[The very thought of somebody's soul being broken apart and distributed to new life... It's so odd to consider that the robot can only marvel at it. Something so splendid to him, however, takes on a bit of a horrifying cast in light of the events Emet-Selch outlined to him via text — for this to lead to that, he might see how it could be seen as unsettling, even. From a purely distant standpoint: Mettaton mostly sees it as interesting, as heartrending as it is to imagine his cherished people broken to pieces.
Souls like his have a lot to give, a lot of pieces to break into, don't they? Mettaton does feel comparatively smaller, and he knows his soul is whole. There's a regard for Emet-Selch in this moment, but an even greater appreciation for... the fact that he's all here, as he is, in this moment. It's not to dislike those with pieces of souls, but a simple fondness for the fact that he's still himself. A reciprocal embrace from within that darkness.
(Does Emet-Selch ever recognize pieces of souls he sees in people? Has he ever found a friend...? How bittersweet that would be. This new question bites him suddenly, and he'll no doubt ask.)
Emet-Selch is quick to address the most prominent possible regrets, as if he'd spared some thought to it already. Some, anyway. It's all of the regrets that Mettaton wonders if he's even allowed to think about, shackled to his zeal for Zodiark as he is, that makes him wonder if he could ask. What if there were another way? Mettaton doesn't have a good impression of Hydaelyn (and still can't wrap his mind around why some of the Amaurotine felt so threatened that they needed to make another god (what exactly daunted them so about Zodiark, if he brought them salvation?! questions for later)) but what if there were a reason for her conception? Were there ideas that required less sacrifice, had greater support, could have yielded better results?
...In the end, Mettaton's not one who likes to hold onto regrets, himself. He does, rarely, but he doesn't like it. Not when he can keep looking on, moving ever forward and finding ways to make right what's wrong. What good would it do to dwell on what already happened? Turning back time and replaying events for a different outcome is something nobody could do, save for a god, probably.
He smiles despite himself, quiet and appreciative of all he feels from the Ascian while his hands wander over his upper back, slow and broad in their strokes, taking in his build, muscle and bone. Perhaps not unlike this, Emet-Selch's palpation yields that layer of pliant, false tissue that seems to cover a metal framework complex in its construction, enough to facilitate all manner of head and neck movement.]
The regret of not seeing eye to eye, with your loved ones. That maybe they disagreed with you for good reason... Or, even if yours was the most viable solution— [He has no greater way of phrasing this:] As someone so involved in mobilizing the solution... Do you feel responsible for their deaths? For the way things played out?
[It's asked from an inquisitive angle, perhaps even one probing for lingering feeling. This is about regrets, after all. Mettatons palms press into his back as he moves them down, then back up again in a slow rhythm.]
no subject
[The very thought of somebody's soul being broken apart and distributed to new life... It's so odd to consider that the robot can only marvel at it. Something so splendid to him, however, takes on a bit of a horrifying cast in light of the events Emet-Selch outlined to him via text — for this to lead to that, he might see how it could be seen as unsettling, even. From a purely distant standpoint: Mettaton mostly sees it as interesting, as heartrending as it is to imagine his cherished people broken to pieces.
Souls like his have a lot to give, a lot of pieces to break into, don't they? Mettaton does feel comparatively smaller, and he knows his soul is whole. There's a regard for Emet-Selch in this moment, but an even greater appreciation for... the fact that he's all here, as he is, in this moment. It's not to dislike those with pieces of souls, but a simple fondness for the fact that he's still himself. A reciprocal embrace from within that darkness.
(Does Emet-Selch ever recognize pieces of souls he sees in people? Has he ever found a friend...? How bittersweet that would be. This new question bites him suddenly, and he'll no doubt ask.)
Emet-Selch is quick to address the most prominent possible regrets, as if he'd spared some thought to it already. Some, anyway. It's all of the regrets that Mettaton wonders if he's even allowed to think about, shackled to his zeal for Zodiark as he is, that makes him wonder if he could ask. What if there were another way? Mettaton doesn't have a good impression of Hydaelyn (and still can't wrap his mind around why some of the Amaurotine felt so threatened that they needed to make another god (what exactly daunted them so about Zodiark, if he brought them salvation?! questions for later)) but what if there were a reason for her conception? Were there ideas that required less sacrifice, had greater support, could have yielded better results?
...In the end, Mettaton's not one who likes to hold onto regrets, himself. He does, rarely, but he doesn't like it. Not when he can keep looking on, moving ever forward and finding ways to make right what's wrong. What good would it do to dwell on what already happened? Turning back time and replaying events for a different outcome is something nobody could do, save for a god, probably.
He smiles despite himself, quiet and appreciative of all he feels from the Ascian while his hands wander over his upper back, slow and broad in their strokes, taking in his build, muscle and bone. Perhaps not unlike this, Emet-Selch's palpation yields that layer of pliant, false tissue that seems to cover a metal framework complex in its construction, enough to facilitate all manner of head and neck movement.]
The regret of not seeing eye to eye, with your loved ones. That maybe they disagreed with you for good reason... Or, even if yours was the most viable solution— [He has no greater way of phrasing this:] As someone so involved in mobilizing the solution... Do you feel responsible for their deaths? For the way things played out?
[It's asked from an inquisitive angle, perhaps even one probing for lingering feeling. This is about regrets, after all. Mettatons palms press into his back as he moves them down, then back up again in a slow rhythm.]