. [He pauses; usually he prefers to keep this sort of thing private. But, impulsively, he admits:] These people aren't my "loved ones". We're associates. I didn't know Kaede or Maria before I was brought here.

[Though the names "Kaede and Maria" are filed away for reference as Also Residents of this household, Mettaton turns his body back to Fugo, display yellow — neutral. As he does, Mettaton raises a finger in protest.]

I DIDN'T REALIZE THAT KNOWING SOMEBODY FROM YOUR HOME WORLD... WAS THE ONLY QUALIFIER FOR LOVING THEM. [It isn't, and he knows it. Is Fugo deeply missing those from home? He wonders. It wouldn't surprise him.] IF YOU'RE ASSOCIATES, YOU'RE ASSOCIATES. BUT IT'S ONLY BECAUSE YOU HAVEN'T MADE A DEEPER CONNECTION WITH THEM. AND ISN'T SPENDING TIME WITH THEM A PERFECT OPPORTUNITY TO FIND LOVE FOR THEM?

[Fugo falls quiet. His body language, which up until now has been irritable and a little restless, seems to close up. He's cautious, all of a sudden-- quiet. When he finally does speak, it is very carefully.]

It's not the only qualifier. But I don't know them very well-- and they don't know me. But I do know that they're both very private people. Since the distance doesn't bother me, I'm not going to push it. It's better this way.

[Why it's better, he won't say. It's too complicated to explain to someone he's just met.]

[Mettaton, on the other hand, will push it. He plants one hand on his "hip" and, with the other, he does the equivalent of scratching his head — performative confusion.]

YOU DON'T HAVE AN INTEREST IN PURSUING A DEEPER BOND WITH THESE LOVELY PEOPLE, THEN. THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE SAYING. IT DOESN'T BOTHER YOU. UNLESS I AM MISUNDERSTANDING THE MATTER, AND YOU DO WISH FOR A DEEPER CONNECTION...?

[Idly, he can't help but be impressed by Mettaton's range of expression. Despite lacking a face, his use of pointed colors and gestures gets his points across very clearly.]

No, you haven't misunderstood. Call me cold if you want, but aiming for close connections in a city with this much temporal nonsense going around is an exercise that has no good result.

... THAT'S WHAT'S HOLDING YOU BACK?

[He drops his arms to his side, his screen flipping a neutral yellow while he considers Fugo's hang-up. Are there any of the Mirrorbound who haven't thought of the possibility of another simply disappearing back to their mirror? It hasn't happened to Mettaton, not personally, not with anyone close... But others post about it here and there through thinly-veiled sorrow. Has Fugo been burned by it already? Or does he simply see the potential, and wants to protect himself before it's too late?

The individual squares of his screen switch between yellow and red at random, and he crosses his arms.]

I FAIL TO UNDERSTAND WHAT PART OF THIS YIELDS "NO GOOD RESULT." DO YOU FEAR LOSING SOMEONE YOU'VE GROWN CLOSE TO, DARLING? BECAUSE OF THE TRANSIENCE OF OUR STAY... AND THE PAIN OF YOUR POTENTIAL LOSS?

[God, he's nosy. It's almost commendable, except for the part where Fugo is the one who's on the spot and has to field these questions. This Mettaton guy would probably make one hell of a reporter.]

My reasons are personal. We just met. I'm not going to spill my guts just to satisfy your curiosity.

Edited 2020-01-24 03:39 (UTC)

[He would love to hear it, since he'd fancy himself a reporter.

Mettaton throws his hands up in the air, his screen blinking red a few times.]

AH! AND YOU WONDER WHY YOU DON'T MAKE CLOSE CONNECTIONS! SINCE IT'S YOUR DESIGN, AT LEAST YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING. [He wheels up to Fugo with a finger pointed his way.] YOU MAKE IT SOUND LIKE I HAVE NO INVESTMENT IN YOUR HAPPINESS. WE MAY HAVE JUST MET... BUT PUTTING SUCH DISTANCE BETWEEN YOURSELF AND OTHERS CONCERNS ME, FUGO-DARLING.

[The longer Mettaton's lecture goes on, the deeper Fugo's frown gets. It's clear he's not pleased to be lectured; there's not even a flicker that he might believe what Mettaton is saying. In fact, when Mettaton wheels up to him, his back, shoulders, and jaw go very tense as he stands his ground. To keep his hands occupied Fugo folds his arms, posture tight and defensive, across his chest.]

Yeah, yeah. Are you done? As I mentioned before, I have work that I would like to get back to.

[Mettaton pauses for a moment before he raises both of his hands to the front of his body, the way one might if they were clasping their palms over their mouth in shock.]

OH MY GOD. YOU ARE COMPLETELY UNMOVED. HOW GHASTLY. HAVE YOU TRULY BEEN HURT SO BADLY, BY THE LIKES OF FRIENDSHIP...? YOU MUST BE SO TERRIBLY ALONE.

[Wasn't he even hesitant to refer to someone as a friend before correcting himself, earlier on...? His remark, then, is in hopes of at least confirming that he's not. He must have friends.]

[Fugo rolls his eyes.]

Spare me the melodrama. Only someone incredibly gullible would fall for a line like that. You're obviously just fishing. [He gestures with his chin towards the door.] Don't you have other houses to spread your Santa Baby propaganda to?

[Wow. Now that's just mean. Don't be rude, Fugo.]

(no subject)

metalcrusher - 2020-02-11 06:04 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only