It settles over him heavier than Emet-Selch's body upon him the very moment he suggests arriving without his body. He can't even imagine himself prior to it, in Aefenglom, around all of these humans and other beings. Mortifying. What would he even do here? He wouldn't even have the options to keep him occupied in his hopeless perseverance, and he doubts very much that he'd have any company. Even independent of this body, it concerns him to consider who he might be without Napstablook to keep him at his best. (How does the very thought alone bring him right back to that mindset? Feeling worthless. ...That's in the past now. There's no way any sort of multiverse-based selection system would choose him, anyway, no matter the reasons, whether they're significant or arbitrary.)
The regret he'd feel if he had to be in such a unique set of circumstances but without a form he could consider his own is immense. He feels smaller now, perhaps glad to also feel swallowed up by Emet-Selch in this moment.
He hopes Emet-Selch doesn't notice all of this displeasure, but he dreads that he does. He probably does. Definitely. They're only connected by soul, their Bond incredibly transparent. That's... why he Bonded with him. (There's the feeling of relief, here. Just a bit.)
Mettaton rejects the thought of being a ghost who was also corporeal without form. What would that even be like? Uncomfortable, is what.]
No.
[Not the exact phrasing he was meaning to give...]
I believe that's why, by some design, we're brought as we are. With our hosts. They might have to provide one, or something...
[That's a bit more relieving, the thought that there would be something... As implausible as this all is. Though he imagines it would not be a great body... Most bodies, in Mettaton's experience, aren't right for him, but his selection hasn't been great. Not even his incorporeal one was right, but he could make do with others.
In response to earlier reassurances that linger (helpfully), Mettaton turns his head to press closer to Emet-Selch's, his hands smoothing down to the Ascian's lower back. He's not even too disturbed by the thought of what "all" they'll continue to face that will make having durability worthwhile, even as he considers it privately.
The Rathmores changed him. Of course they did, even if he keeps it private; nobody who wasn't there would want to talk about that. Even among those who were there, few do. Emet-Selch forces him to rethink his views, too, whether he likes it or not. He doesn't like feeling blindsided by his own adoration, and though he doesn't feel he'd ever stop loving people and could never stop hoping for their best... it sobers someone to experience something like that, and then find themselves Bonded to a man he met in those oppressive walls. It's a minor falter in ideology, an unsettling one, but one he places more hope in yet. He could find appreciation for a greater understanding of people. He just needs time.]
no subject
[Feel that unease. Mettaton frowns, hesitant.
It settles over him heavier than Emet-Selch's body upon him the very moment he suggests arriving without his body. He can't even imagine himself prior to it, in Aefenglom, around all of these humans and other beings. Mortifying. What would he even do here? He wouldn't even have the options to keep him occupied in his hopeless perseverance, and he doubts very much that he'd have any company. Even independent of this body, it concerns him to consider who he might be without Napstablook to keep him at his best. (How does the very thought alone bring him right back to that mindset? Feeling worthless. ...That's in the past now. There's no way any sort of multiverse-based selection system would choose him, anyway, no matter the reasons, whether they're significant or arbitrary.)
The regret he'd feel if he had to be in such a unique set of circumstances but without a form he could consider his own is immense. He feels smaller now, perhaps glad to also feel swallowed up by Emet-Selch in this moment.
He hopes Emet-Selch doesn't notice all of this displeasure, but he dreads that he does. He probably does. Definitely. They're only connected by soul, their Bond incredibly transparent. That's... why he Bonded with him. (There's the feeling of relief, here. Just a bit.)
Mettaton rejects the thought of being a ghost who was also corporeal without form. What would that even be like? Uncomfortable, is what.]
No.
[Not the exact phrasing he was meaning to give...]
I believe that's why, by some design, we're brought as we are. With our hosts. They might have to provide one, or something...
[That's a bit more relieving, the thought that there would be something... As implausible as this all is. Though he imagines it would not be a great body... Most bodies, in Mettaton's experience, aren't right for him, but his selection hasn't been great. Not even his incorporeal one was right, but he could make do with others.
In response to earlier reassurances that linger (helpfully), Mettaton turns his head to press closer to Emet-Selch's, his hands smoothing down to the Ascian's lower back. He's not even too disturbed by the thought of what "all" they'll continue to face that will make having durability worthwhile, even as he considers it privately.
The Rathmores changed him. Of course they did, even if he keeps it private; nobody who wasn't there would want to talk about that. Even among those who were there, few do. Emet-Selch forces him to rethink his views, too, whether he likes it or not. He doesn't like feeling blindsided by his own adoration, and though he doesn't feel he'd ever stop loving people and could never stop hoping for their best... it sobers someone to experience something like that, and then find themselves Bonded to a man he met in those oppressive walls. It's a minor falter in ideology, an unsettling one, but one he places more hope in yet. He could find appreciation for a greater understanding of people. He just needs time.]