[He'd been wondering about his note-taking on magic. It was an idle enough curiosity to never feel inclined to inquire upon it. But it leaves him stunned enough that he needs to take a moment to digest this information as he watches Emet-Selch roam, his mind wandering along the lines of his study of transfiguration on his behalf, something he doesn't appear interested in for any other purpose. His mind is quite vivid in its imagination of the whole process, and he suddenly remembers some sort of demand to know why he hadn't demonstrated his capability for shapeshifting before the first time he demonstrated his... trick. He doesn't remember the phrasing clearly — after all, he was a bit Distracted.
So it takes him a moment to recover, flattered and charmed by the effort. He can only imagine how delighted he'd be if he couldn't change the composition of his body on his own. As Emet-Selch returns to him, he waits with a finger pressed over his smile, arm folded over his middle in his satisfaction. He finds it thoughtful, worth all the love he feels for him at the attempted gesture, to know that he has someone who would go through the effort to alter his body further to his perfect liking.
He feels determined to show him his own attempts at practice now. ...Though there's a level of brief unease that washes over him at the prospect. A new development, and it's not insecurity. Unease. Something's gone wrong in his shapeshifting practice, but he'll get to that later.
The robot doesn't take any part of Emet-Selch's speech as criticism, not from the accusatory look to the spaciousness of his chosen residence. The house is a frivolous and convenient inclination on his part, but the reason for his delay in shapeshifting is more complicated. Mettaton nods.]
Yes. Oh! The kitchen is over there... [A point in the direction of it. It's out of sight, but it's one of the fancy houses that people might expect to hire chefs for. Mettaton hasn't quite gotten to that level of excessiveness yet. As for its fixings, there's primarily food that Papyrus eats, food that Mettaton doesn't need to eat but eats anyway, and attempts at cooking. On both of their parts. Dubious attempts with a hit-or-miss in the realm of success (with far more misses), Papyrus's only saved by some guidance from Toriel. Mettaton's? Well... he was surprised at how bad he actually was at cooking, and has remained surprised ever since.] But anyway.
[Upstairs, then. Mettaton doesn't feel he needs to tell Emet-Selch that he has free reign of the place — after all, it's the unspoken truth that what's Mettaton's should also be his, and vice versa. Emet-Selch knows that. As most of the upper area is where any personal quarters are, Mettaton takes this moment to raise a finger.]
I don't live on my own, by the way. I have one housemate... He was quite lonely, by himself. [as if implying that mettaton gave him the grace of moving in with him...] Papyrus. He's a monster, like me... And a Turnskin, here in Aefenglom. I mentioned him to you, I recall. He's chatty. Charming and friendly. Amusing, too... You'll surely meet him, but he keeps himself busy with this or that. Just like I do!
[Friendly and charming, said as a compliment to him with a subdued laugh. Mettaton finds his company pleasant, that much is evident through and through. He's mostly gotten over any residual Rathrmore-based fear of him, far more easily than he could with most. It's hard to find Papyrus scary forever, even if he still freezes up sometimes if he starts getting growly as the full moons close in... It's fine. Mettaton can deal.]
He seems much happier having somebody with my presence living with him! Spacious as it is, I have a way about filling a room. Or, a building.
no subject
[He'd been wondering about his note-taking on magic. It was an idle enough curiosity to never feel inclined to inquire upon it. But it leaves him stunned enough that he needs to take a moment to digest this information as he watches Emet-Selch roam, his mind wandering along the lines of his study of transfiguration on his behalf, something he doesn't appear interested in for any other purpose. His mind is quite vivid in its imagination of the whole process, and he suddenly remembers some sort of demand to know why he hadn't demonstrated his capability for shapeshifting before the first time he demonstrated his... trick. He doesn't remember the phrasing clearly — after all, he was a bit Distracted.
So it takes him a moment to recover, flattered and charmed by the effort. He can only imagine how delighted he'd be if he couldn't change the composition of his body on his own. As Emet-Selch returns to him, he waits with a finger pressed over his smile, arm folded over his middle in his satisfaction. He finds it thoughtful, worth all the love he feels for him at the attempted gesture, to know that he has someone who would go through the effort to alter his body further to his perfect liking.
He feels determined to show him his own attempts at practice now. ...Though there's a level of brief unease that washes over him at the prospect. A new development, and it's not insecurity. Unease. Something's gone wrong in his shapeshifting practice, but he'll get to that later.
The robot doesn't take any part of Emet-Selch's speech as criticism, not from the accusatory look to the spaciousness of his chosen residence. The house is a frivolous and convenient inclination on his part, but the reason for his delay in shapeshifting is more complicated. Mettaton nods.]
Yes. Oh! The kitchen is over there... [A point in the direction of it. It's out of sight, but it's one of the fancy houses that people might expect to hire chefs for. Mettaton hasn't quite gotten to that level of excessiveness yet. As for its fixings, there's primarily food that Papyrus eats, food that Mettaton doesn't need to eat but eats anyway, and attempts at cooking. On both of their parts. Dubious attempts with a hit-or-miss in the realm of success (with far more misses), Papyrus's only saved by some guidance from Toriel. Mettaton's? Well... he was surprised at how bad he actually was at cooking, and has remained surprised ever since.] But anyway.
[Upstairs, then. Mettaton doesn't feel he needs to tell Emet-Selch that he has free reign of the place — after all, it's the unspoken truth that what's Mettaton's should also be his, and vice versa. Emet-Selch knows that. As most of the upper area is where any personal quarters are, Mettaton takes this moment to raise a finger.]
I don't live on my own, by the way. I have one housemate... He was quite lonely, by himself. [as if implying that mettaton gave him the grace of moving in with him...] Papyrus. He's a monster, like me... And a Turnskin, here in Aefenglom. I mentioned him to you, I recall. He's chatty. Charming and friendly. Amusing, too... You'll surely meet him, but he keeps himself busy with this or that. Just like I do!
[Friendly and charming, said as a compliment to him with a subdued laugh. Mettaton finds his company pleasant, that much is evident through and through. He's mostly gotten over any residual Rathrmore-based fear of him, far more easily than he could with most. It's hard to find Papyrus scary forever, even if he still freezes up sometimes if he starts getting growly as the full moons close in... It's fine. Mettaton can deal.]
He seems much happier having somebody with my presence living with him! Spacious as it is, I have a way about filling a room. Or, a building.