[To transform one's body into something never truly experienced before- a complicated task. Particularly when going from inorganic to fully living; the amount of messy detail involved, the things that could go wrong were honestly a bit staggering. That there would be setbacks was only to be expected. Yet he decides to not point this out; something like this required confidence and focus, and he suspected that admitting to the possibility of error would just make it more likely to occur. It was perhaps better to expect a perfect outcome, and then, if it went horribly wrong regardless, to deal with the consequences at that point.
So Emet-Selch nods, believing that he understood the problem, if not exactly the imagery plaguing Mettaton's attempts. But the idol had seen something unpleasant and disruptive and presumably humanoid, if attempting to transform himself was leading to recall that distortion instead. A similar thing could happen in concept creation, with a distraction, or a stray thought during the process leading to unintended results. But when the subject of such magic was one's own body, the consequences for distraction became far more troubling....
No wonder Mettaton seemed nervous, or unsettled; as the idol's hands began working at his clothes, Emet-Selch leans in to nuzzle slowly at his face, as though to assure, or distract in a more positive direction. It was unusual to sense anything from the robot other than confidence and related annoyances, and his reflex was to encourage him to remain on the more optimistic side of things. A bizarre thing for the Ascian to encourage, but- he wanted him to succeed; he expected him to. Without having witnessed any failed attempt, Emet-Selch believed he was entirely capable of getting it right. The idol was resourceful and competent at things that mattered to him, and this surely applied.
With his shirts undone, he briefly lets go of Mettaton's body to allow them to be pushed back, away from his shoulders, and from there, to work free from them entirely, letting the fabric drop to the side. It's only then that he responds to his Bonded's words, tone deliberately casual.]
Your place is in the present, isn't it...?
[What a thing for someone like him to remind Mettaton of, and his gaze is expectant, perhaps arrogant. There's no trace of concern- but then, concern could only exist if there was any reason to think about failure, a chance for some negative outcome. So rather than a gentle nudge towards reassurance, it edges towards daring instead, bringing his head up and leaning in to cover Mettaton's lips with his own. Hands going to either side of his head, he pulls him in, demanding his attention with a hitch of breath. If Mettaton was going to be distracted, it would be by him, not the terrors wrought by someone else's memories.
That's the goal, anyway. Emet-Selch was certainly distracting himself, at any rate, a touch out of breath when he finally has to pull back, though he lingers at his face, still holding onto him.]
Of course you'll succeed. With everything you require at your fingertips, there can be no other outcome.
no subject
So Emet-Selch nods, believing that he understood the problem, if not exactly the imagery plaguing Mettaton's attempts. But the idol had seen something unpleasant and disruptive and presumably humanoid, if attempting to transform himself was leading to recall that distortion instead. A similar thing could happen in concept creation, with a distraction, or a stray thought during the process leading to unintended results. But when the subject of such magic was one's own body, the consequences for distraction became far more troubling....
No wonder Mettaton seemed nervous, or unsettled; as the idol's hands began working at his clothes, Emet-Selch leans in to nuzzle slowly at his face, as though to assure, or distract in a more positive direction. It was unusual to sense anything from the robot other than confidence and related annoyances, and his reflex was to encourage him to remain on the more optimistic side of things. A bizarre thing for the Ascian to encourage, but- he wanted him to succeed; he expected him to. Without having witnessed any failed attempt, Emet-Selch believed he was entirely capable of getting it right. The idol was resourceful and competent at things that mattered to him, and this surely applied.
With his shirts undone, he briefly lets go of Mettaton's body to allow them to be pushed back, away from his shoulders, and from there, to work free from them entirely, letting the fabric drop to the side. It's only then that he responds to his Bonded's words, tone deliberately casual.]
Your place is in the present, isn't it...?
[What a thing for someone like him to remind Mettaton of, and his gaze is expectant, perhaps arrogant. There's no trace of concern- but then, concern could only exist if there was any reason to think about failure, a chance for some negative outcome. So rather than a gentle nudge towards reassurance, it edges towards daring instead, bringing his head up and leaning in to cover Mettaton's lips with his own. Hands going to either side of his head, he pulls him in, demanding his attention with a hitch of breath. If Mettaton was going to be distracted, it would be by him, not the terrors wrought by someone else's memories.
That's the goal, anyway. Emet-Selch was certainly distracting himself, at any rate, a touch out of breath when he finally has to pull back, though he lingers at his face, still holding onto him.]
Of course you'll succeed. With everything you require at your fingertips, there can be no other outcome.