[It had been a wearying- lifetime, actually, but in this case, his mental fatigue is the result of more recent events. Mira's illness, due to her own carelessness, a rather depressingly hopeless conversation with Vanitas.
It had been a struggle to leave his room in the first place, and from there the house entirely- and the Ascian hadn't been gone for that long before giving up on the whole thing as a bad idea. For Mettaton to have snuck in unnoticed during that brief window of opportunity, to display himself against a rather more literal window- is exceptionally lucky.
It probably wasn't hard to deduce which room had been claimed by Emet-Selch, if only by process of elimination. There were no personal touches, no decorations; the only thing to denote the personality of the room's owner, is perhaps, this specific lack. Notes for one project or another, a few books, practical things- that's all that's really around apart from the furniture, which is equally as plain. Almost institutional. That's not to say the room was tidy; it wasn't, the only thing keeping it from being a mess was the lack of materials around. He just- didn't care to organize it more than that. He knew where everything was.
If he'd been paying more attention to his Bonds, he might've had that as some sort of warning- but the Ascian tended to shut them out most of the time. And, wrapped up in a cloud of his own disordered thoughts, finding his room so artfully occupied startles him rather badly.
There's a flash of panic, veering closely into outright terror, not immediately recognizing Mettaton, nor his voice. There was only an intruder, and he couldn't allow himself to be captured again, he couldn't go through all of that, the delusions and pain and helplessness, not again--
...Fortunately for everyone, the absurdity of Mettaton's presence finally registers, before more than the impression of a veritable wall of darkness-clad spearheads manifests behind the Ascian, quickly fading back into nothing. Not a threat. It was safe.
Safe-ish, anyway, and as Emet-Selch gradually lets go of that impulse towards defense, he looks across at him with a mixture of relief (not about to be tortured again), and utter exasperation (Mettaton, why). Closing the door behind him pretty much on autopilot, he slumps heavily against it, the other's words finally starting to register (including that atrocious rendition of his title, again). In a distant sort of way, he does notice the attention to detail, the amount of things that must've aligned to get the idol's presentation just so, at that precise moment. It just adds to the sense of surrealism.]
...I would suggest. In future. Some manner of warning.
[It's so politely and mildly spoken, as though he hadn't been on the verge of attacking Mettaton and everything around him in a fit of panic some handful of seconds prior.]
no subject
It had been a struggle to leave his room in the first place, and from there the house entirely- and the Ascian hadn't been gone for that long before giving up on the whole thing as a bad idea. For Mettaton to have snuck in unnoticed during that brief window of opportunity, to display himself against a rather more literal window- is exceptionally lucky.
It probably wasn't hard to deduce which room had been claimed by Emet-Selch, if only by process of elimination. There were no personal touches, no decorations; the only thing to denote the personality of the room's owner, is perhaps, this specific lack. Notes for one project or another, a few books, practical things- that's all that's really around apart from the furniture, which is equally as plain. Almost institutional. That's not to say the room was tidy; it wasn't, the only thing keeping it from being a mess was the lack of materials around. He just- didn't care to organize it more than that. He knew where everything was.
If he'd been paying more attention to his Bonds, he might've had that as some sort of warning- but the Ascian tended to shut them out most of the time. And, wrapped up in a cloud of his own disordered thoughts, finding his room so artfully occupied startles him rather badly.
There's a flash of panic, veering closely into outright terror, not immediately recognizing Mettaton, nor his voice. There was only an intruder, and he couldn't allow himself to be captured again, he couldn't go through all of that, the delusions and pain and helplessness, not again--
...Fortunately for everyone, the absurdity of Mettaton's presence finally registers, before more than the impression of a veritable wall of darkness-clad spearheads manifests behind the Ascian, quickly fading back into nothing. Not a threat. It was safe.
Safe-ish, anyway, and as Emet-Selch gradually lets go of that impulse towards defense, he looks across at him with a mixture of relief (not about to be tortured again), and utter exasperation (Mettaton, why). Closing the door behind him pretty much on autopilot, he slumps heavily against it, the other's words finally starting to register (including that atrocious rendition of his title, again). In a distant sort of way, he does notice the attention to detail, the amount of things that must've aligned to get the idol's presentation just so, at that precise moment. It just adds to the sense of surrealism.]
...I would suggest. In future. Some manner of warning.
[It's so politely and mildly spoken, as though he hadn't been on the verge of attacking Mettaton and everything around him in a fit of panic some handful of seconds prior.]