Mira Chambers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
inlikethebrume) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2020-02-01 09:15 am
inlikethebrume) wrote in middaeg2020-02-01 09:15 am
[Open] Come In From The Cold...
Who: House Darkness Residents and OPEN
When: All of February
Where: House Darkness in the Haven
What: It's an open log!
Warnings: Shadowbringers Spoilers in some threads possible, possible talk of the Snatched Event
[If anyone knows the residents of the house, it might seem strange that such a group have selected a cozy abode for their home in the city. However, it is not to be said that they are unwelcoming (depending on who) and usually when someone comes to visit, there's always a warm cup of tea ready for them...and maybe some food to go along with it. Feels like a crime if someone doesn't get fed. And despite the hardships of the previous month, the house does welcome guests for any particular reasons whether a visit for the soul, a chat to catch up on events, or even maybe go a few rounds with the poor striking dummy in the backyard.
When you live with sword users and have stress, it gets used, ok?
It might be chilly outside but strange enough, the house itself is pretty warm. Just mind the gaelkitten and Flood running around from time to time.]
((OOC: Feel free to make a top level if you wish! Open to all!))
When: All of February
Where: House Darkness in the Haven
What: It's an open log!
Warnings: Shadowbringers Spoilers in some threads possible, possible talk of the Snatched Event
[If anyone knows the residents of the house, it might seem strange that such a group have selected a cozy abode for their home in the city. However, it is not to be said that they are unwelcoming (depending on who) and usually when someone comes to visit, there's always a warm cup of tea ready for them...and maybe some food to go along with it. Feels like a crime if someone doesn't get fed. And despite the hardships of the previous month, the house does welcome guests for any particular reasons whether a visit for the soul, a chat to catch up on events, or even maybe go a few rounds with the poor striking dummy in the backyard.
When you live with sword users and have stress, it gets used, ok?
It might be chilly outside but strange enough, the house itself is pretty warm. Just mind the gaelkitten and Flood running around from time to time.]
((OOC: Feel free to make a top level if you wish! Open to all!))
no subject
Then let's not test your stamina any further, shall we? I'd hate to see things end so prematurely.
[So dryly spoken, face completely neutral as he holds out an arm to him.]
'Tis a specific magic we can learn. [Emet-Selch waves it off with his other hand, though he'd certainly made picking the spell up a priority.] And it'll do me no more harm than walking all the way there.
[Considering both of their conditions, it's the best option for everyone. He knew being lazy would pay off in the end.]
no subject
The cyborg-Puca rises to his full height, taking Emet-Selch's arm with both of his hands: one has a regular grip, and the other's much fainter, like he hasn't quite regained the use of his fingers. He keeps close to Emet-Selch upon rising, definitely flirting with the boundary of personal space and into intimate space.]
I wouldn't let you walk there, Emet-Selch. I already offered to carry you! But you surprised me by offering to take me... Which I'm grateful for. My hero.
[For obvious reasons. Thank god for being lazy by going through the effort to learn magic to enable laziness. That's what learning to teleport for the sake of laziness is: ridiculous.]
no subject
Though he notes the difference in strength between the two grips, the Ascian refrains from commenting on it, gaze only flickering down to the other's hands for a moment. Nor does he seem at all discomforted or bothered by Mettaton's nearness. Oh, Emet-Selch certainly preferred his personal space. But he knew what was required of him.
Strengthening Bonds required some kind of physical contact, and if he was going to have this connection at all, it was going to be a useful one, a source of additional power. Something worth the side-effects. So he didn't have the luxury of maintaining distance.
Being called anyone's hero though, however teasing and non-seriously, only draws a twinge of ire from him, his gaze chilling a degree or two more even as he turns his concentration towards the teleportation magic itself. The familiar fading, the rush of power--
--And there they were, at that place in the Coven where this sort of thing was handled, safe and- well, not sound, but no worse off than before. A success. At a sudden thought though, he has to ask--]
...Have you done this before? I don't believe I've inquired.
[And though Emet-Selch thought he remembered most of their conversation during captivity, those days had started to blur together very badly by the end, into one long, terrible instant.]
You'll be my fourth, by the way. I hope you don't mind.
[Deciding to inform him, as much on a whim as for any other reason. Some last-ditch attempt to dissuade Mettaton, perhaps. Would the Ascian think to mention this to his others? Probably not. They might worry.]
no subject
[Mettaton's voice is airy and distant in thought, easy enough to get lost in the air compared to the way he usually delivers his lines. With his significant lack of experience with Bonds, he's not as well educated on them as he ought to be after months of being here. He's almost certain that exceeds the limit, but he can't remember: was it two, three, or four? Somewhere in that ballpark, but he's pretty sure four's over the max.
Unlike some, however, Mettaton rationalizes it easily. There's never too much of a good thing, and he's a wonderful thing.
He begins to backtrack. There's more clarity to his first month of being here, back in Aguril... But he hasn't Bonded even once. He's kept an eye out, but nobody caught his eye quite like Emet-Selch did, for some reason or another... And Alphys is another Monster, like he is. For Emet-Selch to pose the question has him feeling for months of bleak, empty despair occupying a space where he should have vitality. Like he had no soul. Like he'd lost himself. Papyrus explained this to him, he recalls. Urged the two of them to get a Bond with haste. By the time Noveuer hit, every sense felt overwhelming. Being alone in a room could have him freezing out of fear for minutes on end. Visiting the Coven with more frequency was all he could do, and his deteriorating body was the perfect excuse to be seen for his myriad of issues. No, he's never Bonded, but he knows the feeling of having one deeply entwined with him torn away from him. He's felt remarkably empty.
He'd never let it show, of course. He wonders if Emet-Selch will feel overwhelming vacancy. He doesn't show it, but maybe, just for a moment...
Mettaton's brow knits, his expression melancholic. It's worse than ever, he'll give it that... But he's had help from the Coven to get him this far along. They doled out the same warnings as Papyrus did: he's one of the Mirrorbound cases most vulnerable, having his entire magical essence stripped from him. Coming here robbed him of that familiar feeling, leaving him with his body and what felt like an absence of his soul, no matter how often he looks at it to remind him it's still there. Adjusting to the magic of Geardagas feels like it'll never happen, but he knows it'll just take a Bond. That's all. Emet-Selch may come off as a unrelentingly negative, but he could never compare to this.
His expression shifts again, thinking about how he likes that trait of his, anyway. It's endearing. He smiles, but his eye is still empty.]
No, I haven't. Not once. Are you gloating...? Who knew you'd be so popular. Ahaha...
[He barely cares to take in the Coven around them, locking eyes with Emet-Selch's. He's been here so often, though not for studying. About them, Witches seem to be well aware of the process: one look at Emet-Selch and Mettaton, with their closeness in proximity, tells them all they need to know. Mettaton offers Emet-Selch a knowing smile, even though it's weaker than his usual.]
Isn't four a bit greedy?
no subject
Which made him curious, against his better judgement. It didn't surprise Emet-Selch that there was something else lurking there beyond superficial affection and frivolous innuendo, though as to what it was, he didn't know. As much as he wouldn't admit to it, Emet-Selch didn't actually dislike Mettaton. Oh, he was deeply irritating to be sure, but he was clever and not dull- things that he didn't believe would be true if he were truly as straightforward as he first appeared.
(Insofar as anything about Mettaton is straightforward.)
But to have no Bonds at all, despite such extroversion.... There was a story there, certainly.
The Ascian hadn't actually gone that long without a Bond- only a month or so. And though he'd initially found the idea distasteful, it was when his Warrior of Light friends had approached him about it- not out of duty or pity, but because they wanted to- that he couldn't find a reason to refuse.
It was, perhaps, strange to accept a connection to one's murderers, but. So it goes. They were friends.
But when those connections had been smothered during captivity- it had been a disquieting feeling. Not only in the sensation itself, but that he'd felt... reduced, to not have them. That he was missing something important, rather than just something necessary.
But here he was, looking to add to that discomfort. But it was necessary, to protect himself, to protect--
It didn't matter.]
You'd be surprised. Something about my charming disposition, no doubt.
[A casual reply, as his thoughts return to that odd reaction...
Perhaps all that talk of longing for a Bond and whatnot hadn't been purely theatrical hyperbole. And if so, that really has Emet-Selch question: why him? If it was something viewed with importance or reluctance, why make a deal like that with a complete stranger? Especially one with as unpleasant a nature as himself- as, no matter how he might dryly comment otherwise, the Ascian knew he was neither kind, nor good.
But as irritating as Mettaton was, Emet-Selch knew that at least some people would find that personality type endearing, so the robot should have no lack of agreeable candidates. The idea of being a last resort was insulting, and the idea of it having been a matter of chance was absurd, but.... Well, he had no way of telling what it meant. Nor did it particularly matter, except as a minor puzzle.
He can only shrug at the last question, though his answer is honest.]
And I've never known when to stop. Now....
[Though it had been a while since he'd last been here for this purpose, the Ascian's memory is good. It always, unfortunately, had been. It's not hard for him to find where they need to go, who to talk to- it was all very straightforward.]
no subject
Yes... Charming. I'll call you charming, loosely speaking. In the sort of manner that I couldn't imagine being you!
[Though he doubts he's Bonding with him for a reason any of his other Bonds share, especially if they all have a shared history.
As he looks forward toward the Witches, who have prepared their magical circle, he considers his choices. Not like he hasn't made up his mind: when Mettaton wants something, he's going to get it. And he wanted Emet-Selch. He thought of Amadeus, but he couldn't stomach the thought of sharing anything beyond his theatrical demeanor to the musician, as well as they get along. So he never asked. He hardly considered Alphys — reasons that don't cast him in a very friendly light, all things considered. (Maybe he will, someday. If she needs him. ...He thinks she will.) Papyrus... is a fan, and most certainly not for consideration. Fleetingly he considered Eren for his bluntness, or Mira for her strength, or even Fugo for being a loner with such attitude, but never with enough weight or intent. Future propositions, perhaps.
He'd never just settle unless he was seconds from going feral, no, but he wouldn't mind saying that's all this is.
Emet-Selch, too, is clever. They both like that. He figured MTT out within an inch in their first conversation, if he hadn't already, and maybe it gives him a sense of security. He won't break from being imposed upon, in case hollowness has any impact on Mettaton's Bonded-to-be — he's jaded already. What's a little more of that? And his disposition is something familiar, if much more biting. He wouldn't want to change that about him, but Mettaton fancies sharing in such a mindset. And, once the initial part's over, he'd love to heckle someone like him. If Mira doesn't already, Mettaton knows he's full of emotions in deep contrast to irritable and apathetic types.
According to the rules, every Monster and Witch has Three Hands To Bond With. Yes, he remembers now: it's three. Four is over the limit. That's why Emet-Selch doesn't know when to stop. His smile turns impish.]
You're the kind of person without restraint, hm...? Well. Whatever. I won't tell you not to overdo it, since you're a man who knows what he wants. You signed up for this. [He winks. It's impossible to tell, since he only has one eye visible.] Well! Let's do this.
[What's the worst that could happen?? That he gets tired or something, from holding all of these Bonds? Take a nap, then. Eat some food. That's something people with bodies like his do to regain their stamina. This said, Mettaton takes a step forward, leading Emet-Selch by the arm with a really stupidly smug expression on his face.]
I should have dressed for the occasion! What color do you think would flatter me best, darling? Blue? I think you'd look ravishing in... reds. Golds. Anything to bring out your eyes...
no subject
It was true enough that a bit of hollowness wouldn't bother him- once it even registered. A small surprise, perhaps, and an additional point of interest, maybe, but it wouldn't be a hassle. Now positive emotions, those were the worst ones, the painful and unpleasant ones he wanted nothing to do with.
Heckling, likewise, he could deal with. It wasn't a dynamic he was unfamiliar with facing, for all that he didn't much find it in his current set of Bonds. Though Irhya could be teasing, Mira was warm, and K'rihnn was very kind.
So this would be a bit different. Strangely familiar, but different.
Even with his limp, the Ascian matches pace with Mettaton, sighing at his enthusiasm, even as he keeps his arm locked with his.]
I'm surprised to hear you'd be so formal. Surely dashing off in the heat of the moment, heedless of attire, has its own appeal.
[How romantic. He can say it with such a straight face too.
But it seemed to be set up now. The clasped arms, the set phrases, the feeling of magic etching itself upon him--
He could no longer see souls, in this world. Not his own, not anyone else's. It was like missing a limb, or a vital sense. But in the moment of being Bonded, it felt like, almost- almost- as if there was something there that he could still reach. Only for a few instants, not enough for him to tell the shape of it, but it was a moment of reassurance nonetheless. His soul, in some form, remained.
If nothing else, that fleeting sensation made it all worthwhile.]
no subject
[Still wearing a smug smile, Mettaton fancies it like standing in a cathedral with his betrothed, and attire's only an indicator as to their preparedness for it. (Prepare the divorce papers.) Therefore, Emet-Selch is exactly correct in predicting his way of thinking. Mettaton and Emet-Selch's gunshot wedding. This is an incredibly amusing thought to him.
He doesn't get a chance to really share his ridiculous thoughts (and trust, he would have) before the Witches conducting the ceremony get them started, pulling out their "magical signatures" for entwining. So unfamiliar with the process of Bonding is Mettaton that at first, this doesn't strike him as odd in the slightest: so he's seeing Emet-Selch's soul. So what? Though it certainly doesn't take the form of a monster's soul, giving it a uniqueness all its own. He regards this with a comfortable smile at first.
This is his normal.
But he realizes quickly that on Geardagas, this isn't normal at all. This is a unique property of the Bonding ceremony. He hasn't seen a soul in months besides the core, symbolic representation of his own. Mettaton's expression drops and softens, instead starstruck by this familiarly unique experience. Finally, he was seeing his company's soul. This is how monsters such as himself are accustomed to interacting with their world. It's been odd, but unimportant, not having that facet of life to deal with. While Emet-Selch fixates on his own soul, Mettaton's captivated by the form of Emet-Selch's, scarcely regarding any sign of his own.]
... Your soul...
[Mettaton's familiarity with it all, and his surprise at seeing it unfold before him, is all too transparent on his features.
He grips down on Emet-Selch, entranced. Emet-Selch's leaves an impression nothing like the potent but delicate souls belonging to monsters. It's completely different. Old habits die hard, and Mettaton feels like he's finally seeing him for his core essence. Something he's always been able to do that he took for granted... And something that barely lasts for long enough to relish.
Back to Geardagas's normal. At this point, the ceremony is complete.]
no subject
How strange. How foreign, and how strange. Those Warriors had been nothing but familiar- achingly, terribly familiar, in their broken way- but this was entirely different. And considering the weight he put to souls- interesting.
How he cursed his lack of sight all over again; as terrible as this world would always be, he couldn't even have the novelty of seeing the souls of several dozen different stars.
And then it was over. A twinge of- something- passes through his chest, and he flinches, fingers unconsciously digging into Mettaton's arm for a moment, before relaxing. Had he overextended himself, just from this small outing? ...That must be it. He was still healing, after all.
The Ascian is silent, contemplative as they leave the room. A slightly less routine experience than he'd expected; Mettaton's reaction was also a bit intriguing, and while it probably would've been more polite or expected to ask how he was feeling with his shiny new Bond, this question interested him more.]
How much do you know about souls?
[That had been familiarity. Yet even in his old society, very few could see souls as he did, and in his present day, no one could.]
no subject
So when he asks about souls, it doesn't terribly surprise him. He knows he made it clear that he was enchanted. He level his gaze with the Ascian's — both of them with only one golden eye.]
How much do I know. How much does anyone know about the nature of the soul? What an odd question. As someone with a soul, I'm very intimate with them, in theory... Hahaha.
[A flash of teeth. That's not what Emet-Selch was asking, but he's lightening the mood. Ah— is that the feeling of a Bond? The world around him begins to shift, slowly but surely, an equilibrium he's scarcely had. Mettaton takes a contented sigh. If he's feeling this way, he wonders if Emet-Selch is feeling the void of magic he felt for so long. He's being a parasite. Hang in there, Emet-Selch.]
I hadn't seen one ever since I got here... What a dazzling surprise. You should have told me! As for my familiarity... I lived among people who were very attuned to the power of their souls. In fact... They lacked physical form. Each one had a form made out of their own soul, manifested magically.
[Not that he was one of those people, but he's positive Emet-Selch will catch his drift. He was! Not one with a magical body, of course — such was his life, as an incorporeal being turned into a physical one. He's usually able to get away with saying he's a monster without having any further questions, but he probably already knows that he was a specific sort of monster.
With his weaker hand, Mettaton makes a beckoning motion into the air — a flourish he would make if he were trying to pull Emet-Selch's soul to visibility. The last person he did it to was the fallen human.]
And so, we expressed ourselves with these souls of ours! Now. Monster souls all look somewhat the same. Human souls... are so delightfully diverse, yet distinctly human. But your soul gave me an impression unique yet... Nothing I've seen. I suppose it's because, as you say, you're a sort of ghost...?
[Not like his own soul, that's for sure. He tilts his head, searching for Emet-Selch's response to see if his response was what he was looking for.]
no subject
And while he'd always listened to Mettaton's words, there's little trace of the Ascian's usual irritation, replaced with a simple curiosity. If there's any hint of a new, yawning void- he's currently distracted from dwelling on it. As soon as that wears off, though? It'll be a fun little addition.
Because all this was interesting. Souls existing without physical form sounded quite like ghosts to him, though from Mettaton's description, it seemed like an entirely separate thing. As though the soul itself became a physical kind of shell...? Or was simply physical in a way he was unused to considering. And with the way Mettaton referred to things- he was almost certainly a ghost then, with whatever difference that entailed.]
And yourself...? Incapable of manifesting a physical form like the rest, perhaps, you inhabit another?
[Mostly curious to see if he'd admit to it. But everyone being attuned to their soul's status sounded pleasant enough. Better than being ignorant, as he was used to.
The gesture is just a gesture to him, unfortunately; he'd be deeply interested, though, in the idea of rendering a soul visible to another. But he looks away, humming to himself, trying to decide how to explain.]
...My own soul 'tis unusual, though perhaps not in the way that you mean. In size and shape, it is the same as before I became a 'ghost'. However, due to the influence of my god, it has changed hue, and gained the ability to persist beyond physical flesh. But if that glimpse of your soul is at all representative, I suppose anyone from my world would appear unique.
[Though he can't allow himself to be lumped in entirely with them--]
However, on my star as it currently is, no one has the ability to view souls the way I- and to a lesser degree the few others of my kind- can. Moreover, only myself and two others have intact souls- every other life on my world has been shattered, torn apart.
[There's a bitterness there that he can't quite restrain, and he shakes his head, as though to clear it. But when he looks back to Mettaton though, he's... not quite as unfriendly. Like there's almost a hint of nostalgia there, somehow.]
--'Tis a pity I could get no more than an impression of yours. It seemed interesting.
[Not hideously malformed and broken like he's used to being surrounded by. It's a compliment.]
no subject
Fundamentally, Emet-Selch gets it. He's treated to a knowing smile at his hypothesis concerning Mettaton's existence, all but verbally confirming it. Having somebody know even this much unsettles him... But isn't that one of the motivating factors behind wanting to Bond with him? He can't afford to let just anyone know, and he already had him figured out. Emet-Selch already understands what distinguishes him from other monsters, and though he finds that there's more unfavorable complications to incorporeality, he already touched upon those equivocally in their cell.
Being incapable of manifesting a physical form covers most of it, aside from his envy for the human figure. It's as close to an admission as he'll get, for now. The android places a hand on his narrow waist, his finger and thumb framing the heart-shaped core capsuled there.
When Emet-Selch describes the altered nature of his soul, however, Mettaton's eye lights with intensity as he leans in. A 'ghost's' soul, having been modified to persist beyond his host's end... He remembers him mentioning it before, but it takes on new meaning for him now. Mettaton wonders if the same laws govern the interaction between a monster's soul and ones that persist beyond their body here in Geardagas. That's a soul he could take, if it still had any weight... (And what would it yield if he did?) Most likely, it doesn't.
More than that, this Ascian's soul is unheard of: it already represents that fearsome fusion. Delightfully absurd. If things were the same as it were in his world, wouldn't that mean that Emet-Selch possesses the same powers one would expect out of a horrifying combination?
The bitterness is noted, but he lets it go unremarked upon. Emet-Selch strikes him as prickly, liable to strike down conversation if he poked at sentimentality, if talking about Mira before was any indication. He doesn't want to do that now. He could inquire about it, but he'll play his cards later.]
You flatter me, gorgeous. All for having a soul intact! That's only common, from my perspective. But... If there's an interesting soul between us, it's yours. I'm fascinated. [He postures with his free hand against his cheek.] If I still had my natural abilities, I might have been able to really show my soul to you... And bring yours out, to sate my own curiosity. What a shame! That we've been stripped of our talents.
[Emet-Selch is an odd mix between his understanding of the soul, immortal like a ghost but with the tenacity of a human, if his can persist outside of the body. He's jealous! He can even possess bodies of flesh, not strictly inanimate ones like Mettaton. But he points toward Emet-Selch.]
...You're not a human by any means. Your soul is your essence like mine, but it can persist beyond this host you've picked. You could even do magic prior to being a Witch. [He gestures toward Emet-Selch's body with a fluid sweep of his hand.] I don't know why I didn't think of it before. To my knowledge, such a result would only be possible by a monster taking a soul like yours, one that lost its body. Via death, I guess, as... "mortals" with any physicality would. And, it would grant such staggering power... Godlike. How about you? Those are two curious attributes possessed by one soul!
no subject
Emet-Selch was not surprised to hear that having an intact soul was common. He assumed the sundered nature of his own world was unusual, though at finding so many- presumably unbroken people- still mortal, still full of all the flaws and pettiness of those ruined on his star... well, it was disappointing. Perhaps it was more common for souls to be small, pathetic things, and his people had been an outlier. Which was- a slightly disquieting thought. His world was being denied that perfection, and others had never had a chance to know it to begin with... as though the universe had sided with mortality in some intrinsic way.
Still, Mettaton's had the virtue of being different. And from his description, the mechanics of his world sounded equally as bizarre.
And alarming- as the Ascian looks immediately suspicious at the idea of Mettaton bringing his soul out. As in- removing it from his host? He unconsciously raises a hand to his chest, as though he could defend against this somehow.]
And what happens to these souls that you... bring forth?
[Would he be made vulnerable? That was normally something that took quite considerable circumstance to arrange. And the only time he'd heard of that happening, it had ended with his being shattered. Not that Mettaton seemed particularly threatening about it... and if the viewing of souls was such a commonplace thing, maybe this was some sort of normal activity.
...On the other hand, with this mention of 'monsters taking human souls' (which is apparently a thing that can happen?), he was cautious all over again. As friendly as Mettaton was, that didn't mean he wasn't also dangerous. Not that it was relevant now, with their powers sealed- and not that he wouldn't have his own considerable abilities to attend with, should their magic someday return- but it was something he'd remember.
But he tries to push aside that concern, for the moment.]
...And I suppose compared to others from my world, my powers could be considered godlike- but they're not. Not remotely. Nor am I the result of any particular fusion- only influence. Unrelated souls merging as you say isn't something that can occur naturally, in my experience.
no subject
[He drops it. It still interests him to imagine a soul like Emet-Selch's. What little he got to see, and what description he provided of it for himself, is novel and interesting.
And he chuckles at Emet-Selch's hand to his chest, smiling fondly at first. He can see how it might be disturbing, but he's not exactly sure why it disturbs him so. Being seen? Being made vulnerable in a way the body isn't? He places both hands on his hips now, rocking onto his toes to add more height yet to his already impressive stance. He grins wickedly. He's deliberately trying to appear exaggeratedly imposing and villainous.]
If we're speaking hypothetically, as if I suddenly regained all of my normal attributes... I could do absolutely nothing! Or, I could cut to the heart of the matter and try to kill you... Your body would offer you nothing against someone who could reach your soul, naturally. If I did away with that host of yours, I'm sure I could take it for myself, if I wanted. What sort of power would THAT grant me?? Ha ha ha.
[He is oversimplifying it terribly for the sake of performance, as it's never that easy. There's a reason humanity should have never feared monsters, and it's because while they're formidable in theory, they're terribly weak in reality. Ultimately, he rocks back onto his heels and shakes his head, the theatrics over.
He doesn't care about disclosing all of this, even if it's all about weakness. It's not that he trusts Emet-Selch, but he just doesn't see it having any relevance here. And if it did, everyone would end up knowing about it one way or another. He smiles gently.]
... Ha. Honestly? If I wanted to hurt you, it would require me to want to. I'd have to justify your death to myself, without a doubt. Otherwise, I couldn't hurt you. Intent is our weakness.
[He points to Emet-Selch's chest, referring to his defensive posture before wagging his finger, chiding him for his fears about Mettaton's intentions.]
Me? I'd do it for curiosity, of course. What are you worried about...?
no subject
It wasn't enough to make him uneasy; there was no sign of anyone's powers returning, so it remained a hypothetical that would likely never be tested. But while he once would've assumed his natural ability would protect him from all threats, he knew better now. Being in this world at all was proof, what he'd learned of his future was proof- so this chance, however minute, couldn't be dismissed entirely.
To be protected from attack by intent alone? Mettaton certainly had the attitude of someone fickle, but was he really?]
I'd think the seeking of power to be a fine source of intent.
[Though he does drop his defensive posture, spreading his arms out instead.]
You'd be hard-pressed to find a stronger soul here for the taking. And a single death is quite easy to justify.
[With a show of relaxing his stance, he offers a small shrug, tone deceptively light.]
Well... not that I think you would succeed if you tried. How fortunate that you won't get the chance.
[Not that Emet-Selch would know the actual weaknesses of monsters. Then again, he's a mage; he probably wouldn't think to attack physically anyway.]
no subject
[Mettaton??? He nods, acknowledging that Emet-Selch is being perfectly reasonable. Yes, he could see himself in that position, justifying the Ascian's death or coveting such power for himself. He's met Emet-Selch a grand total of twice. He knows himself better than anybody, and he thinks it's perfectly within him to find excuses to justify his death. He's done it before, over a human, not an Ascian.
Apparently reassuring Emet-Selch isn't entirely his intention at all.
But he smiles again, this time with a more... seductive edge. He takes a step forward, toward Emet-Selch after he's relaxed some, entering that boundary of personal-intimate space again. There's nothing about him that's particularly threatening this time, not even dramatically. He clasps his hands together, resting the back of one against his cheek.]
That's why, if you really wanted to protect yourself from danger by my hand... You really ought to make me love you. Absolutely adore you. Physically, that would render me useless against you! I can't kill what I love! Hahaha...
[Thank you, Mettaton. Once again, it's hard to tell if Mettaton's joking or not. One thing's for sure, he's taking it as an opportunity to be ridiculous.]
no subject
There's a running theme to all of my Bonds, it seems....
[An exasperation so mild it almost qualifies as a bit sad. But he supposed he could appreciate the consistency.
And he looks no more bothered when Mettaton enters his personal space- or at least, he doesn't tense or recoil, and his gaze is unimpressed, voice mild.]
But would I find your affection more or less troublesome than your aggression...? I have a hard time deciding.
[Ridiculous or not, honest or not, Emet-Selch will at least pretend to take it seriously. And though his manner is detached, a casual sort of superior, he raises a hand, closes the small distance between them with it, to rest his fingertips underneath Mettaton's chin. The look to his good eye is utterly indifferent.]
Or are you claiming to be worth my effort?
no subject
Oh...? Just what are you thinking...?
[It isn't difficult to endear Mettaton to you. It's not difficult to get him to use the "love" word on just about anybody, and the less acquainted are treated to this most about him. Truly, he loves... a lot of people. People whose names he doesn't know, and even people who've never seen him. But the closer he gets with another, the more distance grows. Even Mettaton's become aware of it. It's his own doing.
Emet-Selch's gesture is one of fondness, romantically cliche, though his eyes betray anything but. Not even a hint at trying! He's almost insulted that this would be his approach, but he keeps his haughty smirk anyway. He doesn't know what qualifies as worth Emet-Selch's effort, but does it matter? Vying for his attention is worth every ounce of effort, of course!]
You have no idea. But you surprise me... Shooting for romance. If that's the kind of love you'd wish to stoke in me, you'd have to try much, much harder.
no subject
Don't flatter yourself.
[Blunt, if not particularly harsh. He'd never been romantic, even with people he did care about. He'd never been kind, especially with people he cared about.
And while he'd certainly played the part otherwise, in his thousands and thousands of mortal lives, he had neither the inclination or the energy for it now. Even the memory of having to play all those roles irritated and drained him, and while his manner is certainly no nicer for it, it is more honest.
Turning away, he begins limping off.]
...Well, you've wasted enough of my time for one day. Enjoy the Bond.
[Because he's just. Going to teleport mid-stride there, waving sarcastically as he goes.]
no subject
He tsks into the empty lobby of the Coven.]
"Enjoy." Ha, ha. Just like that. How rude, after leading me on...
[Because he could appreciate the acting, even though he knew it was only that. It was fun!
Well, he will enjoy it. He hopes Emet-Selch enjoys that initial hollowness! And he hopes that he can feel his own sentiment of "Enjoy that Bond!" from here, if that's even how Bonds work. (It's the emotion of just mocking spite.) How dare he. Oh well. Mettaton gets on with his life.]