[And Mettaton exacts upon Emet-Selch his own kiss, an immediate follow-up, eye still closed. This is not quite something he'd imagine attempting here and while it echoes with some normalcy to his experiences, it's very... odd-feeling, given the new parameters of Geardagas. He feels stilted from expression, but this is just as well. The Bond facilitates what it can, blind as it is.]
It only made sense to try... It feels natural. If Bonding permits me to feel your feelings, or share your dreams, why not reach for your heart? We are linked, after all. I merely traced from me, to you... It's distance, darling. And now, you feel so very close... And so intimate.
[Being attuned to his soul by condition likely helps, but he's by no means the same composition as he would've been. Same soul, capabilities and weaknesses of it done away with.
He seems satisfied at Emet-Selch's response, smug even, keeping focus on the sensation. Without ever having seen one of these sundered souls, Mettaton can only compare his to the likes of a human's or monster's. It still feels powerful, and he wonders if it's due to the tempering, or if that's the native state of his soul. Nonetheless, it's still hard to compare it to anything he knows. It's powerful, indomitable, imposing. Mettaton finds himself eagerly shifting closer, even if its power feels like easily enough to strike him down.]
My. You're really something... You know that. Were I standing, I might feel weak-kneed. I wonder if this is what it feels like to take a soul? ... Haha. As if. It would have to be me taking from you, not this.
[Casually say some disturbing stuff.
Mettaton hardly cares to regard the nature of his own soul, unremarkable as he finds it. And it's unremarkable to him, anyway, since all monster souls are the same. About all that could possibly be gathered from it in this magic-based, Bond-facilitated tactile foray is how raw and unguarded it feels: fragile, weak to intent, worse than a candle — like a light bulb, easy as glass to break. How lacking in quality it is, something pure and without character. Most remarkably, since this is based on feeling, his soul is distinctly inverted: if it weren't, it might feel very normal in shape or form.
Well, he can't control what Emet-Selch thinks of all of that. He just wanted to feel him closer, and he finds himself a bit resentful at the presence of Zodiark's influence on his soul. What would he be like without? Even so, the Puca hums, pressing his cheek against the Ascian's fondly.]
no subject
It only made sense to try... It feels natural. If Bonding permits me to feel your feelings, or share your dreams, why not reach for your heart? We are linked, after all. I merely traced from me, to you... It's distance, darling. And now, you feel so very close... And so intimate.
[Being attuned to his soul by condition likely helps, but he's by no means the same composition as he would've been. Same soul, capabilities and weaknesses of it done away with.
He seems satisfied at Emet-Selch's response, smug even, keeping focus on the sensation. Without ever having seen one of these sundered souls, Mettaton can only compare his to the likes of a human's or monster's. It still feels powerful, and he wonders if it's due to the tempering, or if that's the native state of his soul. Nonetheless, it's still hard to compare it to anything he knows. It's powerful, indomitable, imposing. Mettaton finds himself eagerly shifting closer, even if its power feels like easily enough to strike him down.]
My. You're really something... You know that. Were I standing, I might feel weak-kneed. I wonder if this is what it feels like to take a soul? ... Haha. As if. It would have to be me taking from you, not this.
[Casually say some disturbing stuff.
Mettaton hardly cares to regard the nature of his own soul, unremarkable as he finds it. And it's unremarkable to him, anyway, since all monster souls are the same. About all that could possibly be gathered from it in this magic-based, Bond-facilitated tactile foray is how raw and unguarded it feels: fragile, weak to intent, worse than a candle — like a light bulb, easy as glass to break. How lacking in quality it is, something pure and without character. Most remarkably, since this is based on feeling, his soul is distinctly inverted: if it weren't, it might feel very normal in shape or form.
Well, he can't control what Emet-Selch thinks of all of that. He just wanted to feel him closer, and he finds himself a bit resentful at the presence of Zodiark's influence on his soul. What would he be like without? Even so, the Puca hums, pressing his cheek against the Ascian's fondly.]
Surprise is a lovely look on you, by the way.