[It's all well and good that the pillowcase has dried to the wound; in his efforts to sit up, Emet-Selch's concentration when it comes to holding onto it falters, despite Mettaton's verbal caution. His hand remains pressed there, he can do that much, but his grip is inconsistent. Sometimes his fingers just touch it, sometimes they dig in when he remembers what they're doing there, but the fabric doesn't really shift so it works out in the end. Even if it would eventually need to be removed, it was fine to remain for the time being; not reopening the wound took precedence over finding something more appropriate to cover it.
Guiding the glass rather than taking it with his free hand, he slowly drinks from it, listening to Mettaton as he does. He takes it slowly; as desperate for water as he felt, he knew if he went too quickly, even water alone would be a difficult thing for his body to handle. So he sips at it, and thinks of his Bonded's impromptu lesson when it came to a human's physiology.
It wasn't a surprise, not really, that Mettaton had been unaware of such basic aspects of a mortal's maintenance. His anatomy studies must've been about form and some degree of correct function; the imagery he'd seen in the memories of others had covered catastrophic damage, bodies rendered unsalvagable, barely recognizable. Had he ever come across these lesser sorts of injuries before? He couldn't have.
Emet-Selch wanted to say that Mettaton's not missing much when it comes to experiencing these details of organic form, and that it was better to limit his knowledge to that of observation. There was pleasure in the pain of being bitten, sure (at least, when it came to being bitten by Mettaton), and even in a bit of blood loss, and even in a bit of satisfying aching due to exertion and aforementioned damage- but there was an upper limit to what felt good, and this had slightly passed it. His neck was stiff, his head was pounding, his pulse was still too fast, he felt shaky and sick and tired- these were not fun experiences.
But he wouldn't have been surprised if Mettaton would've wanted them all anyway, if for the novelty. For the satisfaction of it, of understanding humanity in the way one only can by wearing their flesh for more than a few hours. So the Ascian says nothing, quietly relieved that any similar-to-far-worse damage on the idol's part would be undone by a shapeshifting reversion. And his robotic form could be repaired.... He didn't want to see him hurting.
Emet-Selch just nudges against him instead, in quiet affection. Touched again that Mettaton wanted to learn how to take better care of this sort of body, in all its fragility. It doesn't surprise him, but it doesn't keep him from appreciating it.]
Not... the kindest of introductions to a mortal form's requirements, was it? Still. At least... at least you've learned something from it. Although I prefer... your previous studies of my body.
[He sighs softly against the glass, then takes a few more swallows from it. The Ascian was also continuing to learn that he should probably take better care of this host. What would happen if he died here? Would it be the same as dying in truth?]
How did you learn what to do?
[How did he know about stitches and assessing a wound for them.]
no subject
Guiding the glass rather than taking it with his free hand, he slowly drinks from it, listening to Mettaton as he does. He takes it slowly; as desperate for water as he felt, he knew if he went too quickly, even water alone would be a difficult thing for his body to handle. So he sips at it, and thinks of his Bonded's impromptu lesson when it came to a human's physiology.
It wasn't a surprise, not really, that Mettaton had been unaware of such basic aspects of a mortal's maintenance. His anatomy studies must've been about form and some degree of correct function; the imagery he'd seen in the memories of others had covered catastrophic damage, bodies rendered unsalvagable, barely recognizable. Had he ever come across these lesser sorts of injuries before? He couldn't have.
Emet-Selch wanted to say that Mettaton's not missing much when it comes to experiencing these details of organic form, and that it was better to limit his knowledge to that of observation. There was pleasure in the pain of being bitten, sure (at least, when it came to being bitten by Mettaton), and even in a bit of blood loss, and even in a bit of satisfying aching due to exertion and aforementioned damage- but there was an upper limit to what felt good, and this had slightly passed it. His neck was stiff, his head was pounding, his pulse was still too fast, he felt shaky and sick and tired- these were not fun experiences.
But he wouldn't have been surprised if Mettaton would've wanted them all anyway, if for the novelty. For the satisfaction of it, of understanding humanity in the way one only can by wearing their flesh for more than a few hours. So the Ascian says nothing, quietly relieved that any similar-to-far-worse damage on the idol's part would be undone by a shapeshifting reversion. And his robotic form could be repaired.... He didn't want to see him hurting.
Emet-Selch just nudges against him instead, in quiet affection. Touched again that Mettaton wanted to learn how to take better care of this sort of body, in all its fragility. It doesn't surprise him, but it doesn't keep him from appreciating it.]
Not... the kindest of introductions to a mortal form's requirements, was it? Still. At least... at least you've learned something from it. Although I prefer... your previous studies of my body.
[He sighs softly against the glass, then takes a few more swallows from it. The Ascian was also continuing to learn that he should probably take better care of this host. What would happen if he died here? Would it be the same as dying in truth?]
How did you learn what to do?
[How did he know about stitches and assessing a wound for them.]