[Negative thoughts are the one thing Emet-Selch will never run out of.]
The present....
[Had he ever lived in it? Not since that time before the disaster, when every day had been much the same, the sort of thing that had felt as though it could stretch on forever. Not that he'd felt contentment, much less happiness even then, and he only appreciated what he'd had once it had been lost. But that was the way of things, wasn't it?
Unease, wariness, perpetual longing. The kiss to his neck both soothed and increased those feelings. Forcing his hands to relax, the Ascian smooths them over Mettaton's back, as though trying to reassure himself further.]
You're asking a lot. It's quite presumptuous, honestly....
[But what did he have in this world? Nothing would ever supplant his people, even if they weren't present in any form. Though his eyes flicker open again, the Ascian's gaze drifts to the side, unseeing. What was the point in trusting someone to that degree, knowing there was no permanence in it? On the other hand- if memory and experience were cursed to remain here, what did he have to lose? It wasn't as though he could bring any more loss back with him.
It wasn't as though he hadn't already been quite vulnerable with Mettaton, but it was one thing to do so on instinct or impulse, and another to be made conscious of it.
...Why did he feel more hopeless at the thought of succeeding? As though resigning himself to a worse fate. What a terrible thing, emotions were...]
I doubt I have anything left to take. [Emet-Selch admits, words slow, as though each one took effort, drained him that little bit more. Looking back up to Mettaton finally, he appears cautious, trying to ignore the lure of his presence, the hand to his chest, the way his back tensed underneath the fingers digging into his spine. The way he wanted to press closer still. It felt like being coaxed off a cliff, being convinced that it was better to break himself again on the rocks below.] Perhaps- over time... if I can dredge something up--
[He makes a small, breathless noise, half-pained, half-amused.]
That's not much of a promise, is it? Or reward. Whatever you scrape off of me, it's not going to be pleasant.
no subject
The present....
[Had he ever lived in it? Not since that time before the disaster, when every day had been much the same, the sort of thing that had felt as though it could stretch on forever. Not that he'd felt contentment, much less happiness even then, and he only appreciated what he'd had once it had been lost. But that was the way of things, wasn't it?
Unease, wariness, perpetual longing. The kiss to his neck both soothed and increased those feelings. Forcing his hands to relax, the Ascian smooths them over Mettaton's back, as though trying to reassure himself further.]
You're asking a lot. It's quite presumptuous, honestly....
[But what did he have in this world? Nothing would ever supplant his people, even if they weren't present in any form. Though his eyes flicker open again, the Ascian's gaze drifts to the side, unseeing. What was the point in trusting someone to that degree, knowing there was no permanence in it? On the other hand- if memory and experience were cursed to remain here, what did he have to lose? It wasn't as though he could bring any more loss back with him.
It wasn't as though he hadn't already been quite vulnerable with Mettaton, but it was one thing to do so on instinct or impulse, and another to be made conscious of it.
...Why did he feel more hopeless at the thought of succeeding? As though resigning himself to a worse fate. What a terrible thing, emotions were...]
I doubt I have anything left to take. [Emet-Selch admits, words slow, as though each one took effort, drained him that little bit more. Looking back up to Mettaton finally, he appears cautious, trying to ignore the lure of his presence, the hand to his chest, the way his back tensed underneath the fingers digging into his spine. The way he wanted to press closer still. It felt like being coaxed off a cliff, being convinced that it was better to break himself again on the rocks below.] Perhaps- over time... if I can dredge something up--
[He makes a small, breathless noise, half-pained, half-amused.]
That's not much of a promise, is it? Or reward. Whatever you scrape off of me, it's not going to be pleasant.
[Could he attach to anything in a healthy way?]