[While Emet-Selch would still wish to show Mettaton a living Amaurot- not a memory, not a lonely reconstruction under the waters of the First- he would worry slightly as to what influence the showy idol would have on the place. Though the Amaurotine population might be bewildered at the purpose of competing anything apart from politely debated philosophies... anything created was made available freely to the good of all, surely.
But Mettaton's mood comes across loud and very clear in his reply- a response that has his eyes narrow, manner tense and contained. While the robot might well trample anyone careless enough to get underfoot, the Ascian is still, the grip he has on his watch tight. There's energy, certainly, but with nothing even resembling an outlet for it.
It was a strange thing to be so agitated, perhaps even angry- to have that even be laced with his usual bitterness and petty spite- but to not actually despise Mettaton for it at all. It was a delicate balance to strike, a knife-edge of precision, to incite to emotion but not cruelty. To frustration but not resentment. And even in his current state, he loved him for managing it.]
And you have no more proof that we'll remember aught.
[It's not that he wanted to deny his impact. Nor to refuse it or refute it; even as he expected to lose it, he'd demand that it remain. For Mettaton to carve himself so deeply that they'd never be rid of each other. He wanted this; there was no question of that. So long as they remained there, there would be no cutting free.
So long as they remained here. Sometimes he could ignore it; sometimes Emet-Selch thought he was getting better at accepting it, either to focus on what Mettaton could give him here, or to believe in him impossibly. But sometimes, like now, he wondered if it was less acceptance and more denial, an avoidance of topics that called to mind the futility of what they both wanted.
Or perhaps he was just agitated in general, or drawing off of Mettaton's own unsettled state, latching onto a topic easy to twist despairing.]
So long as we're here- yes. I'll never be free of you. You'll never be rid of me. You can carve it down to the bone if you like, drain me of all that I'll ever have here- and here is all we'll ever have.
no subject
But Mettaton's mood comes across loud and very clear in his reply- a response that has his eyes narrow, manner tense and contained. While the robot might well trample anyone careless enough to get underfoot, the Ascian is still, the grip he has on his watch tight. There's energy, certainly, but with nothing even resembling an outlet for it.
It was a strange thing to be so agitated, perhaps even angry- to have that even be laced with his usual bitterness and petty spite- but to not actually despise Mettaton for it at all. It was a delicate balance to strike, a knife-edge of precision, to incite to emotion but not cruelty. To frustration but not resentment. And even in his current state, he loved him for managing it.]
And you have no more proof that we'll remember aught.
[It's not that he wanted to deny his impact. Nor to refuse it or refute it; even as he expected to lose it, he'd demand that it remain. For Mettaton to carve himself so deeply that they'd never be rid of each other. He wanted this; there was no question of that. So long as they remained there, there would be no cutting free.
So long as they remained here. Sometimes he could ignore it; sometimes Emet-Selch thought he was getting better at accepting it, either to focus on what Mettaton could give him here, or to believe in him impossibly. But sometimes, like now, he wondered if it was less acceptance and more denial, an avoidance of topics that called to mind the futility of what they both wanted.
Or perhaps he was just agitated in general, or drawing off of Mettaton's own unsettled state, latching onto a topic easy to twist despairing.]
So long as we're here- yes. I'll never be free of you. You'll never be rid of me. You can carve it down to the bone if you like, drain me of all that I'll ever have here- and here is all we'll ever have.
[And that meant it didn't matter.]
Nothing will remain.