[Emet-Selch gets a sort of concerned look for him at his description of what defines a flaw, this nature of mortality. Of course Mettaton knows this about him already, but it strikes him as so odd of a thing to have a problem with. Everyone around him has been mortal, for the most part. He expected all along that humans would come and go. Everyone's just like this, in his eyes. It hardly seems like a flaw, except for when someone grows this attached, he supposes.
And yet, Mettaton still categorizes mortal and immortal lives differently. Not as one being superior over the other, just... regarded differently. He scarcely sees any issue with the eventual end of a mortal.
But Emet-Selch's not done, and he expected as much. He is an emotional sort. His ears both bend now, picking up on each peculiarity. This body, as though it's not his own. He can understand, he supposes... Although Emet-Selch expressed that he customized this form to his liking. It should be his body, no matter which he takes.
So Varis's father was a person he favored, taken from him far too soon. Someone who he'd grown fond of, which is a sweet thought: Mettaton finds himself smiling, never having known the other kinds of people who claimed a part of the Ascian's heart. (Mettaton decides that any of his various bodies are his, if he keeps them. Therefore, it's his son.) He wonders if Emet-Selch feels as though everyone he loves is taken from him prematurely, and it imbues Mettaton with remorse on his behalf.
Here, he was the one thinking about how mortal lives are just like this. Now he turns around and pities him for their susceptibility.
Mettaton closes his eye fleetingly, trusting his step to keep him from tripping.]
So he resembled Varis... He was tall. Light, long hair. ...Though I'm only beginning to understand why he appeared older than you. Something about you having bodies made up for you. [That's why he was able to reappear with a duplicate, Mettaton finally realizes. (Another implication: he saw more than one memory with Varis present.
A beat, and Mettaton does a shrug with his free arm.]
You don't have to know why you felt the way you did, darling. Feelings don't make sense! Even if they go against your regular world view. To think that someone could be taken so easily by illness... I can hardly imagine it. But. Even if you had only so short a time with him... You bear his memory.
[As Mettaton suggested, they're closing in on the former "center" of the Aristocratic district, which has now been overtaken by The Haven. The houses grow larger here, senselessly. The kinds with ballrooms and columns, excessive unless someone really had like a party of eight or more. He seems to veer in a direction toward one of them, one that has most of the lights out. (Definitely not a choice of Mettaton's: he'd stupidly leave lights on, always.)]
I'm glad to hear about him. That you'd care about him enough to share your fondness of him with me...
[After all, he's sure there might be more than Varis's father. In the end, that's who Emet-Selch chose to talk about.
When they approach the house, Mettaton produces a key. For some reason, unlocking doors is no problem in this specific incident. Would that he could treat all people's houses to the same decency as he does to his own. (The real modifier here is that he has a key to it... SO important.)]
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And yet, Mettaton still categorizes mortal and immortal lives differently. Not as one being superior over the other, just... regarded differently. He scarcely sees any issue with the eventual end of a mortal.
But Emet-Selch's not done, and he expected as much. He is an emotional sort. His ears both bend now, picking up on each peculiarity. This body, as though it's not his own. He can understand, he supposes... Although Emet-Selch expressed that he customized this form to his liking. It should be his body, no matter which he takes.
So Varis's father was a person he favored, taken from him far too soon. Someone who he'd grown fond of, which is a sweet thought: Mettaton finds himself smiling, never having known the other kinds of people who claimed a part of the Ascian's heart. (Mettaton decides that any of his various bodies are his, if he keeps them. Therefore, it's his son.) He wonders if Emet-Selch feels as though everyone he loves is taken from him prematurely, and it imbues Mettaton with remorse on his behalf.
Here, he was the one thinking about how mortal lives are just like this. Now he turns around and pities him for their susceptibility.
Mettaton closes his eye fleetingly, trusting his step to keep him from tripping.]
So he resembled Varis... He was tall. Light, long hair. ...Though I'm only beginning to understand why he appeared older than you. Something about you having bodies made up for you. [That's why he was able to reappear with a duplicate, Mettaton finally realizes. (Another implication: he saw more than one memory with Varis present.
A beat, and Mettaton does a shrug with his free arm.]
You don't have to know why you felt the way you did, darling. Feelings don't make sense! Even if they go against your regular world view. To think that someone could be taken so easily by illness... I can hardly imagine it. But. Even if you had only so short a time with him... You bear his memory.
[As Mettaton suggested, they're closing in on the former "center" of the Aristocratic district, which has now been overtaken by The Haven. The houses grow larger here, senselessly. The kinds with ballrooms and columns, excessive unless someone really had like a party of eight or more. He seems to veer in a direction toward one of them, one that has most of the lights out. (Definitely not a choice of Mettaton's: he'd stupidly leave lights on, always.)]
I'm glad to hear about him. That you'd care about him enough to share your fondness of him with me...
[After all, he's sure there might be more than Varis's father. In the end, that's who Emet-Selch chose to talk about.
When they approach the house, Mettaton produces a key. For some reason, unlocking doors is no problem in this specific incident. Would that he could treat all people's houses to the same decency as he does to his own. (The real modifier here is that he has a key to it... SO important.)]