[He can't help but lean closer to better hear Mettaton's voice, even though he was at no risk of not catching his words. His soul itself seemed inclined to still and listen, as though it could capture sound as well as spirit.
But that was right; Mettaton had mentioned that monsters could only kill with unwavering intent. And while Emet-Selch had assumed that to be little obstacle, perhaps he'd misjudged them (could there possibly be another population in existence that was predisposed to kindness, other than his own people?). So with that, on top of natural defenses against the only danger readily available... he could see why they'd managed to not destroy themselves once isolated from the real threat: humanity.
Regardless of intent, he's soothed a little nonetheless by the broader press of Mettaton's hands, the way the idol's soul seemed to embrace him in turn.
But when the conversation turns towards their captivity, it was hard to miss the puca's reaction. The discomfiture is obvious. Mettaton rarely avoided gazing directly at something, from what he'd noticed. And Emet-Selch had wondered how the man had dealt with all they'd been through and witnessed. If he had dealt with it at all. As poorly as the Ascian had fared, as new as the sense of helplessness had been, the actual actions on the part of their captors had been no surprise. His view of humanity remained justifiably intact. But Mettaton seemed quite... innocent. And possibly from a society unused to cruelty. What mark had their experiences left on him? It wasn't as though Emet-Selch had ever known him beforehand.]
So here, you're rendered some physicality, despite yourselves....
[Leaning in, he brushes a kiss to Mettaton's cheek, before pressing the side of his face against his, for a moment. To reassure? Emet-Selch isn't sure. He's also not sure why he's possessed of the inclination to. Part of that... 'caring' thing, perhaps.]
Your friend is quite forgiving, then. [There's a note of approval there, actually. He also just assumes that they're friends.] And how technically fortunate that this world saw fit to render your kind a degree more durability. Considering all that you'll continue to face.
[Not a very optimistic statement. It's downright pessimistic, even. He sighs. If Mettaton's people had attained their freedom through an impossible lack of bloodshed, to live a life of peaceful coexistence with humanity (an even more impossible thought), how... cruel again to be dragged here instead. Where there was freedom, yes... but fear and violence alongside it.
...At least they had a reason to look forward to going home, he supposed. A thought that has his own melancholy deepen. Shaking his head slightly, he has another thought.]
But... you presumably can't leave your current form without dying, same as myself- so I wonder what would've happened if you had arrived without one. A ghost outside the machine... would you have been made corporeal? If I'd appeared without mortal flesh, I doubt they would've allowed me to remain imperceptible to nearly everyone.
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But that was right; Mettaton had mentioned that monsters could only kill with unwavering intent. And while Emet-Selch had assumed that to be little obstacle, perhaps he'd misjudged them (could there possibly be another population in existence that was predisposed to kindness, other than his own people?). So with that, on top of natural defenses against the only danger readily available... he could see why they'd managed to not destroy themselves once isolated from the real threat: humanity.
Regardless of intent, he's soothed a little nonetheless by the broader press of Mettaton's hands, the way the idol's soul seemed to embrace him in turn.
But when the conversation turns towards their captivity, it was hard to miss the puca's reaction. The discomfiture is obvious. Mettaton rarely avoided gazing directly at something, from what he'd noticed. And Emet-Selch had wondered how the man had dealt with all they'd been through and witnessed. If he had dealt with it at all. As poorly as the Ascian had fared, as new as the sense of helplessness had been, the actual actions on the part of their captors had been no surprise. His view of humanity remained justifiably intact. But Mettaton seemed quite... innocent. And possibly from a society unused to cruelty. What mark had their experiences left on him? It wasn't as though Emet-Selch had ever known him beforehand.]
So here, you're rendered some physicality, despite yourselves....
[Leaning in, he brushes a kiss to Mettaton's cheek, before pressing the side of his face against his, for a moment. To reassure? Emet-Selch isn't sure. He's also not sure why he's possessed of the inclination to. Part of that... 'caring' thing, perhaps.]
Your friend is quite forgiving, then. [There's a note of approval there, actually. He also just assumes that they're friends.] And how technically fortunate that this world saw fit to render your kind a degree more durability. Considering all that you'll continue to face.
[Not a very optimistic statement. It's downright pessimistic, even. He sighs. If Mettaton's people had attained their freedom through an impossible lack of bloodshed, to live a life of peaceful coexistence with humanity (an even more impossible thought), how... cruel again to be dragged here instead. Where there was freedom, yes... but fear and violence alongside it.
...At least they had a reason to look forward to going home, he supposed. A thought that has his own melancholy deepen. Shaking his head slightly, he has another thought.]
But... you presumably can't leave your current form without dying, same as myself- so I wonder what would've happened if you had arrived without one. A ghost outside the machine... would you have been made corporeal? If I'd appeared without mortal flesh, I doubt they would've allowed me to remain imperceptible to nearly everyone.