[While Mettaton was thinking on Emet-Selch's inherent misery, the Ascian had focused in on the task he'd been given, latching onto it as though it were some curious puzzle to solve.
The first problem was trying to just find some avenue that seemed worth exploring. Using the Bond, he thought, could be part of it. While they'd mingled experiences to some degree this time, Emet-Selch hadn't done so deliberately, and the Bond itself was still relatively fresh. If he consciously inflicted his own responses, the full weight of each moment, opened himself completely--
But that wouldn't be enough in itself, even were the Bond given more time to fully develop. Only part of an answer, if that.
The tighter grip of Mettaton's arm was both welcome, and a little distracting, his own hold squeezing back in response. Even if he was a primarily metal shell, it was satisfying to finally be pressed entirely to him. Emet-Selch still wondered how much the robot could feel of him, and to what degree. He'd said it had all been completely new, which meant that something had changed in his physiology to allow it to happen. But how could the Ascian simulate something that wasn't there?
...Sometimes, when people lost a limb, they reported still being able to feel it. The brain still believed it to be there, the nerves to agitate those sensations still existed, were able to fire accidentally. And with Mettaton being able to feel sensation now at all, was it possible similar pathways had developed for him, but had no way of being triggered naturally? What if there was a spell that could manipulate those areas, provide a sensation of contact that should've been impossible to have?
The problem then became developing an appropriate spell- which, if it were even possible, the Ascian doubted would be under either field he was specializing in. Which meant broadening his efforts- but that was fine. Emet-Selch only did things he found to be of interest, and this was interesting. Combining it with the Bond... it was a whole lot of hypotheticals, but it was something to think on.
But his thoughts on all of that are derailed entirely at this new abomination of his title. Mettaton's creativity was truly perverse at times. The sound he makes is quite exasperated, a breath of annoyance against the robot's throat.
And in addition to that- not an eyesore, but an earsore- there was a certain dissatisfaction in Mettaton using his title at all. Emet-Selch wasn't used to anyone using his real name yet- only his Warriors had leave to- but it wasn't as wholly unfamiliar to hear as it had once been. Though he'd never give it out casually, there was a certain... nostalgia to it that he'd never thought to feel again.
From thoughtful, the Ascian turns pensive, a more uncomfortable kind of tension present in his body as he decides what to do. It was such a small thing, but it was important to him.]
My personal name--
[He stops, reconsidering his phrasing. Lifting his head from its place at Mettaton's neck, the Ascian's gaze seeks out the idol's. His expression is guarded, aware that this was a strange thing to be so particular about. But apart from his name he had... nothing, absolutely nothing left that was truly his own.]
Emet-Selch is a title, the name of the position I held in Amaurot. My personal name is Hades.
no subject
The first problem was trying to just find some avenue that seemed worth exploring. Using the Bond, he thought, could be part of it. While they'd mingled experiences to some degree this time, Emet-Selch hadn't done so deliberately, and the Bond itself was still relatively fresh. If he consciously inflicted his own responses, the full weight of each moment, opened himself completely--
But that wouldn't be enough in itself, even were the Bond given more time to fully develop. Only part of an answer, if that.
The tighter grip of Mettaton's arm was both welcome, and a little distracting, his own hold squeezing back in response. Even if he was a primarily metal shell, it was satisfying to finally be pressed entirely to him. Emet-Selch still wondered how much the robot could feel of him, and to what degree. He'd said it had all been completely new, which meant that something had changed in his physiology to allow it to happen. But how could the Ascian simulate something that wasn't there?
...Sometimes, when people lost a limb, they reported still being able to feel it. The brain still believed it to be there, the nerves to agitate those sensations still existed, were able to fire accidentally. And with Mettaton being able to feel sensation now at all, was it possible similar pathways had developed for him, but had no way of being triggered naturally? What if there was a spell that could manipulate those areas, provide a sensation of contact that should've been impossible to have?
The problem then became developing an appropriate spell- which, if it were even possible, the Ascian doubted would be under either field he was specializing in. Which meant broadening his efforts- but that was fine. Emet-Selch only did things he found to be of interest, and this was interesting. Combining it with the Bond... it was a whole lot of hypotheticals, but it was something to think on.
But his thoughts on all of that are derailed entirely at this new abomination of his title. Mettaton's creativity was truly perverse at times. The sound he makes is quite exasperated, a breath of annoyance against the robot's throat.
And in addition to that- not an eyesore, but an earsore- there was a certain dissatisfaction in Mettaton using his title at all. Emet-Selch wasn't used to anyone using his real name yet- only his Warriors had leave to- but it wasn't as wholly unfamiliar to hear as it had once been. Though he'd never give it out casually, there was a certain... nostalgia to it that he'd never thought to feel again.
From thoughtful, the Ascian turns pensive, a more uncomfortable kind of tension present in his body as he decides what to do. It was such a small thing, but it was important to him.]
My personal name--
[He stops, reconsidering his phrasing. Lifting his head from its place at Mettaton's neck, the Ascian's gaze seeks out the idol's. His expression is guarded, aware that this was a strange thing to be so particular about. But apart from his name he had... nothing, absolutely nothing left that was truly his own.]
Emet-Selch is a title, the name of the position I held in Amaurot. My personal name is Hades.