Really? Because I've always found human funeral customs interesting. They make a real show out of it. I'd be mourned with deep sorrow... And fondly remembered!
[He is so very confident in that. Emet-Selch could never convince Mettaton that people wouldn't remember him if he tried. How does he know what death's like, anyway? Everybody does it, except for immortal people like them. It couldn't be so horrible, thinks Mettaton, even as he doesn't want to die.
The thing he really can't convince him is that his company isn't wanted. The arm about his waist and the petting of his hair is juxtaposed against Emet-Selch's bitter statement enough to elicit a good laugh out of Mettaton, who finds himself more affectionate yet. He finally gives in and presses his body closer just in time for his ears to be toyed with.]
But don't you worry, gorgeous. You don't need to accept my company to find yourself with it! How could you say no to somebody who will always be here, posing brilliantly before you...?? Unless you're trying to tell me you're giving in. Finding me too dazzling a personality to handle... Ahaha.
[But the matter of his ears. He afforded himself some time acquainting himself with his developing body, at least, though for months it was completely unpleasant to do so. Now, however, it's nice. His ears can't emote at this angle and flop over to the side instead, and one flicks before he readjusts his head against the Ascian's shoulder with an affectionate rub of his cheek — which will begin to seem like something he just does. He hums after his laugh with the comfortable sensation of his fingers at the base of his ear: yes, he's receptive to having them touched. Though his fur's grown in silky smooth, the tissue beneath at the base of his long ears is noticeably scarred — a mix of the Rathmores, and the state of his own body rebelling against itself.
While he settles close to him, Mettaton brings one hand to grip onto Emet-Selch's other shoulder while he wraps the other arm around his back, pressing his hand square between his shoulder blades. He is so ridiculous, talking so negatively while being so pleasantly affectionate. Almost like he's trying his best to push him away... Mettaton holds tight.]
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[He is so very confident in that. Emet-Selch could never convince Mettaton that people wouldn't remember him if he tried. How does he know what death's like, anyway? Everybody does it, except for immortal people like them. It couldn't be so horrible, thinks Mettaton, even as he doesn't want to die.
The thing he really can't convince him is that his company isn't wanted. The arm about his waist and the petting of his hair is juxtaposed against Emet-Selch's bitter statement enough to elicit a good laugh out of Mettaton, who finds himself more affectionate yet. He finally gives in and presses his body closer just in time for his ears to be toyed with.]
But don't you worry, gorgeous. You don't need to accept my company to find yourself with it! How could you say no to somebody who will always be here, posing brilliantly before you...?? Unless you're trying to tell me you're giving in. Finding me too dazzling a personality to handle... Ahaha.
[But the matter of his ears. He afforded himself some time acquainting himself with his developing body, at least, though for months it was completely unpleasant to do so. Now, however, it's nice. His ears can't emote at this angle and flop over to the side instead, and one flicks before he readjusts his head against the Ascian's shoulder with an affectionate rub of his cheek — which will begin to seem like something he just does. He hums after his laugh with the comfortable sensation of his fingers at the base of his ear: yes, he's receptive to having them touched. Though his fur's grown in silky smooth, the tissue beneath at the base of his long ears is noticeably scarred — a mix of the Rathmores, and the state of his own body rebelling against itself.
While he settles close to him, Mettaton brings one hand to grip onto Emet-Selch's other shoulder while he wraps the other arm around his back, pressing his hand square between his shoulder blades. He is so ridiculous, talking so negatively while being so pleasantly affectionate. Almost like he's trying his best to push him away... Mettaton holds tight.]
You can handle me, can't you...?