[Once presented with some opportunity for emotional closeness, the Ascian's requirement of it was near insatiable. Physical closeness was only the conduit for obtaining it, which imposed unfortunate limitations of stamina when one was possessed of mortal form. Even so, Mettaton's continued nearness encouraged a degree of recklessness that Emet-Selch was unused to experiencing, and which left him slightly exasperated at his own neediness. How youthful, to be so taken by someone again.
At Mettaton's words, the Ascian's manner contains a note of questioning, unsure of where he was going with this, or what he was doing. Of course their souls were still tied, but apart from as an abstract, or through the sharing of emotion, it was little more than a nice thought--
And then he felt- something. A presence, a touch, but nothing physical; it was far closer, more personal than that. He stills entirely, scarcely breathing as though he might disturb it, focused on that sensation.]
I... how are you--
[...The souls of the sundered peoples were like a candle, flickering and feeble, threatened by every suggestion of a breeze. In comparison, the Ascian's was more of a bonfire, a strength and intensity of burning that felt nigh inextinguishable. During each Bonding ceremony, Emet-Selch had been able to see the edge of it- that it was still there, that its color remained unchanged. But its full shape had been unknown, and with his powers sealed, he had... wondered. If he hadn't been reduced to the same level as those candles.
But though he still couldn't see it- Mettaton's proximity to it, contact with it, allows him to sense the shape of it himself. It appeared unharmed, its status unaltered, for all that he could no longer reach it.
Relief washes through him, simple and uncomplicated. Followed by gratitude, continued bewilderment, and deep affection. He can't help but kiss Mettaton again, in some added expression of those feelings, as the knowledge that he was still whole slowly began to sink in, and he could think about the rest.
It should've felt threatening. The last time something had contacted his soul, he'd been tempered by it. The next time something would reach his soul, he'd been sealed and shattered- apparently. This didn't seem like either of those. While Bonding had possessed a portion of the same feeling, it had been fleeting- a tendril of sensation, while this was far more than that.
And yet- he felt no alarm. It was only intimate- deeply, deeply so- an impression and closeness of self. While the spiritual world was familiar to Emet-Selch, this was not. He had no idea how Mettaton was accomplishing this; it was more than an infliction of feeling through the Bond. This was going right to the source.]
It's quite different of an experience.... [Soul-touch rather than sight. Murmured against his lips; it's clear that he's taken by the feeling, unfamiliar as it is. His arm tightens a little, as though he could hold on to this sensation somehow, though he otherwise remains still.] How did you manage this...?
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At Mettaton's words, the Ascian's manner contains a note of questioning, unsure of where he was going with this, or what he was doing. Of course their souls were still tied, but apart from as an abstract, or through the sharing of emotion, it was little more than a nice thought--
And then he felt- something. A presence, a touch, but nothing physical; it was far closer, more personal than that. He stills entirely, scarcely breathing as though he might disturb it, focused on that sensation.]
I... how are you--
[...The souls of the sundered peoples were like a candle, flickering and feeble, threatened by every suggestion of a breeze. In comparison, the Ascian's was more of a bonfire, a strength and intensity of burning that felt nigh inextinguishable. During each Bonding ceremony, Emet-Selch had been able to see the edge of it- that it was still there, that its color remained unchanged. But its full shape had been unknown, and with his powers sealed, he had... wondered. If he hadn't been reduced to the same level as those candles.
But though he still couldn't see it- Mettaton's proximity to it, contact with it, allows him to sense the shape of it himself. It appeared unharmed, its status unaltered, for all that he could no longer reach it.
Relief washes through him, simple and uncomplicated. Followed by gratitude, continued bewilderment, and deep affection. He can't help but kiss Mettaton again, in some added expression of those feelings, as the knowledge that he was still whole slowly began to sink in, and he could think about the rest.
It should've felt threatening. The last time something had contacted his soul, he'd been tempered by it. The next time something would reach his soul, he'd been sealed and shattered- apparently. This didn't seem like either of those. While Bonding had possessed a portion of the same feeling, it had been fleeting- a tendril of sensation, while this was far more than that.
And yet- he felt no alarm. It was only intimate- deeply, deeply so- an impression and closeness of self. While the spiritual world was familiar to Emet-Selch, this was not. He had no idea how Mettaton was accomplishing this; it was more than an infliction of feeling through the Bond. This was going right to the source.]
It's quite different of an experience.... [Soul-touch rather than sight. Murmured against his lips; it's clear that he's taken by the feeling, unfamiliar as it is. His arm tightens a little, as though he could hold on to this sensation somehow, though he otherwise remains still.] How did you manage this...?