[Absurdly acrobatic in how he flips down from the roof and in through the window. He clears the sill, landing with another thud that doesn't betray his true weight, somehow. Probably thanks in part to the spring of his landing. All-in-all, Emet-Selch made the smart choice that reduced the amount of property damage possible, especially with that long pause. That would've been a shattered window for sure, purely out of spite.
He has a manner about him that suggests that he won't be stopped. It's inevitability. He would break things to get his way.
(Maybe it's just that eccentric sorts are sorted by design into becoming Puca. Or, it's... a sickness.)
Any kind of response to the open-ended why will have to wait, as Mettaton doesn't pause before lunging for his Bonded, ears bending forward in his attraction to the man before him. He wraps his arms about his waist and pulls him in, leaning down to force a kiss upon him. This is Emet-Selch's fate now: affection. It's a lot for a greeting, an excessive show of romance with an electric charge to it that must come from "too long" spent apart. It feels too long, to the robot.
(Speaking of feeling, Mettaton still exhibits a brand of that odd tension he possessed in the dream, as though his emotional stability is pulled taut. Even as it fluctuates broadly as it does, expressive and emotional as it is, it's almost as though it's playing on a different key. He's adjusting well enough, all things considered. He's resilient, and he doesn't show a thing to someone who isn't looking. Merely an unusual tension that suggests the same easy mood swings he had during the dream.)
When he pulls away, he grins at him, bright and without a trace of disturbance. As though he's perfectly back to his usual self. He nods his head toward the window.]
No. But this was a shortcut... Prime for the taking, as soon as I laid eyes upon it! Why waste any time with doors, and floors, and stairs... when I could shoot directly for my destination??
[Flawless, flawless logic. This is what people who cannot teleport do for fast travel. If they're... Mettaton.
A hand drifts up to Emet-Selch's neck as he smiles down upon him, overwhelmingly pleased to see him.]
Anyway. You look better than you have as of late... At least, I sense as much. Lively, by your standards. But how would you say you're feeling, darling?
no subject
He has a manner about him that suggests that he won't be stopped. It's inevitability. He would break things to get his way.
(Maybe it's just that eccentric sorts are sorted by design into becoming Puca. Or, it's... a sickness.)
Any kind of response to the open-ended why will have to wait, as Mettaton doesn't pause before lunging for his Bonded, ears bending forward in his attraction to the man before him. He wraps his arms about his waist and pulls him in, leaning down to force a kiss upon him. This is Emet-Selch's fate now: affection. It's a lot for a greeting, an excessive show of romance with an electric charge to it that must come from "too long" spent apart. It feels too long, to the robot.
(Speaking of feeling, Mettaton still exhibits a brand of that odd tension he possessed in the dream, as though his emotional stability is pulled taut. Even as it fluctuates broadly as it does, expressive and emotional as it is, it's almost as though it's playing on a different key. He's adjusting well enough, all things considered. He's resilient, and he doesn't show a thing to someone who isn't looking. Merely an unusual tension that suggests the same easy mood swings he had during the dream.)
When he pulls away, he grins at him, bright and without a trace of disturbance. As though he's perfectly back to his usual self. He nods his head toward the window.]
No. But this was a shortcut... Prime for the taking, as soon as I laid eyes upon it! Why waste any time with doors, and floors, and stairs... when I could shoot directly for my destination??
[Flawless, flawless logic. This is what people who cannot teleport do for fast travel. If they're... Mettaton.
A hand drifts up to Emet-Selch's neck as he smiles down upon him, overwhelmingly pleased to see him.]
Anyway. You look better than you have as of late... At least, I sense as much. Lively, by your standards. But how would you say you're feeling, darling?