[Emet-Selch both viewed death very casually, and very seriously; in either case, it was ever-present in his life. It always had been. With a stronger-than-normal connection to the underworld, the constant witnessing of souls drifting between one state to another, he couldn't have escaped thinking about it even if he wanted to.
And he only shakes his head a little- barely perceptible at all, not wanting to disturb Mettaton's presence at his neck- at the idea that few were devoted to his death. He could agree that- those Warriors at least- would not want to kill him. Nor did Emet-Selch want to kill them. But they still would, and he still would, and it all amounted to much the same result, in the end.
He focuses instead on the trailing of Mettaton's hands, the beginning of their slow path down his back, the degree more of pressure of his form against his. It still wasn't the warmth or softness of a normal body, but that mattered no more to him now than it had before. At the small kiss, he stills, finding his eyes closing, to better focus on the sensation, and the sound of Mettaton's voice.
A voice which brings an edge of irritation at the start of his reply, finding it unerringly... Mettaton-esque. The idol was quite good at that, unsurprisingly.
But when he goes into the rest of his answer, the annoyance fades back into a deeper melancholy. Shifting his arms, Emet-Selch wraps both of them around Mettaton again, not tightly, but firmly. His fingers dig in with more pressure, as though limiting his emotional intensity to one thing, as though he could control it that way.]
--that is the greatest flaw to humanity, their inherent fragility. Even when you've found one worth knowing, worth attachment, they'll leave you behind through no intention of their own. How often can you bear to repeat that? Until you can no longer stomach the idea of losing yet another piece of yourself in return for a few moments of company? And yet...
[How could there be a yet? There wasn't, he knew this, but--]
Solitude... well, let's say it doesn't come recommended.
[And so he was here, still; his fingers dig in yet harder. His voice remains even.]
no subject
And he only shakes his head a little- barely perceptible at all, not wanting to disturb Mettaton's presence at his neck- at the idea that few were devoted to his death. He could agree that- those Warriors at least- would not want to kill him. Nor did Emet-Selch want to kill them. But they still would, and he still would, and it all amounted to much the same result, in the end.
He focuses instead on the trailing of Mettaton's hands, the beginning of their slow path down his back, the degree more of pressure of his form against his. It still wasn't the warmth or softness of a normal body, but that mattered no more to him now than it had before. At the small kiss, he stills, finding his eyes closing, to better focus on the sensation, and the sound of Mettaton's voice.
A voice which brings an edge of irritation at the start of his reply, finding it unerringly... Mettaton-esque. The idol was quite good at that, unsurprisingly.
But when he goes into the rest of his answer, the annoyance fades back into a deeper melancholy. Shifting his arms, Emet-Selch wraps both of them around Mettaton again, not tightly, but firmly. His fingers dig in with more pressure, as though limiting his emotional intensity to one thing, as though he could control it that way.]
--that is the greatest flaw to humanity, their inherent fragility. Even when you've found one worth knowing, worth attachment, they'll leave you behind through no intention of their own. How often can you bear to repeat that? Until you can no longer stomach the idea of losing yet another piece of yourself in return for a few moments of company? And yet...
[How could there be a yet? There wasn't, he knew this, but--]
Solitude... well, let's say it doesn't come recommended.
[And so he was here, still; his fingers dig in yet harder. His voice remains even.]
But this is just as ephemeral, you know.