In Emet-Selch's case, several days of it had been spent in a coma. From dreams of history to no dreams at all; the tempestuous result of that memory-walking experience had been enough to push him under permanently, to slowly die in the same way that he lived: completely alone. If he'd been awake, he would've appreciated the symmetry.
But he did not die, and on waking to feel the absence of two Bonds, the Ascian's initial reaction was one of simple, exhausted relief- before falling immediately back into a more genuine sleep. A process that he repeated for upwards of a week, rousing only for brief periods, before stumbling back into bed for further rest. At some point, Mettaton had contacted him; Emet-Selch only remembered this very vaguely, had been in little shape to do more than agree that he was still alive, and would be improving shortly.
There was a lot of sleep to catch up on. And with it, a recovery from the more magical drain on his stamina, that had further aided in hollowing him out, reducing him so steadily. But several weeks had passed since that time, and he was feeling better than he had since... since being captured and tortured, actually. Something that felt like it had been years past now, but was only months. Time gets- strange, when you lose the ability to keep track of it very well. When each day feels not wholly real.
But awake he is, and in his room, as he so often was. The intrusion of a message gets a frown, though he had to give Mettaton the smallest credit for remembering to warn him. But was there time to go downstairs and unlock the door, Emet-Selch wondered. Did he even care if he kicked it down, really? Unlocking his own door was all he he could bother to do....
A consideration that is interrupted by a very distinctive and loud thunk of something quite heavy and likely robot-shaped impacting the roof. Emet-Selch looks reflexively overhead, though it's not as though he's developed the ability to gaze through the ceiling. And then there's rapping. Against his very own window.
Pushing the curtains aside, feeling more incredulous by the moment, Emet-Selch just... stares, as long ears give way to revealing the tall man who wore them.
(Was this a puca thing, he'd wonder later. Vanitas was also Bonded to a puca who apparently liked coming in through his window. But why would a rabbit-oriented monster have those sorts of inclinations...?)
And Emet-Selch continues to stare for some good, long moments, having to restrain the impulse to close his curtains back up and return to bed. It wouldn't work anyway: Mettaton would just break the window, he assumed. Or circle around and break several doors. So instead the Ascian sighs, a deeply-felt exhalation, as he unlatches the window and pushes it up, the frame of it stiff and creaking and reluctant to move. The evening air wasn't as cool these days; perhaps he should just consider leaving it open....
Stepping out of the way, he waits for Mettaton to finish making his absurd and unnecessarily complicated entrance.]
Why?
[Why to a lot of things, probably. The one of most relevance being why, through the window?]
no subject
In Emet-Selch's case, several days of it had been spent in a coma. From dreams of history to no dreams at all; the tempestuous result of that memory-walking experience had been enough to push him under permanently, to slowly die in the same way that he lived: completely alone. If he'd been awake, he would've appreciated the symmetry.
But he did not die, and on waking to feel the absence of two Bonds, the Ascian's initial reaction was one of simple, exhausted relief- before falling immediately back into a more genuine sleep. A process that he repeated for upwards of a week, rousing only for brief periods, before stumbling back into bed for further rest. At some point, Mettaton had contacted him; Emet-Selch only remembered this very vaguely, had been in little shape to do more than agree that he was still alive, and would be improving shortly.
There was a lot of sleep to catch up on. And with it, a recovery from the more magical drain on his stamina, that had further aided in hollowing him out, reducing him so steadily. But several weeks had passed since that time, and he was feeling better than he had since... since being captured and tortured, actually. Something that felt like it had been years past now, but was only months. Time gets- strange, when you lose the ability to keep track of it very well. When each day feels not wholly real.
But awake he is, and in his room, as he so often was. The intrusion of a message gets a frown, though he had to give Mettaton the smallest credit for remembering to warn him. But was there time to go downstairs and unlock the door, Emet-Selch wondered. Did he even care if he kicked it down, really? Unlocking his own door was all he he could bother to do....
A consideration that is interrupted by a very distinctive and loud thunk of something quite heavy and likely robot-shaped impacting the roof. Emet-Selch looks reflexively overhead, though it's not as though he's developed the ability to gaze through the ceiling. And then there's rapping. Against his very own window.
Pushing the curtains aside, feeling more incredulous by the moment, Emet-Selch just... stares, as long ears give way to revealing the tall man who wore them.
(Was this a puca thing, he'd wonder later. Vanitas was also Bonded to a puca who apparently liked coming in through his window. But why would a rabbit-oriented monster have those sorts of inclinations...?)
And Emet-Selch continues to stare for some good, long moments, having to restrain the impulse to close his curtains back up and return to bed. It wouldn't work anyway: Mettaton would just break the window, he assumed. Or circle around and break several doors. So instead the Ascian sighs, a deeply-felt exhalation, as he unlatches the window and pushes it up, the frame of it stiff and creaking and reluctant to move. The evening air wasn't as cool these days; perhaps he should just consider leaving it open....
Stepping out of the way, he waits for Mettaton to finish making his absurd and unnecessarily complicated entrance.]
Why?
[Why to a lot of things, probably. The one of most relevance being why, through the window?]
Did the door do something to offend?