[A correction he adds with a sort of cocky smirk. Onto addressing Papyrus.]
I'm glad you two have already met! Even if over the network. Yes... He's been a long-time fan of mine. How flattering, to now share space with me. But I think he'll like you, Hades-darling.
[No commentary on how loud Papyrus is. Mettaton doesn't notice anything of the sort, but that's because he's no doubt louder, or otherwise immune. Or otherwise distanced, in this spacious house. Or otherwise not home. It's particularly around full moons that things get stupid... Because Monsters get stupid. Mettaton acknowledges this with some mild chagrin.
The lingering sensation of his Bonded having brushed against him sets Mettaton on the course toward his own room, deciding concretely that he wants to take him in there. As he walks, he gestures with both palms out toward the whole of the hallway.]
Any of these rooms can be yours, at your choosing, sweetheart. Any time! For as long as you'd like. I'm sure there's one you'll find acceptable...
[No pressure to stay, but the invitation to stake claim to the space in a house that could, occasionally, get noisy (and very full of Mettaton), is there.
(For when he gets the chance to take the house for himself, there's a room adjacent to his own that Mettaton has decorated in deep navy blues, dark all around but with the warmth of a hint of gold — choices Mettaton picked to trade his into his Bonded's room as a retroactive correction to customize it to his tastes. But he felt it could wait. And the decor put to use, in the meantime. Now it could be his, only here?)
But Mettaton doesn't point to any room in particular at the moment, instead guiding Emet-Selch to his own. He turns his attention to his Bonded expectantly.]
But right now, I want you in mine.
[Beckoning him to follow, Mettaton's ears are tall yet relaxed. He'll close the door behind him once he enters.
The impression of color is surprisingly not pink. (He can change it to whatever he wants at any time.) Instead, it's purples and golds — and plenty of each, its angle something regal, if not over-the-top. Therefore, it's appropriately Mettaton.
The idol's room is well-kept with far more personal effects than anything Emet-Selch has, a lot of his inclinations leaning toward finery and objects that sparkle. A room for a person who is vain, complete with a full-body mirror. (All the better to admire himself with.) Gemstones and jewelry aren't things he wears for just any occasion, but he possesses it nonetheless, both for wearing and for mere display. He is both Mettaton, and a Puca. An open closet betrays a growing collection of fashion (and it leans ostentatious or crisp and sophisticated), some of which are intended to fit any configuration of his bodies, plus more... normal human-shaped attire. Some books, any indication at all that Mettaton reads sometimes, though the majority of them appear to be fiction. (There's one thick one on the mechanics of Bonding, as authored by a Witch from the Coven.) What else is he to do without TV and without sleep??
(...There's a bin full of chewed pen-shaped objects. Absolutely decimated, and not by the Turnskin in the house. Mettaton would rather that not be noticed.)]
no subject
[A correction he adds with a sort of cocky smirk. Onto addressing Papyrus.]
I'm glad you two have already met! Even if over the network. Yes... He's been a long-time fan of mine. How flattering, to now share space with me. But I think he'll like you, Hades-darling.
[No commentary on how loud Papyrus is. Mettaton doesn't notice anything of the sort, but that's because he's no doubt louder, or otherwise immune. Or otherwise distanced, in this spacious house. Or otherwise not home. It's particularly around full moons that things get stupid... Because Monsters get stupid. Mettaton acknowledges this with some mild chagrin.
The lingering sensation of his Bonded having brushed against him sets Mettaton on the course toward his own room, deciding concretely that he wants to take him in there. As he walks, he gestures with both palms out toward the whole of the hallway.]
Any of these rooms can be yours, at your choosing, sweetheart. Any time! For as long as you'd like. I'm sure there's one you'll find acceptable...
[No pressure to stay, but the invitation to stake claim to the space in a house that could, occasionally, get noisy (and very full of Mettaton), is there.
(For when he gets the chance to take the house for himself, there's a room adjacent to his own that Mettaton has decorated in deep navy blues, dark all around but with the warmth of a hint of gold — choices Mettaton picked to trade his into his Bonded's room as a retroactive correction to customize it to his tastes. But he felt it could wait. And the decor put to use, in the meantime. Now it could be his, only here?)
But Mettaton doesn't point to any room in particular at the moment, instead guiding Emet-Selch to his own. He turns his attention to his Bonded expectantly.]
But right now, I want you in mine.
[Beckoning him to follow, Mettaton's ears are tall yet relaxed. He'll close the door behind him once he enters.
The impression of color is surprisingly not pink. (He can change it to whatever he wants at any time.) Instead, it's purples and golds — and plenty of each, its angle something regal, if not over-the-top. Therefore, it's appropriately Mettaton.
The idol's room is well-kept with far more personal effects than anything Emet-Selch has, a lot of his inclinations leaning toward finery and objects that sparkle. A room for a person who is vain, complete with a full-body mirror. (All the better to admire himself with.) Gemstones and jewelry aren't things he wears for just any occasion, but he possesses it nonetheless, both for wearing and for mere display. He is both Mettaton, and a Puca. An open closet betrays a growing collection of fashion (and it leans ostentatious or crisp and sophisticated), some of which are intended to fit any configuration of his bodies, plus more... normal human-shaped attire. Some books, any indication at all that Mettaton reads sometimes, though the majority of them appear to be fiction. (There's one thick one on the mechanics of Bonding, as authored by a Witch from the Coven.) What else is he to do without TV and without sleep??
(...There's a bin full of chewed pen-shaped objects. Absolutely decimated, and not by the Turnskin in the house. Mettaton would rather that not be noticed.)]