[Emet-Selch's expression doesn't appear to faze him, a mild smile still upon his features. What a question. The former's easy, the latter's just strange. (What does he mean, survive contact with each other? Before coming here, Mettaton hardly believed that anybody would act with senseless violence.) Mettaton seems to spare it some thought, attention directed toward the corner of the ceiling.]
We survived barely, of course. Being spared at all was a mercy, no doubt. But that was millennia ago, darling. ... I can't say we have issues with killing each other, in the meantime. Even if we wanted to... We fight with magic, and we resist magic. It's the brutality humans are capable of that could kill us.
[As he speaks, his voice is at a low, intimate volume, sometimes veering breathless against all odds while he appreciates such an odd mix of thrill and security. Emet-Selch grows more and more familiar feeling as time passes, though he takes the time to simply appreciate the sensation of him so close. Overall, his Bonded is a very, very comfortable presence for him, even as they try to learn more about each other. If he takes a step back to think on it, the development surprises him.
Relax, though. He directs his attention more wholly upon the Ascian upon noticing his restlessness, remaining perfectly at ease. While his hands continue moving against his back, palms flat against skin with fingers trailing behind, so too does he try to relax him by spirit. Something of a reciprocal pull, closer to himself.
He doesn't provide any of this to soothe anyone, of course. It's just a matter of fact. His own opinion on it isn't much matter, either, since this is his condition, if not a few degrees removed by being so different otherwise.]
Here, though... I don't think our souls are quite the same. [A glance toward the wall, something Mettaton does when he's made uncomfortable by something.] There was... another monster kidnapped alongside us, besides me. Not a ghost. Not a robot.
[Ghosts: can't be killed, corporealizing: kind of ruins that, robot: provides durability, so he makes sure to specify that this is an average monster. Mettaton refocuses his gaze upon Emet-Selch, somber. Talking about this is difficult for him to do: every time he does, he's usually doing it to reassure, since it's always in talking to the victim himself. He's obliged to do what he can to lift his spirits.]
... They did not treat him with any kindness. We both stand out in this crowd, even full of Mirrorbound. He survived it all... And remains as affable as ever. So I guess our frailty isn't the case, here.
They were awful. That was the kind of sentiment that would gravely wound, or even kill us.
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We survived barely, of course. Being spared at all was a mercy, no doubt. But that was millennia ago, darling. ... I can't say we have issues with killing each other, in the meantime. Even if we wanted to... We fight with magic, and we resist magic. It's the brutality humans are capable of that could kill us.
[As he speaks, his voice is at a low, intimate volume, sometimes veering breathless against all odds while he appreciates such an odd mix of thrill and security. Emet-Selch grows more and more familiar feeling as time passes, though he takes the time to simply appreciate the sensation of him so close. Overall, his Bonded is a very, very comfortable presence for him, even as they try to learn more about each other. If he takes a step back to think on it, the development surprises him.
Relax, though. He directs his attention more wholly upon the Ascian upon noticing his restlessness, remaining perfectly at ease. While his hands continue moving against his back, palms flat against skin with fingers trailing behind, so too does he try to relax him by spirit. Something of a reciprocal pull, closer to himself.
He doesn't provide any of this to soothe anyone, of course. It's just a matter of fact. His own opinion on it isn't much matter, either, since this is his condition, if not a few degrees removed by being so different otherwise.]
Here, though... I don't think our souls are quite the same. [A glance toward the wall, something Mettaton does when he's made uncomfortable by something.] There was... another monster kidnapped alongside us, besides me. Not a ghost. Not a robot.
[Ghosts: can't be killed, corporealizing: kind of ruins that, robot: provides durability, so he makes sure to specify that this is an average monster. Mettaton refocuses his gaze upon Emet-Selch, somber. Talking about this is difficult for him to do: every time he does, he's usually doing it to reassure, since it's always in talking to the victim himself. He's obliged to do what he can to lift his spirits.]
... They did not treat him with any kindness. We both stand out in this crowd, even full of Mirrorbound. He survived it all... And remains as affable as ever. So I guess our frailty isn't the case, here.
They were awful. That was the kind of sentiment that would gravely wound, or even kill us.