☆ Event Log: Snatched, Part One

[faileas]

Event Log: January, Snatched - Part One

I. The Fires (14th) Though it began this month with petty vandalism, before long, things escalate. On the evening of the 14th, when many are settling down for the night, fires blaze to life simultaneously all over the city, though they seem to cluster in places that Mirrorbound and refugees frequent. Homes, businesses, market stalls, the Barracks, the Residential Districts, they could pop up anywhere, but the worst of them seem to hit different locations within the Haven. The refugees stand to lose a lot in the fires, everything they've built up since arriving here at the end of September, and Mirrorbound stand to suffer damage to the homes or businesses they've built in Aefenglom. No doubt everyone is quick to catch on, but with so many locations burning at once, help is thin on the ground. As soon as they're alerted, the Coven sends out a call to all Witches, Merrow, water-based Dragons, anyone who can manipulate water or ice to help put out the fires across town before they can spread. With the city plan so tight and buildings so close together, it's a real worry. They'll accept all hands, even those with no particular water-based talents - anybody can carry buckets, after all. Bucket brigades made up of mostly Monsters form from the River Temese out to pass water to where it's needed most. Others with fire magic or resistances are asked to search the buildings still on fire for anyone still trapped inside. On the streets, more set up stations to treat burns and smoke inhalation, and to check people over for worse injuries. It takes a couple of hours to put out the last of the flames, but thanks to quick action, no lives are confirmed lost. The City Guard is present at the sites of the fires in the hours afterward, questioning witnesses and determining the sources with both magical and Monster-ability-based methods, but as the chaos calms down, it quickly becomes clear that 1. this is a case of purposeful arson, and 2. not all witnesses are present. Maybe it's your friend, or family member, or just an acquaintance you know you saw go into their house at the end of the day, but they're conspicuously absent from the crowds gathered on the streets. Those who are Bonded to a missing person feel it first, though - a horrible sensation like a pillow over the face or a tightening in the chest, smothering their Bond to barely anything, except the very rare flicker of something, a tiny spark lost to the darkness as soon as it's felt. The sudden absence of them is like a case of phantom limb, something that should be there suddenly isn't, but yet it isn't quite an annullment or breaking of the Bond. It's still there, just muted and tamped down. It feels a little different for everyone, maybe painful or maybe just uncomfortable, or maybe, in the cases of new or less-close Bonds, it simply feels as if it never existed. Regardless, those Bonded can't be found through Bonds. It's like those loved ones have vanished, without a trace. The City Guard and Coven representatives alike will seek to make a comprehensive list of all who have gone missing, but Mirrorbound cooperation will be needed for that; they would know better than anyone, because the missing ones are all Mirrorbound or refugees.

II. The Lost Souls (14th - 20th) CW: Torture, captivity, restraints. You were spirited away in the middle of the night. Maybe you were out, or maybe you were safe in your own home, but either way, someone managed to get the drop on you. Upon waking, everything is fuzzy, until clarity returns suddenly and violently. It's possible to remember a struggle, an enchanted darkness that might have enveloped you, maybe even a glimpse of the face of the human or Witch who grabbed you, but now you're stuck in a small, stone cell, the only entrance covered in shiny new bars thick enough to hold back a rampaging Dragon. The hall beyond is also stone and dimly lit by sparse magitech lights and the soft, runic glow of spells drawn on the walls and floors. There are more cells like yours, filled with more Monsters and Witches like you. What's worse, maybe you're alone, or maybe another poor soul is trapped with you - the space isn't exactly large enough for two, but the comfort might be nice. Witches will find their magic restrained, tamped down with a spell similar to the Coven's punishment for lawbreaking. Monsters' restraints are more traditional - muzzles, chains, manacles, and particular weaknesses that differ from Monster type to Monster type, such as silver or iron, water, or the lack of water. Even if, by some small mercy, a person finds themselves with their hands free, all of the captives' Watches have been taken, along with most other belongings on them. The uncertainty of your new location doesn't last for long. It's only a matter of time before people pass through the cellblock in pairs or trios, talking to each other and ignoring the captives behind bars, checking up on the spells that line the room. Those with keen memories will realize - these are not the same people who took them in the first place. All are human, and they all share a familial resemblance - black hair, violet eyes, pointed noses, and unpleasant sneers. Over time, with observation (and what else are you going to do, while you wait for the worst?), maybe frequenters of the Coven will pick out a familiar face, a haughty, unpopular Witch named Constance Rathmore who refuses to associate with Mirrorbound in classes, or those familiar with the law might pick out a mid-ranked member of the City Guard named Godfrey Rathmore, who perhaps looks the other way when refugees are harassed. As the hours tick by, it becomes obvious that there are maybe 22 of the Rathmore family, the only ones with access to this corridor. Other voices, maybe familiar from the kidnapping, can be heard outside the main doors at times, but they never enter, and seem none the wiser as to what is actually happening. a. The Torments And what is happening? Something sinister. It's usually a different set of family members, a pair of cousins, the daughter or the son, occasionally even the matriarch and her son and daughter-in-law (who may be recognized as long-time members of Parliament). Their methods and motivations may be a bit different, but they share one thing - innate cruelty, and a hatred for those they see as a plague on Aefenglom, those harbingers of unwanted change. Sometimes they inflict pain on captives right there through the bars of the cells, with nasty spells or physical instruments, but more often, they choose a victim or two to remove from their cell, still in restraints, to take down the hall, through the heavy door at the opposite end from the entrance. The wide room at the end is a place of horrors: instruments of torture lining tables, heavy restraints, and glass jars to receive any bits or blood they might separate from the original owners, to sell on the black market. The runes on the walls and floor in this room are different as well - this is advanced, forbidden magic, practiced by the daughter Constance on brand new test subjects. When the family members have grown bored or tired themselves out, they return their current playthings to a cell - not always the same cell with the same cellmate, not always with the same restraints, but every time they ensure that it will be difficult to escape or fight back. b. The Whispers While the Rathmores do not often speak directly to captives, they speak to each other quite a bit, as do the others who occasionally pass outside the heavy door at the entrance and simply seem to serve as watchmen outside the corridor. It's easy to get snippets of conversation between the horrors. What else are you going to do, besides wait, and listen, and plot your escape? "Shame about Uncle Rodolphus. Scarred by the mist, his Black Market business raided." "None of it would have happened if they hadn't provoked Dorchacht. It was Drummond's Witch in our city who unleashed that awful gas, as retribution for what they did over there..." "...-Destabilizing a whole city like that, and there are only a hundred of them give or take. Imagine what they'll do to Aefenglom if we don't stop it." "They'll all want to leave after this, surely. We'll go for another batch in a couple of weeks, once Godfrey convinces the Guard to stop looking." "Good. Maybe Dorchacht will take them. Them and their brutal revolutionaries..." "...-Father thinks we can control them if he manages to get in touch with his contact in Dorchacht. They had that spell, you know? Like the collars, but better. Maybe then we can sell them off, make some money back to cover our losses..." "...-All this pushing for equality. The whole economy will collapse. Everyone has their place in a functioning society, right, sister?"... "...-heard from Mr. Rathmore himself they're doing magic in there. A spell to send the Mirrorbound home, and the refugees along with them." "Then why did we have to grab them like that? You'd think they'd want to leave." "The Coven wants them here, obviously. It's a power-play, there's no way they'd allow Mr. Rathmore to do this..." "...-I don't know about this, the Rathmores always seemed a little extreme-..." As a reminder: while this prompt contains a general content warning for torture, please make sure to leave decently specific content warnings in your headers for anything that may be uncomfortable for other players to stumble across. The level of torture experienced by each character is up to the individual players - please respect each other's limits!

III. The Ones Left Behind (14th - 20th) Meanwhile, out in the city, the atmosphere is a new kind of tense. The papers pick up the story pretty quickly, so before long, it seems that everyone knows about it. In the days since the fires, repairs seem to be on the backburner; the remaining refugees especially worry for their missing friends and loved ones, and the missing Mirrorbound. The graffiti stops entirely, as do nasty comments in the streets. The upper-class, when they come into contact with the remaining Mirrorbound, cannot meet their eyes, or even react with genuine sympathy, a rare few even saying in hushed murmurs that they hope they find their people. Vandalizing their property is one thing, it seems, but people simply vanishing, Bonds being smothered... that's another. Even if they don't worry for the Mirrorbound, they worry for their own safety in Aefenglom now. On the other hand, residents of the Western Residential District, primarily Monsters but including a fair few humans as well, stop by the Haven more often, bringing food and kind words, and asking after the disappearances with real concern. The City Guard is an increased presence on the streets, trying to track down witnesses who may have information, but without warrants, their hands are tied in a lot of cases. Some Mirrorbound are asked quietly by the Lead Investigator if they wouldn't mind looking into some of the sources of the fires, and trying to track down anyone who might have seen something - they can operate a little more loosely, not being bound by the same bureaucracy as the Guard. They're promised Guard and Coven cooperation and support in this. The demand for artists increases in the days after the abduction. Many of the refugees especially will seek out anyone who can draw to help them create fliers about the missing people to post around town, to raise awareness. Maybe they want to make posters of another refugee, or maybe they want posters made of particular Mirrorbound faces who helped them in the past. They're distressed, but they're pulling together as a community - and it's clear they consider all the Mirrorbound a part of it, judging from how they'll try to pull anyone in to their efforts to put the 'missing' posters up around the city. The Coven, too, is in a flurry of worry, second only to the refugees, who are missing some of their own as well. Many of the regular classes are disrupted and become impromptu Divining sessions, circles of Witches holding hands and chanting in rooms filled with incense smoke, making concentrated efforts to determine the location of their missing fellows. After all, many Mirrorbound are their classmates, and they want to see them returned safely. Anyone passing through the Coven may get pulled into one of these sessions - Witches to lend their magic to the circle, Monsters who know any of the missing to act as foci. Unfortunately, nothing concrete turns up in the fleeting visions they do get, and the backlash is immense, resulting in splitting migraines. It's magical interference for sure. Luckily, Miss Aerianna, the middle-aged Arachne caretaker to the Dreamers (who, she'll say, are currently unreachable - they're trying to suss out the missing Mirrorbound as well), is well-versed with Divination headaches, and is around distributing her supposed cure-all, which smells like swamp-water and tastes twice as bad. At least it works on the headaches. While the part of the city who wanted to see the Mirrorbound gone have quieted down some, the part of the city that welcomes them has grown louder, providing what support they can to try to find those lost souls who have vanished. The investigation briefs will be posted under location-specific headers down below! Feel free to thread underneath them with others investigating the same area, or collaborate with other teams to share information. We decided to go ahead and allow for everyone who signed up to investigate whichever area they're interested in rather than splitting characters into mod-decided teams, but we encourage working together!

Welcome to Part One of January's event, Snatched! The sign-ups thread is here - it's not too late to get involved. Only the kidnapped characters who will escape on the evening of the 20th is closed out to new sign-ups. Headers for the investigations are here. Part Two of this event will be posted on the 21st and will include the escape, rescue and bringing the perpetrators to justice.

And a note for all! If your character does anything significant during Part 1 or Part 2, we want to hear about it on the city tracker! Make sure your submissions are in by Feb. 3rd, because a special aftermath post will go up on the 4th.

Comments

[glitzandglamour]

[He abstains from nodding in sympathy, which truly isn't difficult to do with the oppressive reminder of soul-crushing pain weighing more heavily on him than before. There are so many options to someone without a body, but he remembers being just as selective about his options. He could have taken any old body, but it wouldn't fulfill his ambitions the same way having this humanoid figure does. There hardly seems to be a difference to Mettaton between mortal nature and humanity, but he supposes it's the form versus functions. He doesn't see what's not to love about both.

Emet-Selch made a good choice when it came to human hosts, either way. He's unmistakable in countenance, and to Mettaton, he considers it a suitable look for his manner of expression. A prevalent, jaded tiredness, with a handle over his emotive range. Maybe that's what it means to have been around for so long.

When he suggests that he might have some experience with ghosts, Mettaton's response is immediate.]

Yes. And no. Of course. [His gaze wanders to the side.] Some of the monsters from my world... are ghosts. They're very different from other monsters. No way to touch them, harm them, or impede them... Of course I have experience with them. I pride myself on reaching out to all of my fans! Some of which are ghosts. In fact, a new member of my troupe is a ghost.

[He smiles. He hasn't thought too much about Napstablook in a while, but he hopes they're not too upset that he's gone missing. ...Who is he kidding? They probably are. But they're also probably used to having important people go missing on them. He's going to ignore this train of thought now.]

Anyway... It's only natural, knowing of ghosts.

[unsundered]

You would think it to be natural, but I suppose all worlds aren't created equal. Not everyone is as accepting as yourself, and... my kind are not quite as impervious as we once thought. Our numbers dwindle by the day, it seems.

[If he says it lightly enough, it's like it doesn't matter, right?]

But you're some sort of performer, I take it? How has that fared, in a city that doesn't recognize your kind of existence?

[And quite possibly a ghost as well, considering the manner of Mettaton's response. Not that it particularly mattered to Emet-Selch one way or another; a soul in a machine held much the same novelty as a ghost in a machine. Unimportant, but he'd take what small diversions of thought he could, at the moment.

...And if he was an entertainer, that would explain a few things. Personality, for one. And the- admittedly somewhat impressive- ability to maintain this degree of calm despite considerable pain and a state of general peril. Now there was some professionalism.

Not that the Ascian really blamed the more uncontrolled, bitter, or otherwise panicked displays he'd seen or overheard from others, as they came to terms with their undoubtedly imminent demise. For all that they were so good at dying, mortals tended to face it with such shock. He expected little better.]

[glitzandglamour]

[Ah, an easier diversion when he needs it most. Mettaton can only keep himself together so well, and he finds himself closing his eyes to reduce the amount of sensory input he has to process. Even though his sight is hardly one of the things that ails him, this is still all a lot... And even though this man's described himself as a ghost who takes on a mortal body, he can't bring himself to explain that he, too, is a ghost. And that's why he'll easily focus on himself as a performer.

He wonders how long they've been talking. It feels like ages, and he's all right with that if it means he can avoid ages more being cut apart and put back together again.]

Ha, ha. Which part don't they recognize, again? The part about being a robot? Or the part about banning theater?

[He remembers Amadeus suggesting that he and Mettaton were targeted for trying to go against the grain so boldly. Maybe this family's linked to parliament after all, and everybody here's done something to defy Aefenglom's order. (They do it by being here at all, he supposes.)]

Yes, I'm a performer. The spotlight's my element! I haven't been caught... Unless this counts. But I'm not about to let some laws stop me, even after— [His voice hitches and his entire body goes rigid. What was he saying? For all Mettaton plays it off, the Rathmores see to it that he feels enough pain to make up for a lifetime without.] ...After we get out of here.

[unsundered]

[Emet-Selch hadn't been at all surprised to hear of the ban, once he'd realized the mood and attitudes of the city. Theater could easily be a tool of dissension, a way of speaking out on the ills of society that those in charge would prefer not to hear. It leads to people getting the wrong ideas. It was exactly why he'd encouraged its existence while he'd been emperor (well, that and it being occasionally entertaining, he supposed). An added touch of destabilization in a nation designed to fail.]

The city shows remarkably bad taste at times. Not that I expect the law to even need to stop you--

[As he notes that pause- the hesitation, the pain, the denial. And for a moment, Emet-Selch considers going along with it. The pretense, the delusion that everything would be fine; that was what they had been doing up until now- marking time, waiting for the inevitable return of their jailers. The inevitable addition of pain, the application of futility.

In the end, his unfortunate tendency towards the sharing of misery wins out. His tone is still detached, for all that the words aren't.]

--After all, we're not getting out of this alive. Not in any readily identifiable pieces.

[glitzandglamour]

[Mettaton opens his eye half-way, and his smile grows. He had his brief moment for giving into the pain, unfulfilling as it was. Emet-Selch's outlook tells him that it's time to perform again.]

You say that like a statement, beautiful... If I were anybody else, you might've dashed all of my hopes and dreams with such a dismissal. So severe...

[His voice is low and smooth, like he's talking flattery and not about Emet-Selch's pessimistic, albeit realistic view of their situation. Once again, he strains against the locked iron chains as if forgetting that it's futile. Gesturing isn't allowed.]

I'm a Puca. I decided to read up on them recently, after I found myself capable of detecting danger. [Only recently, because before that, he didn't want to. Learning stuff like that just makes it all settle in, after all. It was another Mirrorbound's bemusement that convinced him to finally look into his condition.] I'll cut to the chase. I don't agree with you a bit, darling! And I'm willing to bet on it, as a Puca is so thrilled to do. We'll get out alive... one way or another. Whether they find us, or we save ourselves.

[unsundered]

Oh...? Considering your successful capture, I can't say I have much faith in this ability of yours.

[And he waves it off with his good hand, voice casual, dismissive. The Ascian had thousands of lifetimes worth of negativity to fall back on; it was not so easily moved.

The display of... charming reassurance invoked a mixed feeling of amusement and vague annoyance. Still, as strange as his companion was, Emet-Selch was at least not bored.]

And why would anyone accept a bet that the loser has no chance of fulfilling? [Because Mettaton would surely lose, and then, they'd all be dead. Death doesn't provide much chance to savor one's victory.] But I'm feeling magnanimous. Good thing I won't survive long enough to make it a habit--

--We'll all be killed, one way or another. Either as individuals, once they tire of our responses, or passively, as we succumb to accumulated injury. Or we'll die as a group, once they realize they're on the verge of being discovered, they'll snuff us out in a final act of spite.

[glitzandglamour]

[In truth, he hadn't considered that there was any reason to care about the side of the bargain belonging to "tragedy, we're all going to die." What is there to be gained by dead people? His eye wanders about the room thoughtfully. The walls remind him of hours that feel like days, pain bad enough to render him trembling.

They could all die. There are so many ways and so many days ahead of them, days that could turn into months. They couldn't all survive that long.]

That's embarrassing... I hadn't thought about losing.

[He mumbles this to himself, wracking his brain for something he could wager if they were to die. With a shake of his head, he engages Emet-Selch again with a snort.]

Oh well! Your pessimism is so impressive, I almost don't want to place my bet after all. Listen to you. Who would want to spend so much time with somebody as much of a downer as you are?? But if you ask me, it's for your benefit. Yes... Even my own demand is a charitable act of kindness. You could use somebody like me around.

[Mettaton wriggles in his chains, a wicked grin spreading across his features.]

If we survive and escape, I want you to bond with me. Even a temporary one, I don't care. If we die, well... You're like a ghost, aren't you? We'll talk about it then.

[He's not sure if he'd survive dying, having grown so close to his body. But hey, he was the one who described himself as magnanimous. He can choose what to do with Mettaton's terms.]

[unsundered]

[It wasn't the sort of penalty the Ascian had been expecting, and a flicker of surprise shows in his expression, before shifting into one of consideration. Even if he was certain it wouldn't come about, he was too cautious to agree carelessly.]

Of all the things... I don't think you realize what you would be getting into.

[He was a deeply unhappy person, after all, and he didn't always bother keeping it from seeping into that tether. It was ever-present. A low-level echo of his pervasive misery. Granted, his current Bonds had yet to complain, but....

As, technically, he was already at three Bonds. Somehow. But Emet-Selch decides not to mention that. It wasn't as though he believed in the supposed limitation, had long considered it just a means to keep their powers at a level that wouldn't threaten the status-quo. Moreover, his soul was surely stronger than anyone else's- surely. And taking on an additional Bond would prove it.

...Besides, it wasn't as though it mattered anyway. He wouldn't lose. Half-shrugging again, he fixes Mettaton with a more serious look.]

Very well. Should we survive, you'll have your Bond. For so long as you choose to endure it.

[Why did he have a terrible feeling about this....]

[glitzandglamour]

[Mettaton lights up. Even his ears twitch, despite being so mangled and burnt. If he knew Emet-Selch had three Bonds already, it wouldn't stop him from laying down his terms, but he'd have to laugh on behalf of his Bondmates. Whoever they are. He doesn't know quite what a Bond feels like, but if the Coven's right and there's a transference of mood and such... Yeah, he would pity them if Emet-Selch feels the way he carries himself all the time.

He looks forward to witnessing for himself how a Bond feels. How he'll feel, having some connection with somebody as sour as his cellmate, and vice versa. He has no clue what he's getting himself into, he won't deny, but that's the enjoyable part. And if the Coven's right about memories bleeding over... He has to be selective about his Bond, no matter how desperately he needs one.]

Fabulous! I knew you'd agree. Who could say no to a deal like this? And since I'm determined to make sure that I win... I'll have you know that I adore a challenge. Endure? Ha. Yes, I'm sure you're a lot to put up with. However. You should be more worried about keeping up with me. My charming personality might shock you.

[Besides, Emet-Selch and his dour disposition interest Mettaton, who always finds himself drawn toward people quite his opposite.]

Brace yourself, gorgeous. My incredibly faithful prophetic senses tell me you'll be feeling optimism in the near future. Not only because of my contagious charisma... But because I'm right about our survival.

[Mettaton doesn't have prophetic senses like that.]

[unsundered]

[There's a word for what Emet-Selch is feeling about now in regards to the thought of survival, and it's not optimistic. Neither in the sense of believing in it, nor looking forward to it.

Zodiark save him, win or lose he was going to have a bad time. But then, what else had his life been, from the very start? Even when the world had been perfect, he'd never been happy.]

Yes, it's not hard to tell that you're the energetic sort. Tiresome and nosy and obnoxiously stubborn.

[Hythlodaeus would probably be laughing at him right now. Emet-Selch really couldn't escape talkative companions.]

But should this misfortune of survival come to pass, we'll see who grinds down the other's patience first. I wouldn't say that I enjoy a challenge-- [But then, he didn't enjoy anything.] but neither am I the type to give up.

[Apart from mostly assuming the inevitability of death in this scenario, but... even so, he hung on out of spite. Spite was a good motivator.]

[glitzandglamour]

Ooh, a little competitive, are we? Now that's what I like to hear. At this rate, neither of us will give in! We'll be stuck together by Bond... Sullen and cheerful, a dazzling pair. How romantic...

[Nobody should be excited for this Bond in this or in any situation, but here we are. Saying things like this.

Mettaton smiles, finding this humorous banter to be a controlled outlet for his mischievous instincts as a Puca. The last thing he wants to have happen is for him to lose control in any of the ways he could while in this place — he can't give anyone an inch. He seems to be content with letting his more flirtatious remark end his thought, but he brightens up with realization.]

My, my. Talk about an oversight. Here we've been talking souls. Mortals. Anticipated demises, unfortunate survivals. Romance. Even betting Bonds versus death... But I haven't even given you my name. I'm Mettaton.

[unsundered]

Well, t'would be no point in sharing one's name if there was no intention of meeting again. But as a reward for your persistence... I'm called Emet-Selch.

[Said with a small incline of his head. It wasn't his name, of course, but he didn't give that out to just anyone.

Maybe it was the stubbornly constant jabbing pain in his shoulder and wrist that was clouding his judgement, but he wasn't sure which fate sounded worse. ...Alright no, that wasn't true; even now, Emet-Selch knew he'd easily take survival and a troublesome companion over some manner of death. But if he couldn't wallow in a bit of self-pity under these conditions, when could he?

Still, it would... probably be fine. Probably. His existing Bonds were all with people who knew his nature, his history, and that had all worked out well enough. As complicated as it was, he didn't regret any of them. So a Bond in the opposite direction, to a relative stranger, who he knew little of, and who knew little of him- it would be a novelty, if nothing else. It wasn't the most comfortable thought, but he also didn't think it would matter. It wasn't as though anything Mettaton learned of him would make any difference.

It would be fine. He'd survived worse.

...Not that he would survive this, he reminds himself.]

Still... whatever fate has in store for us, I don't think either of us will be bored.

[The way he says it, it's almost a threat. Or at least deeply ominous.]

[glitzandglamour]

Emet-Selch...

[Only called, huh? Mettaton quirks his eyebrow at that. He can take a hint. There's another name, one he either holds close like a secret or one he'd wish away in an instant. Or both. He wonders which one he prefers above all, or if Emet-Selch is that answer. (Personally, he would never say he's only called Mettaton, as if there were other option! It's a weird matter of ghost identity, he supposes. Find new body, assume new name.)

Not knowing is part of the intrigue, he decides. Even if he were in some unwisely hypocritical space of wanting to pry (very likely, in the future), he has to let it slide.

He doesn't have a choice. Lying on his back is sometimes the worst reminder of his current state, the chains digging into his upper and lower back where there's tissue growing in. He turns his head to stare at the ceiling instead of Emet-Selch, and the mere movement is enough to send his world spinning. He shouldn't have moved. All he can do is shut his eyes and grit his teeth, rendered momentarily silent.

No matter how knocked down he is, MTT still manages a snicker when he hears (or rather, processes, because it takes him a moment) Emet-Selch's hybrid threat/warning. When he tries to reply, his voice is transmitted at a lower volume.]

...Ha. I'll hold you to that... Whatever you have going on in that hopeless head of yours. I guarantee that entertaining comes naturally for me... And I dislike boredom. Now THAT would be torture.

[unsundered]

[It was a deliberate way of phrasing things, it was true. And Emet-Selch can guess, from Mettaton's reaction, that he's picked up on it, which was a small point to his favor (he could appreciate observant sorts). And another small point for not, at least immediately, inquiring further.

That it was only a title was something he rarely volunteered, but had no problem with explaining, if asked. It still wouldn't get Mettaton his actual name, though. Even if it wasn't as though anyone knowing it would put the Ascian at a disadvantage, or really, have much of an effect at all- but it was personal. The one thing he had left that was truly his own.

But this was not really the time or place to go into such things. Even this much of a conversation, this much of a pretense of being fine, had tired him- and Emet-Selch had never possessed much energy to start. The brief silence is something of a blessing, and he huffs quietly when it's inevitably broken.]

...yes, well, you can entertain me now by being quiet. [Said as he shifts slowly, awkwardly back, to curl as much as he can against a wall. Closing his eyes, he considered the pain when he breathed; that was probably broken ribs. Ah well.] If you talk me to death, I'll count it as your loss.

[glitzandglamour]

So you take pleasure in simply viewing my battered and broken body... I don't know whether I should be flattered, or disgusted. Though I can't blame you.

[Not at all what he said, but Mettaton sounds smug, even though he doesn't open his eye.]

If my figure alone is enchanting enough to occupy you, then I might... shut off, for now. That's something robots do. Besides. I've been so very busy as of late.

[Mettaton does not shut off by will, nor has he ever technically needed sleep. He does run out of battery from time to time, but this isn't quite like that. He opens his eye and glances to Emet-Selch, though he makes sure his expression is livelier than he feels. Passing out is a choice, not an automatic response to days of severe torture and letting his guard down!]

[unsundered]

Please. As fascinating as your form is, I couldn't care less for its condition.

[Though he knows it's just teasing, Emet-Selch can't help but reply, though any exasperation is mostly out of habit.

But at the rest of Mettaton's words, he briefly opens his eyes again to glance dubiously at him. If he could shut off, why in the world wouldn't he have done that to start with? It would've saved him from experiencing quite a lot of pain. ...Well, whatever.]

But yes. Good. 'Shut off', my own company is quite enough to occupy myself for what remains of this life.

[glitzandglamour]

"Fascinating..." I'll feel flattered, then.

[He smirks.]

Take care, gorgeous. And I'll consider it cheating if you let yourself die... So, don't. I'm looking forward to surviving... And, to that Bond.

[The days really do feel like months, but that might be compounded by how long he's been keeping himself going. Mettaton doesn't understand why he's choosing Emet-Selch of all people to drop his guard in front of, and he sorts through the possibilities when his eyes curtain and he loses touch with his body. It could be mere chance that whoever he was stuck with this time would have to watch him go under, or it could be the very nature of their conversation: an investment of his energy for sure. He hasn't encountered somebody quite like him here, and his persistent melancholy is easy for Mettaton to bounce off of. He'll be fine. It's almost like his negative outlook keeps him going in this dismal place, just as Mettaton's positive one does for him.]