[For now, he merely places a hand upon his hip as he relaxes, observing his Bonded as he wanders his own space with a sort of overbearing appreciation for it. Even if it's a space he's made for himself during this stay in Aefenglom, for however long that'll last, it's still his, as well as everything in it.]
Why does it matter? I like it all. Just as I like to be handsomely dressed.
[Simple as that, because Mettaton's rhyme and reason is to surround himself in things that appeal to his senses, which he's gained more and more of. New appreciations for things, such as touch and smell, yielding to him a preference for certain textiles or the smells of one candle over another. All of these things are things he'll take for himself.
...With such a careful eye for detail, a very troubling aspect of this room might be noticed. There's a spot on the rug for all that he tried to clean it, its fibers a color light enough for it to show. Blood. Mettaton doesn't bleed. The environmental storytelling continues: there's another book that isn't fiction. In fact, it's a text of Aefenglom's understanding of human-and-monster anatomy-physiology. Its spine is turned away from view, however. If it all escapes the Ascian's notice, it's just as well: Mettaton will likely talk about it.
what... what are you doin in here, mettaton...?
Standing before him, Mettaton smiles at him and reaches to press his fingertips to Emet-Selch's chest. His attention rakes up to meet his eyes, taking him in and enjoying his tone of voice.]
It must shock you. To find yourself in someone's space who enjoys possessions as much as I do. I wouldn't take anything in here that I didn't fancy, beautiful.
[As if Emet-Selch is among those things, even though he's a person, not a glittering diamond. His fingertips become his entire palm, a smooth transition into feeling him up again. As one does.]
no subject
Why does it matter? I like it all. Just as I like to be handsomely dressed.
[Simple as that, because Mettaton's rhyme and reason is to surround himself in things that appeal to his senses, which he's gained more and more of. New appreciations for things, such as touch and smell, yielding to him a preference for certain textiles or the smells of one candle over another. All of these things are things he'll take for himself.
...With such a careful eye for detail, a very troubling aspect of this room might be noticed. There's a spot on the rug for all that he tried to clean it, its fibers a color light enough for it to show. Blood. Mettaton doesn't bleed. The environmental storytelling continues: there's another book that isn't fiction. In fact, it's a text of Aefenglom's understanding of human-and-monster anatomy-physiology. Its spine is turned away from view, however. If it all escapes the Ascian's notice, it's just as well: Mettaton will likely talk about it.
what... what are you doin in here, mettaton...?
Standing before him, Mettaton smiles at him and reaches to press his fingertips to Emet-Selch's chest. His attention rakes up to meet his eyes, taking him in and enjoying his tone of voice.]
It must shock you. To find yourself in someone's space who enjoys possessions as much as I do. I wouldn't take anything in here that I didn't fancy, beautiful.
[As if Emet-Selch is among those things, even though he's a person, not a glittering diamond. His fingertips become his entire palm, a smooth transition into feeling him up again. As one does.]