middaeg | feb catch-all

Entry tags:

feb catch-all

Who: Mettaton & open!
When: Throughout Feoveuer
Where: Various
What: Mettaton, a robot, learns to live, laugh, and love......... No, he learns to sleep and taste, as a biological necessity. He takes full advantages of these mortal splendors by sleeping! in! beds!, and eating your Valentine's chocolate while asking you on the date you deserve. There's also a prompt to follow up on his pursuit for a cure to metal weakness. Plus some closed prompts! Feel free to get in touch via MTT's plotting comment if you'd like a custom prompt.
Warnings: usual MTT drama

1. Fact: Mettaton owns a bed. He's never needed it.

A. A Refrigerator Blocks The Way

[First of all, I deceived you. There's a prompt where Mettaton is sleeping... but not in a bed.

Mettaton has developed a peculiar new... ability. Truth be told, it was something he tapped into starting in Iuneril, when he found himself desperate for energy while in the Rathmore's dungeon and slipped into dreamland. He shouldn't have been able to last that entire stay in his EX body, exerting himself as he did! So how did he do it?

In any inappropriate area of your choosing, there is a big metal box. These inappropriate areas may include, but are not limited to...
the middle of the street in the Entertainment District,
blocking a doorway to the Coven,
or even in your front yard.
The metal box kind of looks like it could be a game machine, or some other kind of puzzle-deploying apparatus...? But it must be broken. Its screen is off. Closing in on it suggests further that it must be broken, for it's emitting some kind of repetitive noise...]

ZZZZZZZZ...

[This robot keeps saying "Z" out loud repeatedly, sincerely asleep. Move it with force?]

B. If You're All Alone...

[How incredible! Mettaton's realized it: he's truly able to sleep, just like people do. Most surprisingly, he hasn't needed to recharge in weeks, so sleeping has its obvious benefit.

This time, Mettaton EX sleeps with far more purpose, though he still does so in inappropriate places with more intent. The TV star sleeps in places where he can be noticed, as if drawing attention to the fact that look, he's asleep! Really! While I leave this to your decision, a few ideas include...
sleeping in a reclining position atop a desk,
invading your very own HOUSE and occupying your COUCH or your BED, my GOD,
or... cradled in the palms of a statue with its arms outstretched, in the center of an ornate fountain, like he's god's gift to mankind.
All I'm saying is that you really couldn't come up with a location too ridiculous for Mettaton to be sleeping in. He'll sleep atop a piano, or on a chandelier and tell you it's like he's in a music video! But no matter where he sleeps, he does so peacefully with a satisfied smile.

But he should definitely be stopped. He's a menace, he might break something with how heavy he is, and therefore he's a hazard.]

2. Fact: Mettaton enjoys feeding himself grapes seductively atop pianos.

[It's edging close to the 14^th, and though Aefenglom treats Valentine's Day like a foreign concept, many of the Mirrorbound still seem determined to uphold their own traditions. With the full moon having come and gone, Mettaton's discovered a surprising, unique new sensation that has him floored, and overwhelmed: taste.

There's so much in this city to try that it's dizzying. That Mettaton EX him rushing up to the next Mirrorbound he finds carrying food, be it chocolate, a croissant, or an indeterminate abomination of un-food. It doesn't matter. His golden eye is bright with curiosity, his smile brimming with excitement.]

Hey there, beautiful! I see you're indulging in the wonders of edible delights. Care to share... with me?? Ooh, what a fabulous opportunity for some intimacy, as Valentine's Day hovers so close by! Could it be... A date??

[A date where Mettaton eats your food, and rates it.]

3. Fact: Mettaton's GOing To Patent This Enchantment As MTT-Brand Metal Benadryl

I DON'T FEEL IT ANYMORE... THAT PERSISTENT BURN, THAT AGONIZING CORROSION. IT'S LIKE I'M A BRAND NEW ROBOT!!

[Mettaton carries with him two different things related to his latest appeal for help: spells pre-loaded onto thick slips of paper for any Monster weak against various metals, and the actual alchemical enchantment's instructions and requirements for the curious Witch. His screen blinks yellow and red with his brand new relief, and he spins around.

When he notices somebody nearby, he wheels up to them and...
if they appear to be a Witch, he will pull out the technical instructions on how to conduct the enchantment.
if they appear to be a Monster, particularly of a Puca, Vampire, Turnskin, or Fae persuasion, he'll pull out one of the slips of paper.]

DARLING! PERHAPS YOU'D BE INTERESTED IN THE LATEST IN ENCHANTMENTS. IF IT CAN WORK ON ME TO THIS DEGREE... I'M SEEING A PROMISING FUTURE FOR THIS BREAKTHROUGH SPELL!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

YES... YOU'VE NOTICED MY OTHER "SHAPELY" BODY. [Get it? 'Cause it's geom... Yes. He runs his hands down its edges, displaying a red heart upon his monitor.] THIS IS MY ORIGINAL FORM! A CLASSIC FAVORITE, COMPLETE WITH ENTICING CORNERS AND SURFACES SO SMOOTH, IT SIMPLY BEGS TO BE KISSED. AHAHA.

[Different body, same old Mettaton.

No, back up! Mettaton's easily distracted by talking about himself, and his screen blinks from an amiable yellow, to red, to yellow again. Who on earth would hope he'd slip into unconsciousness and never wake from it? That would be terrible! He wouldn't like that at all. And he'd have half a mind to laugh it off and tell him he's wishing for the impossible considering his functional immortality, but it's Emet-Selch's self-disclosure that agitates Mettaton most. It's well wishes, true congratulations, and hoping he, too... could achieve such slumber? Why, that's basically hoping for death.

That's a lot to unpack.

He wheels closer to Emet-Selch with a suddenness, once more placing his hands on his hips.]

AND AS MUCH AS I LOVE TO TALK ABOUT MYSELF... I'LL ONLY REWARD YOU WITH SUCH DISCUSSION AFTER I REACH SOME CLARITY! WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU'VE SLEPT FOR YEARS AT A TIME??? DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT SOUNDS LIKE, EMET-SELCH?

[Does he know what excessive sleeping sounds like.]

[Shapely indeed. 'Original' form, was it? That explained- very little, actually, and the Ascian frowns out of habit, ignoring Mettaton's own habit towards self-flattery. He was starting to get used to it.]

Was your other form destroyed after all?

[The last he'd seen of it, it hadn't been in very good shape. Perhaps it had given out entirely? Could he even find someone to repair it in this world, which knew so little of machines?

Continuing on to Mettaton's own questions, he peers down at him as he wheels himself over.]

As for myself... whenever my current body dies, if there's no pressing need to take on another immediately, I can have a break for a few years. Decades, perhaps....

[Trailing off, he looks distant for a few moments, not really aware of what it sounds like. His last period of blessed uninterrupted darkness had only lasted a handful of months before being called back by his last remaining compatriot. In only that short time everything had gone to hell for them, so he could grudgingly accept it as being necessary, but....

He was very tired. Focusing back on Mettaton, he continues with a faint shrug.]

Obviously, I can't do that while wearing a mortal shell, so my time off is quite limited. But I enjoy the rest. Surely, after a lifetime [Or whatever to call what ghosts had.] of consciousness, you can understand the appeal? Now that you've experienced a good nap, after all.

[Oh, his other body's doing just fine. Well, better than it had been, now that he's achieved the fruits of his (and others') labor. (Mostly others, as is true for any good businessman.) With an enchantment that renders him no longer "allergic" to his own body, he feels remarkable in comparison, and he'd say as much if it weren't a distraction. Mettaton can only be bamboozled by himself once every thirty seconds.

He has experienced a good nap, it's true. Dreams are wonderful, even though he can't remember them with clarity. And sleeping in a bed, really sleeping, feels like something he should've been able to do all along. He likes sleeping. But not for the reprieve it gives him from life, and that's where he fails to understand... decades worth of missed life.

Decades. Emet-Selch considers a life not lived "time off." It sounds like he'd prefer not to be here... Which makes a lot of sense, considering his overall demeanor. The fact that he'd be quick to assume the captives wouldn't survive. His promising negativity, which he delivers in full.]

NO, EMET-SELCH-DARLING. [...Hm. He will NOT be saying that hyphenated disaster again.] NO. I UNDERSTAND THE APPEAL OF A NAP LASTING NO LONGER THAN A DAY. BECAUSE I LIKE TO LIVE MY LIFE, AS LONG AS IT IS... AND PROMISES TO BE.

[Even before "Mettaton," he would've preferred living to lying on the floor for days and weeks and months! Though he did indulge every once in a while. This is staggering. He raises a finger, his display a pale yellow with intermittently flickering red squares.]

WE CALL WANTING TO DO NOTHING AND FINDING SLEEP PREFERABLE TO CONSCIOUSNESS "DEPRESSION," DARLING.

[At that pronouncement, Emet-Selch just stares at those flickering panels on Mettaton's monitor. There's several moments when it seems as though he's about to say something, but stops himself.

It's not exactly a surprise. It's something he knew entirely well. It's also not something he'd ever been called out on before; even his heroic friends politely sidestepped ever commenting on his unrelenting misery. He was difficult to deal with on his best days, and there was nothing they could do to 'help' regardless (much to the contrary, really).]

I suppose you could say that.

[A slightly more uncomfortable shrug this time, as he regards Mettaton skeptically. He couldn't deny it, but it was unpleasant to speak on, assuming it would just be used against him.

But he'd risk a bit of honesty. Bonded as they were, it was probably better to explain where his feelings were coming from.]

When you've lived as long as I, in the sad wreck of what remains of my star, anyone would find it a bit wearying. After thousands upon thousands of years, a few missing decades here and there are a welcome reprieve.

I do very much want to remain alive, of course. There may be no joy to it, but some things are more important than that.

[That, and Emet-Selch was afraid of dying. Mortal bodies came and went, but actual, permanent death...?

He's not sure if it's reassuring or further troubling to have heard that upon his true demise, that he appeared more relaxed than he'd been at any point before.]

[The sad wreck of what remains, for thousands upon thousands of years. It's poignant, to consider, even though Mettaton can't grasp the significance of it. Mettaton is a sentimental type, and he registers this as sadness or longing, even if the Ascian doesn't convey such. It would warrant it, he thinks. Mira mentioned such an event before... And while he got the story from her, this is Emet-Selch's version, laden with his hollowness. This must be that star that fractured into shards. That's Emet-Selch's.

He can shrug it off as unpleasant, but MTT experiences a pang of compassion for his situation. As it would happen, Mettaton feels a lot of things.

If it's his home, it's no small wonder he looks upon all others as insufficient... Even if Mettaton can't get past each one representing life. His monitor remains yellow.]

WELL. AT LEAST THERE'S THAT. WANTING TO REMAIN ALIVE.

[He taps a blank area of metal beneath his monitor, a gesture of performative thought to convey how he's feeling. He's thinking about Mira's description, trying to piece it together, and his screen displays the letter M in red.]

WHAT, TO YOU, IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN JOY? IS IT DUTY? DOES IT HAVE TO DO WITH THIS... REJOINING?

[In Mettaton's eyes, he doesn't see that this is a resolved thing. Doesn't know that Emet-Selch ever met any demise. If duty were all that he lived for, Mettaton wonders what he'd do if he saw it through. Stop being?]

[Feeling a lot of things is one thing they have in common, at least.]

Surely I've already answered your original question. What reason is there to know the rest of the story?

[Though cautious, it's not an irritated tone. Well. It's a bit irritated, if mostly for show, going through the motions of annoyance without much heart to it. No, for better or worse, his mood had settled on the melancholic. As detached as the Ascian attempts to appear, there's a certain... heaviness that's unshakable, as though being slowly yet visibly crushed by the weight of experience, an unending and absolute solitude.

The word 'Rejoining'; Emet-Selch was fairly sure he hadn't mentioned it. Presumably Mettaton had heard it from Mira, perhaps knew her limited and biased version of events (as opposed to his complete and biased version of events).

That was... somewhat less satisfactory. He didn't know what misconceptions she'd given Mettaton, but he disliked the idea enough to answer, at least in part.]

'Tis a lengthy story, and the Rejoinings lie at the heart of the current tale. If you've spoken to Mira, I assume you've heard of the millions we've killed in our great work, in the restoration of our star. What she's likely neglected to mention is that by her own actions, she's buried my people anew, consigned us to darkness. Sacrificed us to 'save' herself.

[Crossing his arms, it's an unconsciously defensive gesture.]

Seven shards have been Rejoined to Source. My duty will remain until our work is complete.

Edited 2020-02-14 09:45 (UTC)

[Mettaton's monitor intensifies in brightness, an indication of attentiveness, and he allows Emet-Selch to take the lead in offering his story. More than just attentive to sound, but to whatever else he can gather. The permeating gloom. The curiosity begins to cement itself further in his mind the more he speaks: what does he strive for, if there's something important enough to keep him going?

It becomes fairly clear as Emet-Selch discloses his version of the Rejoinings. (Plural?) He'd nod to suggest that Mira did say that millions were killed by returning these Shards to the Source, if he could... But he settles with a flicker of yellow, his fists balled at his side to express his disapproval at their deaths, for as good as that does at expressing his feelings. But he's right: Mira hadn't mentioned any... darkness or sacrifice.

His fists loosen, his screen dimming a step. There's no way she would've done that intentionally. Humans are so capable of killing things, even when they don't want to, after all.

Emet-Selch isn't completely evil, even if he infuriatingly says "millions we've killed" and "great work" in the same sentence. He strikes Mettaton as deeply attached to something that is no more, and Mettaton wonders if it'll ever really recover even after going through such lengths. If it was destroyed once, putting the pieces back together doesn't seem like it'll fix things. So Mettaton's arms drop to his sides, and responds flatly to give his candid thoughts.]

I DON'T THINK YOU'RE GOING TO RESTORE ANYTHING THAT WAY, DARLING. IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU'RE SIMPLY MAKING A NEW VERSION OF YOUR STAR... AFTER ITS REGRETTABLE DEMISE. AND KILLING SO MANY IN THE PROCESS OF YOUR REBUILD, TOO. YOUR PEOPLE ARE ALREADY GONE, AREN'T THEY?

[A pause.]

AND, IN THAT... I'M CONCERNED. SURELY THERE'S SOMETHING ELSE THAT YOU'VE FOUND WORTH LIVING FOR... IN THIS VAST EXPANSE OF TIME.

[Like, in the thousands. That's baffling.]

[Gaze sharpening, he throws Mettaton the blackest look as he snaps out in response.]

You know nothing of what I've lost! I will be the one to save them.

[He couldn't. He hadn't, in several ways. What Mettaton said was entirely true: the old world was gone, its lives with it. Their time had passed, history erased; their lives, their hopes, forgotten. All of that time and effort, for a goal that had been impossible from the start. Even if the Rejoinings were completed, it would never be the same.

It was a very... very sore spot. But his spike of anger isn't directed at Mettaton, but reality, fate, perhaps even himself, for his failure. The robot was the voice to those thoughts, those fears; that knowledge he kept so deeply buried. But if he gave up, what would he have left?

Anger smoldering back, sinking into the despair from whence it emerged, his tone evens out, for all that it doesn't even begin to approach neutrality.]

To one who has known the perfection of the true world... there can be no replacement.

[And now that he was on this track, he couldn't stop himself from continuing.]

There is nothing in the new world worth preserving. I've looked for it, I've tried- I've lived thousands of their lives, alongside them, breathing every aspect of their ephemeral experience. Foolish, spiteful, tragic; their souls are grotesque to look upon, their lives no better. Not that they're truly alive to start with.

[From anger into scorn, pointed and bitter. The result of eons of repeating the same, absolute truths to himself, as though there was some sort of comfort to be found there.]

They can curse us for the few millions we've erased, while ignoring the far greater cruelties they've perpetuated. The horrors they've wrought, the pettiness and pain they continue to inflict on one another. The deaths they've caused amongst themselves outnumber anything we've done. As they are now... they have no right to our star.

[Chilling. This is the most expression he's elicited out of him yet, and though Mettaton considers it something of a (celebratory!) landmark, the sheer depth of his passion is shocking. His surprise is less expressed in a body like this one, but the slight lift of his wrists in a reflexively defensive posture at his outburst about does it.

He takes quick measures to restore his collected demeanor, his monitor dimming to its lowest, deepest red. Indeed, when he'd asked Mira what Emet-Selch had said about a soul such as her own, she wasn't forthright with what he might say to her — that she was incomplete, or that he'd remind her through action. But the impression she gave Mettaton was one that suggested that he might not be so sure of that: she said she couldn't help but be drawn to him, after all, and Mira couldn't possibly stand to hear him berate her in these sorts of terms. So there's clearly some disconnect.

It's clear to Mettaton now, his stance: "grotesque", lives not worth living, citing how foolish and spiteful they are. He doesn't imagine a faceless entity when he says these things, and assigns these descriptions instead to somebody like Mira.

Mettaton rolls closer to Emet-Selch with a cold anger.]

I HEAR YOU. LOUD AND CLEAR, UNFORTUNATELY. THOUGH I KNOW NOT THE DEVASTATION OF YOUR LOSS... FOR IT TO IMPACT YOU FOR SO LONG, SO DEEPLY... THAT DOESN'T ESCAPE MY NOTICE.

[Through his passion, he places both of his hands over his body as if to indicate that Emet-Selch's feelings, tip of the iceberg though they be, have reached him.]

HOWEVER. I WON'T SIT BY AND NOD ALONG AS YOU DESCRIBE THOSE WITH SOULS INCOMPLETE... AS NOT TRULY LIVING. WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO DEFINE WHAT LIVING IS? OR WHAT PERFECTION IS? JUST BECAUSE YOU CAN SEE A QUALITY TO THEIR SOUL THAT ISN'T LIKE YOUR OWN, COMPLETE AND POWERFUL AS IT IS... HARDLY MEANS THESE PEOPLE AREN'T LIVING. EVEN LESS DOES IT MEAN THAT THEY DON'T DESERVE LIFE... "FLAWED" AS THEY ARE, IN THEIR SPITEFULNESS, AND CAPACITY TO HURT. MY MY. IF THERE'S NOTHING WORTH PRESERVING IN THAT NEW WORLD... THEN ITS REJOINING SHOULD BE NO LESS OF A MISTAKE, AS THE SUM OF ITS PARTS.

[He raises a finger at Emet-Selch, planting his other hand on his hip.]

I THINK I SEE WHY MIRA'S "MISTAKEN." SHE MUST BELIEVE THAT YOU MIGHT FIND PEOPLE LIKE HERSELF NOT ONLY PALATABLE... BUT WORTHWHILE. SOMETHING MORE THAN "GROTESQUE." SOUNDS A LITTLE LIKE, IN YOUR SPITE... YOU'RE SETTING HER UP FOR PAIN. JUST LIKE THE SOULS YOU SCORN. POOR MIRA.

[Distantly, in some corner of his mind, Emet-Selch notes those responses. The small gestures, the shifts in color denoting one mood or another. Not that he remotely cared if he was making the robot angry in turn; the Ascian was 'misery loves company' incarnate, and anger was a good enough replacement.

From cold, his tone turns cruel, mockingly gentle, and a little quieter. Leaning over Mettaton slightly, his manner is completely patronizing.]

Worried for her, are you...? What a wasted sentiment. Do you think I haven't told her of the same thing? Informed her that she's naught but an insect, one of a multitude of pests that infest my world? Is it murder to swat a fly? Cleanse a wound of infection? She knows how I feel, and if she's convinced herself otherwise... 'tis not my concern.

[Oh, he still cared for her. That was the worst of it. Turning sideways, Emet-Selch looks away from Mettaton, staring out at nothing. From condescension, his voice fades back into simple chill.]

Yet despite her flaws, I gave her a chance. The opportunity to prove herself of value, to represent humanity as it is. Apparently... she fails. We're from slightly different times, after all- I've been told the story of my future, while she has lived through it. Yet despite her failure, she survives. Perhaps... if I can bring these memories with me whenever I return to my world, I can find another path.

[Without turning his head, he glances bleakly at Mettaton with his one good eye.]

--As I've learned that I do not survive it.

[All that arrogance and superiority, experience and desperation, and he couldn't kill one broken hero.]

OH, GOOD! WHAT A RELIEF, THAT YOU FALL BEFORE HER. AND SUCH SWEET IRONY, TOO. THAT SHE CAN'T PROVE HERSELF TO YOU... YET SHE SURVIVES YOU. WITHOUT YOU, AT LEAST THERE'S HOPE FOR HUMANITY'S FUTURE... INSTEAD OF YOUR PAST.

[Not that Mettaton sounds much happier about that, but he emotes with a heart anyway. It's short-lived, like mocking smile might be at a time like this.

He can already see what a slippery slope that is, giving one being the chance to prove humanity's worth. (Prove?! Some nerve he has, asking someone to prove themselves and their race to him as valuable. Falls in line with "who do you think you are?") She couldn't prove anything to him if she tried, because he's already decided that her kind's nothing more than a pest. What a reprehensible way of viewing these people. Is that what thousands of years of sorrow and loss does to somebody? It can't be that he lacks love, because he demonstrates it clearly for his star and his people.

"All life should surprise you," he remembers Mikasa saying. It was during a moment where he felt such love for humans, and he was forced to ask himself if he felt the same for others. Of course he does, for at their core, they're not too different. Unique, but all intriguing. "Let's just hope they're good surprises." And when they're not pleasant surprises, as the Ascian's presenting him with...

Mettaton does not feel hatred for him, because he feels compassion. He's deeply misguided, his view of mortals disgusts Mettaton, but he can't shake that soul-crushing weight of Emet-Selch's sorrow.]

ALLOW ME TO WASTE MY SENTIMENT SOME MORE, ON MY BELOVED BONDED. [He'd waste his sentiment on anything, even somebody without remorse.] I, TOO, HOPE YOU GET ANOTHER CHANCE. AND FIND ANOTHER PATH, NOT TO REALIZE YOUR GOALS AS THEY ARE... BUT TO FIND A COMPROMISE THAT MIGHT END YOUR LONELINESS.

Edited 2020-02-15 21:53 (UTC)

[It's a response that gets silence from him; not even cold so much as blank, a despair so complete that it's nearly hollow. So complete it's hard to see the shape of it, as it blots out everything surrounding it. Someone gloating over his death was all Emet-Selch really expected; everyone and everything had sided with mortality. They didn't know any better. They couldn't. If he didn't despise them so, he'd almost feel sorry for them.]

And what... compromise would you suggest?

[It's quiet, dull, and strangely sincere. Pausing, he looks towards Metatton more properly.]

My people were far kinder than anyone who lives now. Our world- there was no violence, no disparity. With the strength of our souls we could live for nigh eternity, could create anything we needed. No one wanted, no one went without. Even when we disagreed, our problems could be solved through discussion... and more than anything, everyone held one another to be more important than the self.

[It's wistful; as terrible as he was, his people were not. Though it would do no good, he felt compelled to finish the story. Context had never managed to sway anyone, the present was always held up to be superior to the past. Only those who had been there, had seen, had lived through it, understood... but after him, there would be only one left who remembered. It was only a matter of time before even that was lost.]

A disaster came to our star, pushing us to the brink of oblivion. Most of my people sacrificed themselves so that we could summon a god in order to save who remained. I was one of those who created Zodiark- the will of the star itself. And it was saved, in His mercy... yet for the first time, dissension tore our remaining population apart, as some feared His strength. Conspiring in secret, they created Hydaelyn to bind Him. But rather than destroy, She shatters- and Zodiark, the star, and every life upon it was sundered.

[So there it all was, more or less. The Ascian slouches a degree more, as though finding a heretofore unreached level of exhaustion.]

If Zodiark is restored, He can bring back the lives that were used in His creation. What compromise is there that doesn't involve giving up on them- those that most deserve custody of our star?

[They died for him. How could he abandon them now...?]

[The more Emet-Selch self-discloses, the more it softens Mettaton, even though he can't ignore the way he looks down his nose upon mortals. It's a balancing act. Of course the more he learns, the more sympathy he feels — that's only natural. In the end, Emet-Selch cherished these people deeply. Still cherishes.

For as perfect as he paints them, though, they just sound like people to him. Especially once he learns that some felt fear at Zodiark's strength. They weren't infallible, and it wasn't as though they were completely homogeneous; it must follow that they were all different in their kindness or wants, if their fears differed. They're people, and they're flawed. How could he blame beings for reacting to things with fear? That's what people do, monsters, humans, and apparently even Ascians. Instead, Mettaton interprets Emet-Selchs account of his people as his love for them.]

...

[He looks so tired now. Mettaton doesn't fret about him, but he moves from his spot directly in front of him closer to his side, disengaging from "argument stance" to neutrality; his monitor glows yellow. His voice is significantly less reprimanding and heated now, taking on his usual conversational cadence, deliberate and full of inflection.]

KIND AS THEY ARE... YOUR PEOPLE, WHO WOULD SACRIFICE THEMSELVES FOR EACH OTHER'S SAKE. DO YOU THINK THEY MIGHT SHOW SUCH KINDNESS TOWARD THESE NEW, INCOMPLETE SOULS? TRAGIC THOUGH THEIR LOSS IS... IT'S AMAZING, THAT MILLIONS MORE CAME OUT OF THEM. NEW STARS. NEW PEOPLE!

WELL, THAT'S HOW I WOULD FEEL. IF I GAVE MY SOUL TO A GREAT SACRIFICE... ONLY TO LEARN WHAT INTERESTING LIFE IT SPURRED. [He goes through the effort of sighing.] IT'S A SHAME. THAT YOU'RE BURDENED WITH THAT TASK. NO WONDER YOU JUSTIFY THEIR DEATH AS YOU DO.

[It does not excuse his attitude. He gives a hard pause. He wonders if Emet-Selch was happier, way back then. This entire conversation came out of Mettaton's concern for his inclination toward sleeping, after all.]

A COMPROMISE. ...I'LL THINK ON IT. IF YOU COULDN'T COME UP WITH AN ALTERNATIVE OVER THOUSANDS OF YEARS, HOW SILLY WOULD IT BE TO SPIT ONE OUT RIGHT NOW?

Edited (word omission) 2020-02-16 02:15 (UTC)

[Though he would argue that they were clearly a better people- it would be bias. In the end, they were his, and that was all that mattered to Emet-Selch. His beautiful city, it's gentle population; he'd been living in their final days since the moment they occurred. As though his soul had been itself scarred by events, every detail etched so perfectly that he couldn't escape from the memory of it.

Watching as he moves, the Ascian gives Mettaton a somewhat uncomfortable look at his commentary. He probably wasn't wrong; he had no reason to believe they wouldn't have either embraced or accepted such a fate, for the most part. It wasn't as though they'd given themselves with any expectation of being brought back afterward.

No, the decision to revive them had been due entirely to the grief of the survivors.]

Oh, I'm sure several would be rather irate with me for all of this.

[Better to try and treat it lightly, though there's too much hollowness to the words for it to be very successful. There was no telling how they would feel about the mess of blood that had been spilled in their name. He wanted to believe they would understand, but....]

--But they would accept it, I'm sure.

[The truly terrible thing is that no, he was not actually happy in the original world. He wasn't broken, in quite the same way, but all his issues were still in evidence.

No matter the outcome, he would never be happy. But he couldn't ever admit that his dream was futile on every conceivable level; he had a hard enough time getting himself out of bed as it was.]

Take your time. 'Tis not as though there's any reason to rush, here in this place. I've waited this long for an alternative, what's a little more?

[If there was any doubt before, Mettaton knows now that Emet-Selch doesn't speak on behalf of all of his people. They might've even disagreed with Emet-Selch, in whatever way they do... If they weren't long dead. Mettaton taps a low corner of his screen. It's sad, thinking about how all he does is for a people who have been gone for a long time. Would that somebody could just move on from this great tragedy, but his Bondmate seems completely stuck on it. It's no wonder he regards the rest of his world's people with such disdain.

Here in this place, they're captives from their lives. But Mettaton's come to understand that they're also free, given their strange temporal-spacial suspension. There's no chance to mobilize things like Rejoinings. Having that degree of separation, that must be why Mira's able to see the better in him despite what he says about people like her, mortals.

Who is really mistaken? Mettaton wants to believe Emet-Selch is, now. Mira has to know something about his core that has budged enough to think of her as anything but grotesque. She comes off as too self-assured not to have that much respect!

Mettaton shrugs with his arms.]

I HAVE PLENTY OF TIME TO THINK, BUSY AS I AM. A LITTLE SLEEP CAN'T STOP ME FROM OPERATING ON MY OWN SCHEDULE! AND MAYBE WE CAN FIND YOU SOMETHING WORTH BEING CONSCIOUS FOR, HA HA HA.

[A pause. Mettaton raises a finger.]

OH, YES. MY BODY. IT'S FINE. [Briefly touching on an old topic. He knocks on his metal chassis.] THREE FORMS... ONE SEXY ROBOT. SURELY YOU COULD TELL, BASED ON MY ARMS!!! I KNOW YOU MUST HAVE BEEN HEARTBROKEN, THINKING OF THAT HANDSOME FORM AS SCRAPPED. LET THAT EASE YOUR DEEPEST FEARS, DARLING.

[The reassurance... nobody needed...]

[He doesn't have his hopes up. But then, he never did.

Additionally, on reflection, Emet-Selch was not at all sure it was the wisest move to task Mettaton with anything, much less 'find a solution to a lifetime of unhappiness', but it was too late now, and he just has to shake his head at it all. What was his life. Still, the change in perspective might at least be interesting, he supposed.

But the abrupt return- shift?- in topic has him blink for a moment, thoughts catching up, rewinding conversation to--

--ah, yes. And the Ascian does feel a bit of relief, though it's wholly unrelated to the state of Metatton's bodies, sexy or otherwise. Some- any- other conversational topic was preferable (if not, he probably would've just gone back inside and back to sleep, original errand forgotten). This was already more tiring than anticipated, and not for the expected reasons.]

--If it's fine, why are you in this form instead? 'Tis a degree more impractical.

[How do you handle stairs?

Or anything other than a mild incline, for that matter.]

And how do you change your current host? I find myself entirely unable to take a new body here.

HAHA... YOUR RELIEF IS PALPABLE. CAN I BLAME YOU...?

[Heart. He's insufferable. Whether he actually feels something or he's deciding as much remains unknown, but it's almost certainly the latter.]

IT'S MORE BATTERY EFFICIENT. AND, IT'S IMPERVIOUS TO DAMAGE... OR ELSE I MIGHT HAVE BEEN MORE ANGRY AT YOUR METHOD OF WAKING ME. YOU'D BE SURPRISED AT THE LIST OF PRACTICALITIES THIS FORM OFFERS.

[In a world like this one, people don't recognize him as sentient a lot of the time. He dislikes that, but it has its uses. More than that, it's an easy form to stop and do nothing in.

Stairs are not under consideration right now.]

I DO NOT CHANGE MY HOST. ALL OF MY FORMS ARE IN THIS SAME BODY! I SIMPLY TRANSFORM, AS I LIKE. I HAVE MY PREFERENCES, OF COURSE.

[Mettaton shifts somewhat, an intentional sort of gesture that teases the existence of a switch on his back. Helpfully, it's labelled SWITCH. In case anybody forgot what it was.]

[Very insufferable. Though this time, even the heart only earns the mildest of disapproving Looks.]

Impervious...?

[That sounded like a challenge. Not that he had any particular interest in genuinely attempting to damage any of Mettaton's forms, but it did make him wonder about that supposed durability. Perhaps he could use him as a shield, if he were under attack. Yes. That would make this form useful, and the Ascian nods to himself.

But a transformation of the same body, that did have some kind of (relative) sense to it.]

Ah yes. How practical, to carry them all with you.

[Though he wonders where 'large rectangular box' ended up in this transformation to human-ish shape. Or perhaps Mettaton had to shed it like a snake, only to come back and retrieve it later (much less like a snake).]

Though you said 'three' forms- what's the last one you're hiding?

[He can practically see the gears turning in Emet-Selch's mind upon hearing that he's impervious, though Mettaton still fails to consider the intent behind it, such as testing it for himself. He assumes he's thinking of him as a shield, and it's not as though he'd be wrong. He's used it to shield Marie before. Magically speaking, it only served to buffer her against magic in the Evocation class, however.

His screen flickers yellow.]

A WEAPON. ... FOR THE ERADICATION OF HUMANS. I DON'T PLAN ON USING IT.

[This particular iteration of Mettaton hasn't even tested the thing, and he doesn't plan to. Sure, he showed it off to Asgore long ago, but that's it. It probably doesn't even work in Aefenglom. He has no idea about its abysmal defenses, either.

(Only just now has it occurred to him: what happened to his NEO form since changing into a Puca...? Does he want to know? It's always a grab bag of body horror. Slowly becoming a cyborg is so messed up that he doesn't allow himself to think about it too hard.)

He shrugs.]

I THOUGHT NOT TO TELL YOU. BUT IT DOESN'T MATTER HERE. IT LIKELY DOESN'T WORK.

[Now that was interesting, and somewhat surprising, given Mettaton's apparent distaste for the death of humans. Unless it was a case of 'my murdering is the only ethical murdering.'

And what would it look like? The Ascian's gaze travels over the shapely rectangle. What form would a weapon to eradicate humans take? That wasn't a casual word.]

Oh...? How did you even achieve that power, if you've no intention on using it?

[He assumed robot-bodies weren't naturally occurring, so it had to have been a deliberate choice of someone's, anyway.]

Though if you're concerned about my interest in utilizing it, don't be. [A light shrug, a dismissive flick of one hand.] I've no reason to kill anyone here.

[It wouldn't accomplish anything.]

But if I were you, I'd look into testing it. We may be captured again, you know. Were you better equipped, you might avoid a similar level of... discomfort.

[Or not, considering how restrained and sealed their abilities were. Still, Mettaton was odd enough, and unfamiliar enough to this world; if anyone had a chance of sneaking something past, he figured it might be him.]

I CAN TELL YOU HOW. IT'S QUITE SIMPLE. [He raises a pointer finger, the letter M displaying on his monitor.] A FRIEND BUILT IT! WHY? TO SHOW THE KING! WHY? GOVERNMENT FUNDING! THESE BODIES WEREN'T FREE, DARLING.

[And she couldn't have gotten the lab without becoming the Royal Scientist and impressing Asgore with imbuing inanimate objects with souls and equipping them with weapons.

Testing his body out hadn't occurred to him, but Mettaton still doesn't like it. He's a weapon, but he's mostly an amusement robot! He crosses his arms, mulling it over. Alphys is even here. She helped repair him, with what little resources she had available. He has to wonder if she'd be capable of revitalizing even his non-functional features, somehow. He has no excuse not to give it a try, even if he doesn't care for weaponry.

He could ask her to fix it, if it doesn't already work.]

...A PERSUASIVE ARGUMENT. I DON'T LIKE IT, BUT IF IT COULD HAVE COME IN HANDY...

[Boy, that would be embarrassing.]

I MAY AS WELL. TEST IT OUT. BUT I SINCERELY DOUBT ANYTHING WILL COME OF IT!

[That... explained something, at least. So Mettaton was from a society that wanted to eradicate humans, and took advantage of this by appropriating various metal bodies that were developed as part of this process. But if the desire to wipe out humanity had been a genuine one for someone, using an entity with a personality like Mettaton to serve as your robot-driver... seemed an unusual choice.

Or maybe everyone in that world was like this...?

A chilling thought.]

Better to know one way or another, isn't it? If it can't be repaired, you're out nothing but a bit of time. And if it can....

[He didn't know how strong it was, or how effective it was meant to be, but- if someone could access some degree of their old powers here, why wouldn't they take it? One could always hope to never have to use it.

And hopes were so frequently dashed.]

I'd be curious to see, if you do. I have some experience with machinery myself... it might be interesting to see the result of another star's technology firsthand.

[Let's hope he meets Papyrus and learns how Like This everyone is.]

YOU? EXPERIENCED WITH MACHINERY???

[Mettaton is surprised by this revelation, and he makes sure to make it well known by clasping either side of his body in shock. Emet-Selch, having experience with machinery? He has a lot of doubt that it compares to the likes of Tony and Alphys, considering the fact that he shares a world with Mira who-didn't-know-what-TV-was, and the whole being thousands of years old doesn't help his case. That's the last thing he would have expected to hear.

Then again, not knowing what TV is doesn't mean machines don't exist. He clasps his hands together next, trying to look spellbound. Or, lovestruck, because he's decided to include a heart?]

AS IN, ENOUGH TO PERFORM A REPAIR? WELL WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SO SOONER?? I WOULD HAVE NEVER GUESSED AS MUCH OUT OF YOU, CONSIDERING. AND FRANKLY, I NEED ALL OF THE RESOURCES I CAN GET MY LUXURIOUSLY GLOVED HANDS ON... WHEN IT COMES TO THE REPAIR OF MY BODY, IN THIS PLACE.

[He'd likely find Papyrus either deeply annoying or deeply agreeable, possibly at the same time.

Though the Ascian frowns a bit at Mettaton's clear shock. Was it so strange to think he'd know something of the technical world? Just because he was ancient didn't mean he was less adept. Why would-- ah. Mira. An Eorzean's ignorance would leave a certain impression.

He's a little miffed at being lumped in with her, but attempts to de-ruffle himself.]

My original civilization was fairly advanced. At least in comparison to the present day, both here and at home.

[They had skyscrapers and everything. Very modern, but in a... pleasantly nostalgic sort of way.]

I've built several empires primarily on the force of their magitechnical might. A few repairs should not be beyond me. [Assuming he'd be willing to bother, but... eh. It was probably in his best interest to ensure his Bonded's general health and/or well-being.] Of course, it's possible your specific circuitry will be wholly unfamiliar to me, but I'm sure you don't mind a bit of trial and error.

[How reassuringly gentle.]

[Now if they had TV, Mettaton would have to agree that there's an obvious winner in civilization superiority.

The more Emet-Selch tells him about his life, the more it shapes his mental pictures of these other worlds. So magitech is something both here and there, and he's fairly clear on the difference in construct — instead of relying on things like electricity, battery, or reactors, they power things with magic. It's pretty different from his own body, which is magical insofar as it has a soul. But that's it.

It would be interesting to see what somebody with a history in magitech would say. His bodies aren't his work to take pride in, and he's more than willing to give Alphys constructive feedback that she doesn't want.]

WHAT A THRILLING, INTIMATE IDEA... AND SUCH AN EXERCISE IN TRUST. I LOVE IT!! ESPECIALLY SINCE I'M POSITIVE YOU'LL GET SOMETHING WRONG! AHAHA.

BUT REALLY. WHAT'S THE WORST THAT COULD HAPPEN?? A SHORT CIRCUIT? A NON-FUNCTIONING LIMB? NOTHING THAT CAN'T BE FIXED! AND I DON'T MIND THE PROSPECT OF ELECTROCUTION. OOOH, THERE'S SUCH DELIGHTFUL PLEASURE IN EXPERIENCING SENSATION, AFTER ALL...

[The potential for error doesn't dissuade Mettaton in the slightest. He moves the back of his hand against his "forehead" in a swoon. This is enough of an indication to suggest that if Emet-Selch were to work on his body, he would flirt the entire time.]

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oh yeah ShB spoilers, etc.

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