[The kiss was... very nice, and he presses into it with a conscious gentleness. Though he doesn't know of Mettaton's thoughts, there's a certain heaviness of atmosphere that... feels only natural to the Ascian. But curling up with people he (more-or-less) trusted was something that Emet-Selch could appreciate, whenever it managed to occur. It was low-effort for high-reward, company in a quiet setting.
And the trading of... alright, this much he could mostly recognize as affection, provides regular little nudges of comfort. Fleeting, ineffectual when it came to providing solace to the ruined heart of him, but something he returned to despite this. And he felt a measure of gratitude towards Mettaton for being able to do even this much.]
So you've met... ah, I'm also Bonded to both her and K'rihnn. [Three Bonds to people who'd killed him.
Between that thought, and Mettaton's other statement, the Ascian is silent. It was still an unsettling thing to know. What awaited him, his last words, all of it.
His arm shifts upward, to bury his hand in Mettaton's hair, stroking a little at the base of the puca's ears. His face he keeps close to his, breath warm against him. His eyes are mostly closed but not entirely, for all that he can't see much of anything.]
All of them are responsible for it.
[There's no bitterness there, nor resignation. It's an uncertain feeling; disbelieving, distraught, detached- as though recounting something that had occurred to someone else.]
no subject
And the trading of... alright, this much he could mostly recognize as affection, provides regular little nudges of comfort. Fleeting, ineffectual when it came to providing solace to the ruined heart of him, but something he returned to despite this. And he felt a measure of gratitude towards Mettaton for being able to do even this much.]
So you've met... ah, I'm also Bonded to both her and K'rihnn. [Three Bonds to people who'd killed him.
Between that thought, and Mettaton's other statement, the Ascian is silent. It was still an unsettling thing to know. What awaited him, his last words, all of it.
His arm shifts upward, to bury his hand in Mettaton's hair, stroking a little at the base of the puca's ears. His face he keeps close to his, breath warm against him. His eyes are mostly closed but not entirely, for all that he can't see much of anything.]
All of them are responsible for it.
[There's no bitterness there, nor resignation. It's an uncertain feeling; disbelieving, distraught, detached- as though recounting something that had occurred to someone else.]