[Of course his sentiment would be such... Mettaton snorts at the suggestion to forget because it's not relevant to him, though he doesn't connect that reason to his future demise. Instead he connects it to his apathy for the world they inhabit, its laws surely different from where he comes from. He feels inclined once more to kiss him, because he feels even freer to remember it.
So he writes,]
Such liberty to do as I please... I may just take your birthday, then. Yes, I WILL celebrate it.
[Weirdly threatening for just saying "I'm going to celebrate your birthday whether you like it or not." It's also one of the things he feels like biting him for suddenly...
Mettaton does not view his thirst for blood to be tiresome or unwanted. He stares at very human-appearing passersby. The robot remembers when he could smell Mira in a particularly tense moment, how she was just a Witch to him for a fleeting moment that he can barely grasp...
And just as quickly, he banishes the thought. Really, other Witches don't smell like Emet-Selch. There's no reason he'd want their blood as much, logically. That he would ever pursue anyone else's was surely because he only wanted Emet-Selch's. And that makes it all slot comfortably into place, even as he watches two obviously practicing Witches walking by hand-in-hand, watches their skin, thinks of the taste that pulses underneath. Yes, Mettaton's distracted. For him, it's a manageable distraction to the tune of arousal on a body that shows no signs of it. Similarly, he shows the public no signs of his hunger unless there were a perceptive eye in the crowd.
He's just thinking of Emet-Selch bruised and bitten and in his arms. And thinking of him makes him keep reading. Then, of course, he's made to think of himself, given the subject matter.]
I am used to it. Yes. I would get plenty of fan correspondence... Letters, flowers, gifts. Tributes to my splendor. When you have a birthday before a crowd, that's the sort of reception you'd expect. An abundance of adoration foisted upon you... Haha.
[Mettaton is the kind of person who would say he got "so many cards that he couldn't read them all," but he definitely reads every last word. Nonetheless, there wasn't as much in the ways of celebrating from anyone he considered close during those times. So when he thinks of that, he has to dig deeper, and he stops thinking of Witch blood altogether. He stops listening to people conversing around him, sinking into his spot.]
Before that. [Chewing on how to address whatever he did in more intimate company, he wonders if he should send anything like this at all. But of course he... could. Not should. That's part of what makes Emet-Selch unique company: he has the whole of him.] Sometimes... If I wanted to celebrate others, I would try to impress them with something nice. One time, Blooky made a mix CD for me, entirely without me knowing. It was pretty bad. I liked it.
no subject
So he writes,]
Such liberty to do as I please... I may just take your birthday, then. Yes, I WILL celebrate it.
[Weirdly threatening for just saying "I'm going to celebrate your birthday whether you like it or not." It's also one of the things he feels like biting him for suddenly...
Mettaton does not view his thirst for blood to be tiresome or unwanted. He stares at very human-appearing passersby. The robot remembers when he could smell Mira in a particularly tense moment, how she was just a Witch to him for a fleeting moment that he can barely grasp...
And just as quickly, he banishes the thought. Really, other Witches don't smell like Emet-Selch. There's no reason he'd want their blood as much, logically. That he would ever pursue anyone else's was surely because he only wanted Emet-Selch's. And that makes it all slot comfortably into place, even as he watches two obviously practicing Witches walking by hand-in-hand, watches their skin, thinks of the taste that pulses underneath. Yes, Mettaton's distracted. For him, it's a manageable distraction to the tune of arousal on a body that shows no signs of it. Similarly, he shows the public no signs of his hunger unless there were a perceptive eye in the crowd.
He's just thinking of Emet-Selch bruised and bitten and in his arms. And thinking of him makes him keep reading. Then, of course, he's made to think of himself, given the subject matter.]
I am used to it. Yes. I would get plenty of fan correspondence... Letters, flowers, gifts. Tributes to my splendor. When you have a birthday before a crowd, that's the sort of reception you'd expect. An abundance of adoration foisted upon you... Haha.
[Mettaton is the kind of person who would say he got "so many cards that he couldn't read them all," but he definitely reads every last word. Nonetheless, there wasn't as much in the ways of celebrating from anyone he considered close during those times. So when he thinks of that, he has to dig deeper, and he stops thinking of Witch blood altogether. He stops listening to people conversing around him, sinking into his spot.]
Before that. [Chewing on how to address whatever he did in more intimate company, he wonders if he should send anything like this at all. But of course he... could. Not should. That's part of what makes Emet-Selch unique company: he has the whole of him.] Sometimes... If I wanted to celebrate others, I would try to impress them with something nice. One time, Blooky made a mix CD for me, entirely without me knowing. It was pretty bad. I liked it.