[It really, really wasn't necessary. It wasn't unusual to learn that a ghost was off to corporealize, begin their life anew, yet Mettaton himself stole off without a word. Sometimes he wonders if anybody else noticed he was gone. He assumes not. Maybe Napstablook tried looking for him, but likely not — given their energy level, the best they'd have in them is resignation to a life alone. He doesn't blame them. Immediately despondent, assuming he'd left them because they were dragging him down or intolerable company otherwise. The fact that Mettaton is aware of how they must have taken it never fails to make him feel worse for leaving them in the dark.
He waits a moment, thinking it over. It takes Mettaton sorting through a number of excuses that don't actually pose the largest obstacle if questioned further, and questioning is something Emet-Selch is good at doing. He's not intending to lie — there's no reason, and Emet-Selch's companionship pulls Mettaton deeply into complacency, unguarded. But his other reasons aren't lies so much as not thorough enough. At the core of it all, there's always one thing left: guilt.]
Because... I told them I'd never leave them behind, for corporeality. But. Well. Here I am.
[There was no obstacle but his own feelings. He went against his word. Fame can go to one's head, and he took every opportunity to forget about what he'd left behind. It made it easier.
That goes unsaid, but the sentiment persists. It was easier to ignore it and leave it behind, to create an artificial distance between anyone who got close to him. All he needs are his fans, after all. Maybe that's not the case.]
The day I arrived here... I finally met them again, as my fan. Of course, I knew they'd like what I do. That they'd be a fan is no surprise to me. But it's strange. Meeting somebody you've always known... but they don't recognize you in the same way. They only know you in a removed sense. I'm their idol now, not their long lost family. I was going to tell them, and... I will. But I didn't. When they looked at me with such admiration, I...
[So he knew they were likely left in the darkest of mental spaces for years, but when he saw them in person, he couldn't bring himself to blur the lines between star and constant companion. What sort of reaction would that have elicited after he saw them excited for once? They would have been made upset all over again, he's sure.
Being transparent to Emet-Selch feels unusually natural. He can't place why, but it's something about his very being. He has his barbs, and the robot already knows he feels familiar, but his perceptiveness forces everything to lay out before both of them for appraisal. Feeling enclosed by the Ascian is so welcome that he can't even bring himself to think of what it feels like without the presence of his immense soul, darkness and all. From within that security, Mettaton latches on.]
I forgot... what I'd given up. How nice it is to have people close to me.
no subject
He waits a moment, thinking it over. It takes Mettaton sorting through a number of excuses that don't actually pose the largest obstacle if questioned further, and questioning is something Emet-Selch is good at doing. He's not intending to lie — there's no reason, and Emet-Selch's companionship pulls Mettaton deeply into complacency, unguarded. But his other reasons aren't lies so much as not thorough enough. At the core of it all, there's always one thing left: guilt.]
Because... I told them I'd never leave them behind, for corporeality. But. Well. Here I am.
[There was no obstacle but his own feelings. He went against his word. Fame can go to one's head, and he took every opportunity to forget about what he'd left behind. It made it easier.
That goes unsaid, but the sentiment persists. It was easier to ignore it and leave it behind, to create an artificial distance between anyone who got close to him. All he needs are his fans, after all. Maybe that's not the case.]
The day I arrived here... I finally met them again, as my fan. Of course, I knew they'd like what I do. That they'd be a fan is no surprise to me. But it's strange. Meeting somebody you've always known... but they don't recognize you in the same way. They only know you in a removed sense. I'm their idol now, not their long lost family. I was going to tell them, and... I will. But I didn't. When they looked at me with such admiration, I...
[So he knew they were likely left in the darkest of mental spaces for years, but when he saw them in person, he couldn't bring himself to blur the lines between star and constant companion. What sort of reaction would that have elicited after he saw them excited for once? They would have been made upset all over again, he's sure.
Being transparent to Emet-Selch feels unusually natural. He can't place why, but it's something about his very being. He has his barbs, and the robot already knows he feels familiar, but his perceptiveness forces everything to lay out before both of them for appraisal. Feeling enclosed by the Ascian is so welcome that he can't even bring himself to think of what it feels like without the presence of his immense soul, darkness and all. From within that security, Mettaton latches on.]
I forgot... what I'd given up. How nice it is to have people close to me.