![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
October | Test Drive Meme
Jikan Test Drive MemeMinimize
You've seen this before. The thought strikes suddenly, during whatever it is you were doing. Having an important conversation? Running away from home? Dying in the midst of a fierce battle? Where ever you are, one things is true: you're certain this isn't the first time you've lived through this. But upon realizing this, that's when it happens. Like someone hitting rewind on the VCR, you're back where you were ten minutes ago. And it happens again. And again. And again--Until finally, something is different. A door stands in front of you. Will you go through it? Nothing else seems to be working, so this might be your only chance.
Upon opening the door and heading inside, a strange feeling overwhelms you. It's comforting and warm, like being enveloped in a soft, heavy blanket. You hear a voice murmuring in your ear, but it's unintelligible.
And in the next moment, you've appeared in front of a mysterious stone shrine in the middle of a forest, surrounded by the unfamiliar yet worried faces of fox-like humans in red and white robes, speaking in a foreign language that doesn't sound so foreign to you anymore.
Maryouku University
There isn't much time to process what's happening before characters are transported to the nearby Maryouku University. All injuries are completely healed, and those under mental duress will have a powerful soothing spell cast on them to calm them down. Their every need is met: food is offered, and questions are answered. "You've arrived in the Western Kingdom of Nippon, on a planet called Gaia," they explain. "When you became aware of the timeloop, we... well, let us explain."
Orientation Maryouku University, Kyoto
Everyone is brought to a large auditorium, where dozens of other people looking similarly out of place are seated around them. The Kitsune Yokai from before filter on stage, as well as a number of humans and other Yokai in labcoats. And after a brief introduction, they begin to explain. What they experienced back home was a timeloop. While the loops in their home worlds are smaller and likely to resolve on their own, the fact that such a small amount of time is being repeated is what makes them so dangerous for those who become aware of it. And they've been working around the clock, checking adjacent universes for others who've become aware. While the technical explanations may go over the heads of most, that's not the reason they were all brought together like this.
And they continue to explain: their own world was trapped in a year long loop for decades, if not longer. Through the use of an ancient form of bonding magic, they bound their world to the present flow of time, allowing it to progress past the timeloop. Or at least, that's how they thought it worked. In truth, Kizuna is very powerful reality-warping magic. And thanks to the powerful bond all refugees now share with the country of Nippon, the magic surrounding them will only continue to evolve.
Until a means of resuming the flow of time back in their home world is found, they'll just have to make due with this one. But not to worry, because Nippon is fully committed to taking care of the refugees!
A Brand New Home Kyoto, Kansai
Once orientation is over, characters will be allowed to choose housing in both Kyoto and Tokyo, enabling them the means of easily living between both cities if they please. These housing options will be fully paid for by the government of Nippon, with the NRL and MRU providing a stipend for food expenses in Tokyo and Kyoto respectively.
In lieu of providing transportation, all refugees will be granted an unlimited rail pass that they can use to travel all across Nippon! As of the beginning of May, express routes connecting Tokyo and Kyoto will be running at all times of day, allowing refugees to freely travel between the Eastern and Western Kingdoms.
At the Kiyomizu Temple in Higashiyama, preparations are underway for a festival coming at the end of the month. Refugees will hear talk of the locals trying to decide on what style mask they want to create, and at the Temple itself, they'll find craft booths offering free supplies for custom mask making. The masks must reflect what a person believes to be their inner self, and there's limitless supplies provided to bring their creation to light. It seems these are going to be really important later, so don't just half-ass it, okay?
Over at the dorms in Gion, a rather provocative game has broken out amongst the residents. Following a generous gift of prized sake from one of their patrons, the Geiko have decided to throw a party with the refugees, and somehow, this devolved into a competition of strip rock-paper-scissors. With just how many accessories the Geiko wear, they clearly have the advantage! But no one is talking it very seriously, and the night is filled with laughter and silliness. Join the fun? It's one hell of a way to make new friends!
In Uji, signs of autumn have taken over, as the famously rural neighborhood becomes filled with beautiful hues of red and yellow. At the Byodoin Temple, the monks have requested that all visitors bring offerings of colorful leaves for their resident Phoenix deity, who is known to drain the color from people who provide lackluster or incorrect offerings. However, it seems the phoenix is only interested in red leaves this season, and offering any other color will render the one making the offering temporarily colorblind. At least the effect only lasts about an hour? Such a picky bird.
NRL Time Refugee Support Network
Once they've received their housing assignment, all refugees will be given small handheld devices called magi-tech comms, or magi-comms for short. They're heavier than a conventional smartphone would be, but far sturdier, and powered by the ambient magic that flows through the city. They don't need to be charged, but they won't work outside of cities at all. Upon booting it up, they'll find a message linking them to a special channel for refugees.
#nrl_time_refugee_support - online
Use the following code for your top-level if you'd like! This is how network communication will look for characters in the game until more advanced magi-tech comms become available for characters.
A Tale of Two Festivals
As the leaves of autumn begin to change, so too are the refugees encouraged to change up their routine and pay a visit to the city of Nara. Located south of Kyoto, Nara is a city where Yokai and Ayakashi live in perfect equilibrium, with many aspects of life in the city adjusted to account for the Ayakashi's eccentric behavior. Likewise, the Ayakashi here are almost never known to curse anyone, and are generous in the blessings they offer both the people and the land in which they live.
Perhaps some are put off by the idea of a city where Ayakashi are allowed to flourish after past experiences with these strange creatures. But this month is special!
Starting on October 1st, the Tsukimi Festival is held every night after sundown for the next two weeks. Long ago, the gods gifted Gaia an enchanting string of pearls that entwined the planet, lighting up the night sky. However, the greed of mortals seeking power led them to fight over the pearls. As wars waged, the pearls would be shattered in the conflict, until only one remained. Seeing the way their gift was tarnished, the gods decided that those on Gaia would only be allowed to see the pearl in all its glory for part of the month, taking it away for the other half. This became the cycles of the moon, and the shattered remains of the other pearls formed the solid ring that is always visible in the night sky.
So what makes October so special? For this month only, the full moon will be completely visible for the first full two weeks of the month, never visibly waxing nor waning. But what happens after two weeks...? Well, you'll just have to be patient for that!
One With Nature Narashi, Nara
Nara is an interesting city. Buildings are seemingly hidden away by larger-than-life trees that tower overhead, with some even built into the trees themselves, and all of them brilliant shades of red, orange, and yellow for the fall season. Lower streets and areas are lit up by special bioluminescent flowers that bloom on the lower sections of the tree's trunk. And while magic-powered lifts exist, the sheer number of elevated walkways and stairs make it a bit of a workout to explore. And of course, no matter where one looks, wildlife is around every corner -- though by and far, most of them are ayakashi. But there are no higanbana death flowers or dangerous tsutsumi-bara vines here. Instead, the refugees will has a chance to see more tranquil varieties ordinarily only found in the depths of Nippon's forests.
One of the more common creatures found in the main district of Nara, Narashi, is the Arukibake, the ghost-walker ayakashi. Utterly harmless, these little leggy ghosts can be found strutting around the city at every corner, ranging from the size of an apple to waist-height. However, they're known to be naturally attracted to people who have recently experienced bouts of depression or loneliness. The exact reason for this is unknown, but anyone seen with a small procession of these fellas marching silently behind them is certain to get more than a few concerned passer-bys offering them a warm meal, a hug, or even a shoulder to cry on if they need it. Even for the Western Kingdom, it seems the people of Nara are especially compassionate.
And then, there's the likes of the fuwakafun, the puffball ayakashi. No larger than your average cotton ball, these little guys are known to spread not pollen, but color as they move from flower to flower. And Nara, with its unique species of bioluminescent flower that blooms all year round, has no shortage of flowers even during the fall season. Should the fuwakafun land on someone's hair or clothing, it'll fade to take on the color of whatever flower the fuwakafun was resting in before. Ordinarily this effect is meant to create rare flowers as a gift for those who allow the fuwakafun to live in their garden, but with more fuwakafun than flowers, they've got to make do with what they have.
But for all that the Ayakashi in Nara are peaceful, there are still more than a few troublemakers. One in particular to look out for is the gurakurage, the glass-jelly ayakashi. Appearing in an array of beautiful colors, these ayakashi are attracted by greed and feelings of lust. It's not uncommon to see them tethered by a string in shops, where their increased activity serves as a warning to look out for shoplifters. But when encountered in the wild, these strange jellyfish will latch onto the bodies of people experiencing sexual frustration. A minor annoyance to be sure, as they can simply be peeled off, but just don't break the glass dome atop their head. Doing so will greatly anger the ayakashi, causing them to grow in size before... well. I think we all know where the prompt with the tentacle creature is going.
Dear Deer Narashi, Nara
While Nara is known for its high population of Ayakashi, the most well-known is the Saiwaika, the good-fortune deer. Growing no more than two feet high, these miniature deer can be found in parks throughout Nara, where they've become so docile and used to the presence of Yokai that they'll walk right up and cutely beg for food. Thankfully, vendors selling special crackers for the saiwaika can be found everywhere.
Being around the saiwaika has an interesting effect. Those who look upon their tiny, dainty forms will find themselves strongly compelled to be generous and kind to every living creature they meet. Originally a defense mechanism against predators, the saiwaika instead offer this power as a blessing to the people of Nara, which is said to have the lowest crime rate of any city in the Western Kingdom. Even cruel or downright evil folks will find their hearts filled with warm feelings, offering to buy their worst enemy lunch, help a little old lady cross the street, or maybe even offer some more of those tasty crackers to the deer...
All right, so there's a little bit of an ulterior motive to their blessing. But you can't deny they're very cute. However, they really do have a certain craving for these crackers. And while they've learned not to steal them off the stall tables, once the wrapping comes off, it's a free-for-all. The tiny deer have been known to swarm, nibbling at the clothes of those bearing the treats. Some even attempt to jump and steal them, with the saiwaika being well-known for its ability to leap nearly ten feet into the air. Yes, this looks as silly as you can imagine.
Perhaps its because of this that a common prank played by children in Nara is to slip a few crackers into an unsuspecting friend's pocket, causing the deer to hungrily swarm without the target knowing why. Shouldn't their blessing counteract these pranks...? Well, if the saiwaika is getting fed, is it really such a bad thing?
Behold The Pearl Narashi, Nara
Given the name of the festival, it should come as no surprise that the chief activity performed during the festival is simply observing the moon with good company and plenty of food every night. Its radiance will only grow brighter as the festival continues, the light reflecting off the ring that surrounds Gaia and causing it, too, to glow every night, occasionally releasing rainbow-colored bursts of magical energy only visible during Tsukimi.
For the best views, Sarusawa Pond in Narashi is widely considered to be the optimal location for moon-viewing parties. Food and drink stalls can be found lining the pathways that circle the pond, and with the backdrop of a five-story pagoda lit up by moonlight, it's also known as one of the most romantic spots in Nara.
But while there are plenty of places to sit and gaze up at the moon on the shore, the real celebrations occur on small boats that sit silently upon the water. Only allowed to sail at a certain hour before sundown, those hoping for a proper moon-viewing best board early. And once the boat has parked on the pond, a Mizu spell is used to still the water, causing a mirror-like image of the moon and the stars above to reflect upon its pristine surface.
But aside from being very beautiful, there are a number of superstitions associated with this practice. It's said that one should never stare at their own reflection in the water, or else they may see their reflection begin to twist and mutate into a monster. While limited to just their reflection, the effects of this spell may cause erratic or animal-like behavior when standing in the moonlight, with some becoming prone to acting on their every impulse, no matter how rash. It's not uncommon for at least one party-goer to make the mistake of staring too long, before throwing themselves in the shallow pond and thrashing about wildly. Unfortunately, the effects of this will linger until the festival ends on the 14th. Better bring an umbrella for tomorrow's Tsukimi.
OOC Notes
Welcome to Jikan's October TDM! The TDM is considered game canon, and also serves as the intro log! That said, whether you choose to carry threads over to the game or not is up to you!
• Current players are more than welcome to top-level, or take prompts from the TDM and use for their own logs! This may change in the future depending on how busy TDMs become.
• CRAU characters may start regaining their CRAU memories one month after the TDM. However, vague feelings of familiarity are allowed between previous game CR! For more on this, please read the FAQ!
• You do not need to sign-up for housing! Choose whichever style you prefer, in both Kyoto and Tokyo. Roommates can be chosen by the characters or can be random. If you want to switch housing later, your character has the option of moving at the beginning of each month.
• While you do not need to thread the mask-making prompt if you don't want to, these masks will become important for the event later in the month, so choose your designs carefully!
• The full moon will be visible in the night sky from everywhere in Nippon for the first two weeks of October. While Tsukimi celebrations can be found everywhere, the sister festival to this one is unique to the Kansai region, and will be explained in more detail in the event later in the month.
• Characters who have their reflection mutated by the pond's spell will retain a monster-like appearance when they look into a mirror or reflective surface until the festival ends on the 14th. This effect is for their reflection only.
• Similarly, whether their reflection becomes monstrous in a frightening way, or monstrous in a sexy way, is completely up to you. The change can be subtle or dramatic, and those around them will be able to see the changes!
Please leave any questions about the TDM prompts in the thread below! General game questions can be directed to the FAQ!
Apps are always open!
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
jikan_rpg ⌛ jikan_network ⌛ jikan_oocRules ⌛ FAQ ⌛ Apply ⌛ Taken
Auxiliary ⌛ Hiatus/Drop ⌛ Activity Check ⌛ Bonus
Game Timeline ⌛ Code Directory ⌛ Contact
Setting ⌛ Housing ⌛ Businesses ⌛ Kizuna ⌛ Flora/Fauna ⌛ Magic
NPC Database ⌛ NPC Contact
no subject
For some reason, the robotic idol found himself remembering audio more often, with stills of the accompanying memory. There was something spoken soft in a gloomy voice; his own met it, stern and commanding. (An argument?) He could remember Emet-Selch thanking him, taken aback; he remembers himself warm despite the cold, fully in love, with just the scarcest impression of gold and amethyst. (The winter; jewelry?) But these are all so indistinct that they felt difficult to describe, so fresh and new that he could barely catch up with them.
Emet-Selch's griping has Mettaton remembering something a little more clearly. A vow... to better understand his body. Fear, intense and maddening. But before he could latch onto the thought, Mettaton refocuses on an answer, smiling.]
And... I do treasure this body of yours. In fact, I feel certain I...
[So back to that memory he descends, closing his eye. It's... terribly indistinct. There are voices, his own and Emet-Selch's—along with someone else's, calm and collected. If only he could have something to latch onto...
(What were they doing? What led them down, what made them go from a kiss to downed? What was on his tongue? What was he seeing in the dark...?)
Whatever was on the fringes of his awareness, it wasn't an easy memory. He frowns tightly, though his expression neutralizes as he tunes into Emet-Selch's voice. Opening his eye, he catches his golden gaze with his own, his head a tender, vulnerable place right now.
Their fingers trace each other's throats, and Mettaton makes a soft sound at this scant bit of sensation he was hooked on. To have a lover meant being inundated with sensation, didn't it...? Just how dimensional did it become? How much of a dazzling experience did Emet-Selch bring him? It excited to consider, and Mettaton shivers slightly, his metal parts rattling with the movement.]
Most of what I remember... When we met. And... when we Bonded. I can tell you all about what I recall then, if you'd like. [He offers Emet-Selch a smile. His memories return to him mostly in sequential order, with blurry hints here and there of moments beyond. But before Emet-Selch can ask him for elaboration, Mettaton hesitates, making it clear that he has another thought by averting his eye...
to stare at Emet-Selch's neck. His fingers follow his artery, gently pressing into the area beside it that felt so tender.] But Hades... I feel certain I must have made... plenty of mistakes.
[Especially when it came to caring for this body. It didn't mean that he didn't treasure it, though, and he felt convinced that he did. But there was fabric stained a crimson so bright, pillows soaked and Emet-Selch pale... He couldn't stray from that, as he shakes his head.]
I'm just... Sorry, darling. I think I hurt you once. I... hurt your neck?? [How did he do that? He didn't think he cut him.] And you stopped responding. How did I...
[Mettaton's voice drifts off. He could barely recall it all... but it was a new memory, a new moment. Mettaton shakes his head with a touch of frustration.]
I just remember calling for help, and... holding your blood inside. I knew I needed to take better care of you after that.
[There always felt like something important to take away from a thought or a feeling, and from this memory came the desire to watch out for Emet-Selch where neither of them previously looked out for him. That his condition was somehow left in jeopardy under their mutual watch. They were both fairly risky with him, weren't they?
Mettaton wraps his palm around the side of Emet-Selch's neck in an echo of the touch he'd applied when Emet-Selch lost consciousness to blood loss. He remembers the vague stickiness, the insanity of fear that drove him to stay still for hours there, as though holding his Bonded together. But he can barely remember how it ended, save for Emet-Selch's pitiful disorientation.]
no subject
It was a softer thing to dwell on, when it all was overwhelming, something that would take more than a few conversations to sink in, more than a few days to settle. Even if everything suddenly became clear, it would take time to adjust. It was already an exhausting prospect, but at least he wasn't alone in having to go through it. (He wasn't alone?)
Something had struck the robot, and Emet-Selch waits quietly to hear of it, still stroking his neck, encouraged by the small sound, even the rattling. So Mettaton had more of their earliest memories together.... It made him wish for something similar, to be recalling things in some kind of order that he could discern, rather than a jumbled collection of pieces sorted by nothing. Not by importance or time or danger... only a mess of experiences. He could sigh at that too, and though he's about to affirm that he'd like to hear about those first memories, Mettaton seemed to be caught on something slightly later.
Something more uncomfortable, some sort of danger that existed between them. The robot looks away from him, presses into a sensitive spot on his neck, a place soft and vulnerable. A place that felt natural for him to expose, the Ascian tilting his head a bit more, in silent offering. An action that he questions moments later, but doesn't undo (it still felt right, even as Mettaton explains).
Mistakes. Problems when it came to ensuring the well-being of this body, one far more fragile than Mettaton's robotic shell. His pulse, underneath his fingers beats that bit harder- or was he just more aware of it? His gaze lowers to a matching spot under his own fingers, as if he could palpate himself by proxy.]
--You bit me. [There's nothing accusatory in it, though his brow furrows, trying to grasp at his own recollection.] Your teeth were sharper than a human's... but this wasn't the first time you drew blood.
[This time it had been more serious, but they'd been playing with this possibility for longer than that. Plenty of mistakes. Mettaton hadn't been alone in them, he was suddenly sure. With the puca's presumable lack of experience with the ways a human body could break, and his own self-assurance (and self-destructiveness, if he was being honest), how much damage had his host endured?]
You came home... we were both upset about something. [Wordless, intense emotion was what he remembered the most in these memories, with sound and picture filtering in later. Spite, distress, longing, a bitter stubbornness; it was hard to make much sense of it.] I let you drive your teeth in.
[The pain had been so sharp. Blinding, clarifying. It called to mind one of those fragments he'd found earlier, a tear-stricken Mettaton over him, relieved and worried still. But there had been blood on him too, and blood all around, and he'd felt so weak....
This had to be more of that memory, and more from Mettaton's perspective.]
I don't think I'll ever recall the part I was unconscious for. [A brief, wry sort of smile.] But I remember waking up to you being there. I could hear you in the dark, I think....
[Though he couldn't remember the words. Just the disorientation, the nausea, the comfort in having someone with him... how cold he'd felt, despite the contact, and he shivers. Pressing into the cup of Mettaton's hand, as if there was yet blood to hold back, his own hand retreats from the robot's throat in order to cover his hand again, more firmly. To keep the blood in; to keep his touch there.]
Do you think we did any better, after that?
no subject
He'd bitten him. And he'd... tasted him? Mettaton still thinks of the echoes of something resembling sensation on his tongue, closing his eyes and running it over his teeth like he might be able to taste it again if he just thought hard enough. What did blood taste like? He longed to know, even though the thought itself was so barbaric. Had he been nibbling on his Bondmate? Why ever for? That this was a common occurrence, Mettaton doesn't question: he can believe it readily, due to the familiarity of the flavor he feels incapable of parsing.
And with his eye closed again, Mettaton can envision the particular senses activated by biting into his partner's throat. Often, he'd feel relief; he'd feel alight, activated, the echoes of pain from the other man's soul... and something else entirely. Something that felt like being shocked, that filled his body with sensation beyond his wildest fantasy.
It reminded him of the notion that they were somehow intimate with one another.
A thought that has Mettaton's expression screwing up, as he recalls with so much lucidness the feeling of something firm nudged into his thigh as he chomped down on Emet-Selch's neck. A distracting thought, but not distracting enough to keep him from paying mind to Emet-Selch's continued recollection of this moment. Nor from his question.
Cracking open his eye again, Mettaton gazes steadily at the Ascian's pristine neck. There were no bruises there, bruises he felt certain he'd applied... through anything other than violence. Even this memory was for love. Yet it had this sort of result...
Mettaton doesn't quite nod, nor does he quite shake his head. But he smiles mildly, stroking his hand with his thumb.]
I think so. Not perfect. But... better.
[It's all a hunch. It felt like, even though he bit him here and there, it was done with the avoidance of temperamental upset... Though not always. And MTT is even on the fringes of feeling like something bad yet came of his bloodlust... Closing his eye again, he skirts along the edges of his lover in panicked fear—but he can't quite place it.
And yet he recalls more clearly their wedding day. He smiles, opening his eye again to watch Emet-Selch. (They stood face-to-face like this at the altar, and it filled MTT with a heated giddiness to consider.)]
I bit you on our wedding day, you know. Your suit... we stained it together. [They stained a suit. Unthinkable... savage! But it left MTT imbued with some carnal sense of pride, of ownership, of possession. His fingers twine with Emet-Selch's against his neck.] So I'm sure we found ourselves doing better.
[Somehow, that's what that meant. They were still indulging in that vice of theirs, and somehow, MTT knew it was a vice. But the fact that they didn't stop—that must mean that they knew how to do it without risking that same result, he thought.
Visiting again the memory of that night, the Puca recalls the intensity of their feelings and passions clashing like a tempest, where the pressure relieved was found in his incisors slipping through skin like a hot knife to butter. There was a lot in the moments following that were carnal and carnage, and though Mettaton unhands Emet-Selch's hand that they held between them, he keeps their fingers against his throat.
But his newly freed hand presses against the Ascian's upper thigh, flirting with a peculiar feeling in his heart that he'd... touched these legs of his frequently. His thumb presses close to the smaller man's inner thigh, still decent while mildly provocative.]
There are so many senses in my head that I can't piece together, darling. [With an eager, attentive gaze, MTT leans forward.] For example: it's strange, but I can still almost taste your blood on my lips. Though I don't know how that's possible. I don't know if you know this. But a robot like me... I can't taste. Yet I loved the flavor of your blood...
[Even if Emet-Selch didn't know, he suspects it would click with him, given their involvement. A touch embarrassed at the feeling of wanton indulgence that fills him with these recollections, Mettaton's smile is a touch woozy.]
no subject
Not perfect but better... that sounded plausible. They knew to be more careful after that, the damage that they both needed to work to avoid (And yet uncertainty lingered; had they gotten it wrong again? Emet-Selch couldn't remember anything other than fear and pain, when he tried to think of anything related to that instance.). Mettaton continued to bite him, but if that was something they both liked, why would they give it up, rather than manage it?
But to do it on their wedding day (which existed)- Mettaton's reminder of it draws a soft hum. That hadn't been an accidental or impulsive bite, something that demonstrated any lack of control. That must mean that they'd improved.]
The red so striking against white... you would think we'd planned it out like that.
[His fingers twine willingly with Mettaton's at his throat, feeling so natural there, as he murmurs a response. Natural too was the strange pleasure at the thought of something so... untoward, hedonistic, even. At the very altar, Mettaton had taken to his neck, slipped his teeth in him, while he'd pressed himself tight to his body, moaned--
(Gods, he'd been aroused by it, he was certain. And not only a little, but with an intensity and rigidity that made it feel as though it had been building for some time, but that he'd finally given into. From being bitten.)
It's a detail that he has to take a careful breath with, still finding the emotional (and apparently, the physical) parts of memories the most vivid. Even though he could accept they'd been lovers, as well as in love- it suggested something about the intensity of their affair that he wasn't sure how to approach. That he hadn't known he was capable of.]
But 'tis a fair point. I clearly survived long enough to see myself wedded... we must've gotten something right.
[That was a little comforting. And though it was hard to get a sense of time from things, their wedding, he thought... it was closer to the present day than anything else they'd discussed. Risks and all, they'd persisted.
With one hand released, Emet-Selch glances down as Mettaton settles it instead upon his thigh, with a placement teasingly intimate. But it wasn't too shameless either, something that skirted with, but remained entirely within acceptable public limits. Yet it sends the faintest shiver through him, an echo of responsiveness that suggested to him that these sort of touches were far from uncommon between them.
But the robot's words convince him to drag his attention upward. That Mettaton couldn't taste anything as a robot- Emet-Selch blinks in surprise, before turning contemplative, wondering if that was something he'd known before. It sounded vaguely familiar, though much clearer was the memory of his lover drinking his blood, and with evident pleasure, and with nothing in their kisses suggesting that any flavor was one-sided.]
The monster you became... somehow you grew fur, ears. [On a chassis of materials that weren't exactly meant to include life. How had that even worked? What had the inside of his body been made into, to match the unusual outside? With his now free hand, he gestures at the robot's body.] Could a sense of taste been included...?
[Along with a taste for blood, somehow. The idea was strange, to put it mildly. Why would rabbit-based monsters desire blood? And why in Zodiark's name was he comfortable with Mettaton feeding on him like that anyway? It hadn't just been the occasional too-hard nip (in the memory of passions that still felt too immense to casually explain), or the result of a bit of excitable scratching, but something deliberate, something with the intention of lapping up his blood. And yet he'd done more than tolerate it.
And with the way Mettaton was looking... Emet-Selch wondered if more than taste had been enhanced in his puca-ized body.]
no subject
But that. That detail, the bloom of red on white—that had been intentional. Had they done it before a crowd? He finds himself pondering this, fantasizing about their shock, the sensationalism of it, even while he's still trying to grasp for more personal details of... everything.
Such as the actual wedding. At the sight of bared skin, bruised, which felt familiar to Mettaton. He blinks at Emet-Selch widely again in shock, his smile screwing up as he recalls that they must have been terribly involved, involved in a deeply twined and physical sense. There was... possessiveness coursing through his body, and something so lively that he finds his leg twitching.
There were a lot of sensations beyond him, more than just taste, he's figuring. It leaves him with a sense of... loss, for something he'd never had.
Still, their biting habits seemed to do well enough if they enjoyed it at the altar. It didn't daunt them, not for the reason of that one incident... And maybe they'd done better at making it deliberate, not an answer to every moment of intensity. Yes, that felt like the issue at hand: they had a lot of passion and intensity between them, and sometimes, a release of that pressure felt the only option, as Mettaton resorted to biting and Emet-Selch resorted to bleeding. But in some cases, it seemed to get out of hand.
The neck beneath his fingertips had endured a lot of bites, a lot of... kisses, heated and passionate, Mettaton thought, as he thumbs over his throat and settles their fingers into a bind. So much so that he smiles, gazing squarely into Emet-Selch's eyes.]
I must have spent a lot of time at your throat. It's one of those memories... The kind that feels so infinite that it blurs together.
[And somehow, he manages to put the feeling into words. And somehow some more, he felt Emet-Selch might understand what he means by that.
They were intimate, and the hand on Emet-Selch's thigh is the conscious echo of that realization. His response is pleasant; the idol could almost taste how much he affected this man, and it was a rush to experience. But... not as intense as he felt it was. More intense than anything he recalls, but it was... so much more?
The mention of him being a Puca is what has his gaze skirting to the treetops in thought, lips parting. Being a Puca... granted him quite a bit, in the ways of traits. He nods.]
Yes... I think it must have. For some reason. It seems to me that being a Puca... granted me quite a bit of sensation that I can hardly fathom. [Taste was called to the forefront... but even his touch felt enhanced in these memories. (Unless that was just the pleasure of having someone this close to him. Mettaton is willing to entertain that notion.)] You and I...
[Flipping through a few ways to deliver this message, the robot considers carefully. He could be as blunt and cool about is as he could, a delivery like it didn't affect him now, or that he wasn't interested. But fronting for dramatic effect didn't feel right. If anything, the idea that this man had elicited so much drive in him inspires, and he didn't want to express anything other than his true feelings on the matter. (That this was how he and Emet-Selch interacted—that feeling also clicks, though not in any conscious way.)
So his smile goes from woozy and lost in thought to broad, heated, dark lashes curtaining his gaze that bit more. He even scoots a touch closer to Emet-Selch, keeping his hands right where they are, stroking over neck and thigh rhythmically.]
We were passionate, involved lovers, weren't we? Ohh my.
[And though neither of them could remember much in the ways of entire events, he felt confident that his former-Bondmate would be able to remember plenty about that. Even if the robot couldn't figure out just how they reached to such heights, or even what that kaleidoscopic experience was like... he knew it happened.]
no subject
(But there was still something melancholy about their wedding, for reasons he's not certain of. They were clearly committed to each other, and in good health- but there was something intrinsically sad about their vows that he couldn't place, especially because he couldn't remember them. Yet one more thing to have to be patient with, to wait and see what did and didn't return to him.)
But they had been completely willing, had possibly even planned, to make such a statement at their very own wedding. A reflection of other habits, of an involvement that veered passionate even when it wasn't bloody. Mettaton twitches, his expression affected; the Ascian ignores a raised pulse, a shiver of tension. There was a lot about these memories that was provocative, wasn't there?]
So often that it becomes difficult to tell one instance from the next. [A low concurrence, as he mulls it over. It was no wonder the individual memories were hard to pick apart, there were so many. If his hand weren't taken by Mettaton's, he would probably have traced over his throat himself.] Nor were you shy about leaving your mark behind.
[Something else that he'd apparently done more than tolerate, but had encouraged, even wanted. His neck had been more than bitten, it had been bruised, kissed, sucked on, scented, with much time spent with Mettaton's face otherwise pressed to it. Somehow thinking about that made the truth of their intimacy feel that much more solid, that much more real. It wasn't that he'd considered that the sexual aspect of their involvement (gods, what a history to realize he even had with this robot) to be at all impersonal but to imagine Mettaton buried at his throat....
Emet-Selch's eyes are unable to stray from Mettaton as he imagines it. He felt especially aware of him, of the way the robot looked when he was thinking about something, to the part of his lips when he gazes skyward. Achingly familiar and new both, but it would be hard for him to pretend that he wasn't attracted to him. Or thinking about what it had been like to kiss him. Both today and... before, so many times before.
Another current of heat runs through him from the fingers against his neck, even though it had already been a touch that he'd been enjoying. But it seemed particularly pleasurable, now that he was thinking about it in those terms, and when paired with the continued stroke of his thigh. These weren't touches between those casually acquainted, that was certain.
Nor were these the way acquaintances would look on one another, with this heat, this... intent. Mettaton shifts closer, and the Ascian follows suit, barely keeping from twining a leg with the robot's.
Whether the intensity of their experience had been puca-enhanced, or a result of their becoming close (or both, he considers), Mettaton's words strike a particular note. While it would've been possible to play it off, or pretend to be less affected than he was- that too didn't strike him as how they'd been with one another. There had been openness, there had been honesty... that was just how they were together.]
We were. [A soft, yet heavy exhalation.] We were very... very prone to each other.
[They hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other, if the images he had to sort through were any indication. His thigh tenses pleasantly underneath Mettaton's hand, his breath pausing a moment before he continues.]
It feels like... [How had it gone, again?] we had much to catch up on.
[Whether it had been from a lifetime without sensation at all, or one without close companionship (or both, to one degree or another), they had discovered so much of what they had been missing out on with one another.]
no subject
A sentiment that reaches Mettaton, one he recognizes as a familiarity, and his face splits into a heartfelt, soft smile. Clearly he remembers himself with the tickling new sensations of kisses, of fingers running over his waist, every touch feeling like a shock to his system. He's hooked on this cleared memory, the seconds of it intoxicating, the ghost of a sensation he could only recall and not experience for himself.
They were prone to each other, and interested from the start. He knows they argued, they disagreed frequently... and he knows it was over the important subject of humanity, in fact. But their chemistry was a difficult force to ignore, and even early on, Mettaton recalls touches, brushes of fingertips, hands slung about his hips and his own about Emet-Selch's shoulders. Their love felt like a roller coaster ride, up and down, deep and high, but they were always strapped in together for the whole of it.
Touching at his neck and his thigh, their legs all but tangled and that bit closer, Mettaton leans closer in his ever-increasing familiarity. His hand slides further up Emet-Selch's thigh in the process, and he grips down slightly, squeezing his leg.]
Haha... you remember. And I think... we always will have more to catch up on.
[These needs of theirs weren't so easily met in a single go. And what were the chances of them ever being fully satisfied?
He recalls his own draw being the desire for touch, a sensation that felt so brimming and new to him despite having lived in his corporeal form for at least a few months. Even right now, it's been an equivalent amount of time... But Emet-Selch offered him much in the ways of exciting and new sensations. His Bonded met him in their first kiss, one that blossomed into many more, and an invitation to explore, to "catch up" on time spent without. MTT knew for sure then that Emet-Selch knew of his incorporeality, where it was previously just a hunch. How else would the Ascian know that he'd been without for so long?
What else had he yet to uncover in these memories? (What could he do to expedite their retreival?)
Marks. Leaving marks behind... Mettaton glances at Emet-Selch's throat, dwelling upon hazy memories spent marking and re-marking this man, combating the... inevitability of transience. Their time in this place, even their confession of love, it was mired in the wordless acknowledgement that it wasn't to last... And yet even with this abstract understanding, Mettaton can't recall them ever talking about it, can't recall whether or not they parted in pain or suffering. (And somehow, he hopes: did these star-crossed lovers get to remain hand-in-hand? These husbands that lived in this faraway place called Aefenglom... did they live there happily ever after?) If he marked him enough again, would they recall more memories?
(How many of them would have the phantom taste of blood at his lips?)
Nara streets aren't so busy at this time of early evening, and they're tucked off of the main drag enough to be mostly alone, save for the presence of ayakashi. The air is soft, the sound of chatter from businesses distant, as Mettaton gazes from Emet-Selch's eyes down to their knees, which touch. Black silicone is pressed to the fabric of Emet-Selch's trousers, and his eye follows up threads of fabric to his white-gloved hand resting upon his thigh. ...He can't help it as his gaze is drawn toward the front of his pants, as something achingly familiar dawns upon him. They were very, heavily prone to each other, and he's positive he's seen this man undressed before. And much more. They were husbands, after all.
... Mettaton stares at the front of Emet-Selch's pants and squints in thought. He could almost make out the imagery of them entwined... but as they are, things just weren't fitting together. He could believe growing ears, fur, and even developing a sense of taste and the saliva to pair with it... but the equipment seemed far-fetched.
Realizing that he's staring, Mettaton tears his gaze away and meets Emet-Selch's eye with a moment of open shock, like a deer in headlights. He may as well describe his ponderings, if he was going to stare at this man's crotch. Even if they were husbands in Aefenglom, they're only just stumbling through memory together now! How brazen of him...]
Ahem. [Good start. He blinks, eye wide as he meets Emet-Selch's gaze with a curious one of his own.] Despite our recognized intimacy. I couldn't help but note our... anatomies. Or, lack thereof...
[He had nothing to penetrate, and nothing to penetrate with... Save for his mouth. Dwelling on that at all gives MTT only the impression of having wrapped his lips around him before, and he finds himself licking his lips, bright pink tongue flicking over tinted silicone.]
no subject
I don't think there was any threat of us running out.
[The better they knew each other, the more there was to know. The closer they became, the closer they could yet manage to be, and the more they wanted it. And... the more they wanted each other. The more they were willing to inscribe their feelings, even if the Ascian was the only one with a body that could be marred. It wasn't just exuberance, or a pleasure in pain that drove them (even if there was plenty of both of those things too), but something more. A recklessness out of fear, out of bitterness and defiance....
Even beyond the danger of dying to a careless bite, Emet-Selch was sure there was something else going on in their arrangement that threatened them. Something that unsettled and plagued him, that ate at him. With his lack of real magic and presumed inability to take a new host, that did put something of a time limit on their involvement due to his body inevitably aging, but... it felt worse than that.
But how they'd loved one another throughout it all, despite arguments and differences that he still couldn't recall. But what had happened to them, in the end, to guide them here? Did he need to be marked anew to remember, to see bruise and bite blossom upon his throat, to be able to look into a mirror and remember it all--
It was too easy a thought to get caught up in, the tangled memories of tangled bodies, of touches desperate and affectionate both. How often had they brushed hips, shoulders, had touched arms or faces, had held one another, in increasingly deeper ways?
There was some illusion of privacy here, in this tucked-away corner of Nara in the evening, shaded by trees, with the quiet arukibake the most polite sort of entourage. But even had this been a busy street, with voices and noise that wasn't from either of them, Emet-Selch would've been able to tune it out, as he thought upon his companion. Their legs close, leaning for one another, one hand against the Ascian's neck, with the robot's other slipping along his thigh.
But it was more than a hand that was attentive to his body, he could tell. It wasn't that he minded being stared at. Not at all, especially not by him, though as he realized the direction of Mettaton's gaze, what he was gazing at, it was hard to ignore the rush of heat that coursed through his body. Which surprised him, even though it also didn't strike him as unfamiliar, but it was just a look. It sounded unlikely, but if he weren't careful, it felt like he could respond to that alone (though was it really alone, with the hand on his thigh to further his imagining?).
If they had been lovers, it wasn't as though Mettaton hadn't seen him unclothed before, on many, many occasions. Yet the idea and experience of being gazed at still felt... enticing.
His own gaze unfocusing, he has to blink several times to meet the robot's own shock, startle. (But it amused a little, to realize how easily caught up they both were.) With effort, Mettaton manages to vocalize the- complication. The aspect that didn't quite match up to what they were both sure had happened.]
Ah. [That. Emet-Selch's eyes dip lower for a moment themselves, even though he knew entirely well that nothing was there but smooth silicone. The ambient light from trees as well as Mettaton himself were more than enough to see every lack of detail. Yet he could remember slipping low on his body, to do more than mouth at silicone....] I'm having some trouble explaining it as well.
[His hand reaches out to touch Mettaton's own thigh, fingertips starting at the knee, and stroking upwards. But his eyes return to his face, enough to catch the sight of the robot's tongue, enough to think about his lips, his mouth, the heat of it that he knew... which was all very distracting. That was one way the robot could have him, and he was very, very certain that he had- but it also hadn't been the only way.
Refocusing wasn't made much easier when what he was trying to remember was also steeped in arousal. It still made for a surreal conversation.]
--Yet I also have memories where you were... not inconsiderably equipped.
[Was this also something Mettaton had grown, like ears...? Was having a functional cock considered required puca-equipment? Perhaps they were rabbit-like in more than appearance, and with a libido to sate, the world had been kind enough to provide him the means. (Considering the way they were reacting to each other now, stumbling through memories, he suspected that most of their ardor was somehow their own doing, though.)]
no subject
It's enough of a distraction away from the direction of the desperation and prevalent sorrow of their relationship, even though their sexual expression of it is part of that depression manifested. Though eh couldn't recall it all, Mettaton knew that sex was likely used as an important part of expressing their feelings, and he knows bites and bruises were part of it all. So much else is hazy, but this, he knows in impressions. In fact, he recalls in this recently-emerged memory of bleeding Emet-Selch out that they fell onto bed by starting first with arousal, didn't they? Emet-Selch was sporting quite the erection, and Mettaton remembers it against his thigh... before it all went awry.
Emet-Selch's golden eyes flit down his body and he knows he's being gazed at between his thighs. ... It leaves Mettaton with a strange feeling, and he shifts in his seat, the awareness that his body's heating up manifesting in his increased need to move. But it felt like a response lacking, though compared to what, he's not sure. It gave him the distinct sensation of loss, though, to be gazed at with such little to show for it, and Mettaton's face pinches into a fleeting look of mild distress, brow furrowed and lips pulled into a mix of a frown and a pout.
But it smooths just as readily, a fleeting demonstration of his emotion. Emet-Selch recalls him with endowment too, which meant that something was up. Before he can think too hard on it, Mettaton startles, sensitive to Emet-Selch's touch on his knee as he ventures up his long, smooth leg to rest upon his thigh.]
I... I see. So you remember it too...
[But Mettaton's a bit distracted. More than any touch he's ever had, this one felt... electric. Again his leg twitches, and Mettaton's attention flits down to watch the shape of the Ascian's fingers wrapped around shiny dark silicone, ambient light catching on his leg where fingers press into him.
Before the idol has a chance to regroup and formulate a reply, however, a spark of electricity arcs between their bodies, zapping here and there over his robotic body. The sound of it crackles in the air, but strangely enough, it seems to be only an illusion, a trick of the eye. Mettaton still startles, having been taken off guard.]
Oh!
[...And yet he's too drawn to Emet-Selch to unhand his leg, as a spark of white hot lightning illuminates the area between them. It's a product of Kizuna, but it looks so real, despite feeling like nothing.
Though it doesn't hurt Mettaton, he doesn't know what it is. Was that his magic gone wild? Emet-Selch's soul rests in sight between them... Mettaton looks to him, squeezing his thigh, dropping his hand from his throat to hover over his soul, as though cupping it.]
Did that hurt, darling? I'm sorry, I don't...
[But it wasn't magic. Not a monster's, anyway. It was Kizuna, and only a visual attribute that somehow signifies Mettaton's feeling of chemistry with this man.]
no subject
Though his touch is light, he considered whether a firmer hold would be better, thinking of his lover's apparently now-reduced (or natural) sensory capabilities (while also questioning whether he should be thinking of Mettaton as a lover in the first place; pointed gazes aside, they were still in the process of remembering!). But it didn't seem incorrect either, to believe that the robot had appreciated harder touches even as a puca, that intensity (even when it included pain) had been something attractive. Something that they'd both found appealing, at least with each other, though it felt influenced too by... something about their circumstance.
Whatever had been wrong before, their circumstance now was not exactly ideal either, for any number of reasons. Where Mettaton was briefly distressed, the Ascian looks distantly thoughtful, still stroking his thigh, even as it twitches. There had to be something that they could do to facilitate everything, whether it was the regaining of memory, or improving Mettaton's capacities....
Until he's distracted again for an entirely different reason. The sudden electricity arcing between them draws a sharp sound and a hard flinch- drawing on those most immediate memories of the robot shocking him into spasms, his body tensing up in anticipation of pain. Fingers digging into Mettaton's leg, the Ascian hunches forward protectively, expecting the sear of agony strongly enough that it does hurt, belief mixed with memory so powerful... though after a few seconds he realizes that it was nothing but his own muscles seizing up. Nothing but imagination and tension.
And nothing but a light show, the flicker of electricity from Mettaton's body to his. It didn't feel like any magic he was familiar with, or like much of anything at all, but it was a convincing illusion.
It's not immediately that he relaxes, or at all, and he's distracted entirely from any thoughts of prior intimacy with the way lightning flared and crackled, without any sensation to go with the effect.]
What was that about.
[Looking at Mettaton as though it was both his fault, and that he'd had control over doing it, Emet-Selch leans back somewhat, cautious. He didn't know what magic the robot was capable of, considering he'd lost it all in Aefenglom- but what else could it be? The Ascian knew it wasn't anything of his.
The instinct of Mettaton's to shield his soul, though, exposed as it was- tempered his irritation somewhat, even if the robot was the source of the danger in the first place. Not that it seemed to be actually dangerous after all, beyond a bit of startle, and with a huff of breath, Emet-Selch loosens his tense grip on his leg, though he doesn't let go.]
no subject
It was all they could do, in truth.
Their romance, their sex, their emotional ties—they could be sorted in time. For now, they're both shocked in a sense less damaging, though it felt like it could've had the potential to be harmful. Yet aside from a bit of jerking, recoiling from his body, Emet-Selch seemed mostly unscathed. For a moment, it's enough to convince Mettaton that it was real electricity, and he'd hurt Emet-Selch.
But he seems... fine, mostly. Blinking, glancing around them, Mettaton's confused. Had that been a real electric shock, he's sure Emet-Selch would've been doing a bit more convulsing, more charring, more... something. But more importantly, he doesn't know how it happened.
Lifting his hand away from the Ascian's deep-hued soul, the robot inspects his joints, his arms, the seams that run down the sides of his torso... looking for something offensive, like it might've been a malfunction of his body. Because it most certainly wasn't his magic. When had he ever let it go rampant, save for if in tears? But he spots nothing amiss, his lips pulled into a tight frown.
Emet-Selch pipes up, and Mettaton snaps back to look upon him with surprise that morphs into careful regard. He investigates his body with a good once-over, searching for hints of injury.]
As if I should know. But are you hurt? I don't think it was my magic, so...
[In demonstration, Mettaton lifts his hand above his own shoulder. About his fist, lightning crackles and glows. It doesn't look too different from whatever happened before save for the control the robot wields over it, but anyone with a sense for magic would feel the uniqueness of its charge, fundamentally a magical attack rather than any sort of passive display like Kizuna is. The only think he could imagine it was, then, was some sort of reaction of his body.
His display of magic quickly ends, and he returns his hand to hover it gently over Emet-Selch's soul, watching it—and Emet-Selch—for signs of injury. But he detects nothing, and waits, offering more insight. In the meantime, he idly rubs circles into Emet-Selch's leg, canting his head toward Emet-Selch.]
I don't know what that was about! Could it be something these Arukibake are responsible for?
[Or something in their environment at all. Mettaton glances around, though he's quick to return his gaze upon Emet-Selch, waiting for his thoughts.]
no subject
But they also weren't... everything that they had been. How could they be, when they didn't remember it? It hurt somewhat to consider it, and Emet-Selch thought that he would have detested this uncertainty, this distance from someone he obviously had cared so much for. He didn't like it as it was. But it would all take time, and a terrible patience, and to hope that eventually things would feel natural again.
Right now, he was more concerned with not being electrocuted. But what had happened?
It wasn't as though Emet-Selch had been worried, but it would've been a nuisance to have to either repair or already find a new host had this one been electrocuted into death, its flesh charred and heart stopped. He'd barely had this one for a month. On top of the discomfort of the experience, which he was glad to avoid going through.
But no harm seemed to be done beyond a bit of startle, and the Ascian slowly relaxes, as they try to work out what exactly had occurred. Watching as Mettaton flexes his arm, the joints of his body, it didn't look like anything was leaking out of him, that any part of him had taken damage neither of them had noticed. And with the robot being just as confused about that magic's(?) origin, that raised even more questions.
Emet-Selch frowns at the demonstration of Mettaton's actual magic, which- despite its visual similarity to what had just transpired- was clearly under the robot's control. That, and the Ascian could feel its particular signature; it felt like magic. That previous phenomena hadn't felt like that at all.
But if it wasn't Mettaton malfunctioning in either body or magic, then what was it?]
Whatever it was, it doesn't appear to have been damaging.
[He shrugs stiffly, but grudgingly seems to accept that the robot hadn't done anything, despite the lightning looking like something that should have come from him, if it had come from anywhere. Sighing, he continues to be mollified by the pets to his leg, the resumed protectiveness of his soul. The suggestion that it might've been the arukibake has Emet-Selch glancing around at them as well, in their silent vigil.
The ayakashi continued to decorate this particular corner of Nara, some in plain sight, others partially obscured by shrubbery and flower, or nestled amongst the branches of the nearest tree. They were everywhere. And they seemed unmoved, undaunted by the most recent display, and with nothing to indicate that they'd been the source of it either. There was nothing obvious in their environment as a culprit, though that didn't mean that something wasn't there.
But he shakes his head anyway.]
I've not seen them do anything more than follow along after those souls deemed unfortunate. Nor has anyone made any mention of it.
[And considering all the helpful people who had already approached him, surely someone would've brought up this feature of the arukibake? But at another thought he blinks, taking in the hand near his soul, the overall closeness of their bodies. They'd certainly made some sort of connection already, hadn't they... it was inevitable, with all that they were trying to remember together. Squeezing Mettaton's leg in some sort of emphasis, the Ascian meets the robot's violet eye.]
--Could this be that kizuna we were warned about?
[More like informed about, but something of Emet-Selch's suspicion of it remained, for all that it hadn't been to blame after all for his connection to the robot. But that would account for it being electric-looking, at least, if it had something to do with Mettaton, if not in the way he'd first assumed. Why wouldn't their connection crackle with that sort of energy?]
no subject
These weren't memories he wanted to let go of and let settle, never to be recalled, even if they felt distant to him now. Mettaton actively wants to remember them, to delve deep and uncover the mysteries of living in Aefenglom with Emet-Selch by his side as his Witch Bonded, as his friend, as eventually his husband.
(Mettaton remembers that they both understood patience. Well. When he thinks of himself, he knows he had to wait for entirely too long to get a body, to corporealize, to see the sun... A patience that shouldn't have had to be. He remembers Emet-Selch claiming patience, too.
It was for a reason entirely different from his own, but still an unfair one. Unfair enough that intrinsically, he knew that they shouldn't have to practice patience when it came to attaining what they coveted most in each other's presence. Mettaton wonders how Emet-Selch's life has been, what turbulence and hardship he's faced.)
His thoughts about their previous life together span but for seconds, as they're still focused on lightning, magic, and ayakashi. It's true enough... Nobody's mentioned anything about the Arukibake being particularly dangerous, or startling anyone like this. Mettaton hums, lips thinning as he gazes around them at the mounds of little leggy ghosts who fade in and out, placidly watching over Emet-Selch. There are so many of them... He's still staggered by their numbers. Wherever he looked, as long as he was looking, there were Arukibake to be spotted, settled gently in flora and hiding out in treetops.
Beyond them, the robot didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. So when Emet-Selch offers Kizuna as the explanation, Mettaton bolts up. (In the corners of his mind, he wonders if his rabbit-shaped ears would've stood tall with his alertness.)]
Kizuna! Brilliant, darling! [His smile splits wider, and he leans for Emet-Selch, gripping with equal strength upon his thigh.] That could be it. I wonder why it decided to show itself, in such a peculiar way?
[Kizuna... And whose was it? Mettaton inspects Emet-Selch's face this close, trying to recall what they were doing when the sparks flew. They were... contemplating their sex lives, analyzing their bodies, venturing into more explicit territory by memory, by word.
Smile going from excitement to something more sultry, dark lashes curtaining his gaze, Mettaton chuckles.]
Well. A certain tension was high between us. Do you think... we could make it happen again?
[For experiment's sake. Just to watch their connection in evidence, to see how their chemistry was a reaction explosive, electric.]
no subject
At the same time, had Mettaton expressed that reticence, had attempted to deny him, he would've reacted with spite and defiance. He would not be discarded at Mettaton's discretion. He would insist on scraping up every last memory, no matter how long it took, or how painful they were, and they would suffer through them all together.
(Yet it would be hard to say that he loved this robot now. Without the memories of all they had been to one another, how could he? Emet-Selch didn't know what he felt, other than something, something far beyond indifference or general curiosity. This wasn't just a puzzle to unravel, but some secret etched into his soul, yet beyond his conscious mind.
...Perhaps he still did love him after all, if in a way he didn't understand.)
The arukibake, the potential of kizuna and its strange effects are at least a distraction from trying to analyze how he felt about this strangely non-stranger of a robot. Kizuna felt like a more likely explanation than the ayakashi for the light show, as the small ghosts continue to do little more than watch over them, settling down for the long haul. Despite Mettaton's company, it wasn't as though the Ascian was ultimately any less lonely (even more so, perhaps, at the discovery of something else important that he'd lost...).
But his suggestion for a cause was met with enthusiasm, if further questions. When it came to why it had shown itself like that, Emet-Selch could only shrug. Mettaton had a mechanical body, and magic of a similar aspect... maybe that was all there was to it? They'd been considering their history as lovers, even if neither of them could explain how parts (and parts) had been possible. When the robot's expression changes back towards the seductive, Emet-Selch reacts with considerably less good humor, leaning back and letting go of him entirely, in order to gesture dismissively at the idea.
As the reminder of that tension draws a flat stare, a certain frown.]
You want to encourage it? What if the first time was a warning, and the next one is unpleasantly real?
[The Ascian scoffs. He still didn't really know how it worked, but it didn't seem far-fetched. Maybe most people didn't have to deal with it, because they weren't robots, or lightning-aspected.]
You're not the one risking bodily death through electrocution. Which, I might add, is not a particularly pleasant method.
no subject
It's like a record scratch. Mettaton was falling too hard into the motions of something familiar, but he feels totally jarred out of it, like he's talking to... precisely who Emet-Selch is. A stranger. No... he's not a stranger, Mettaton thought. He hardly knew anything about him, about his past, but he knew his name, and that's precious. He knew a lot, in the cobwebbed corners of his mind... But right now, he didn't.
He loves him still. But did he really love him enough to marry him? Somewhere he did. But that would be asking a lot of him when he couldn't remember so much, when he wasn't even sure what to make of these memories of clock towers and Witches, of Bonds and the Cwyld.
But there's a reminder of the frailties of the human form, something Mettaton... hadn't considered all over again. Even though they'd just been sharing the vague memory of Emet-Selch being shocked on a couch, subsequently setting it on fire... no, he hadn't considered that risk.
And even still, Mettaton taps his foot on the ground, huffy in his protest.]
Oh? But it didn't hurt you, I thought. [His smirk takes on a more teasing menace.] Would risking another kiss scare you, beautiful?
[So it sounds desperate of him after he says it, but Mettaton bites back his own need to fluff himself up after that, because he knows why he's asking. It's because... he liked it. He enjoyed their kiss, and felt compelled to seek more from Emet-Selch. Even if it's a result of those memories that come to him, it wasn't like Mettaton was about to cast away any of them. That would make for a tangled mess of effort.
Mettaton doesn't quite draw back his hand from Emet-Selch's thigh, but it slips down to his knee as his other hand sets on his own hip in defiance. He snorts.]
Are you afraid of a Kizuna bond with me now...? You even tied your soul to mine before! And, you survived electrical shock, I recall. Well? Are you going to kiss me, or not?
[As he leans for him, as he makes it clear that he is interested. ...That telltale lightning sparks over Mettaton's body again, crackling from his hip and connecting with his neck, as another bot reaches for Emet-Selch and grounds itself next to his thigh. There's some kind of tension, all right.]
no subject
(If he'd been a complete stranger, he wondered if it would've gone over easier, in the sense that it wouldn't have been difficult to play along had he been in the right mood... but this in-between state was awkward, this feeling of familiarity that was both there and not there was uncomfortable.)
Mettaton's protest only gets a more unimpressed (somehow) look.]
Do you think that sort of persuasion ever worked on me?
[Being accused of being afraid of something in order to get him to do it? Emet-Selch rolls his eyes, leaning further back, to rest languidly on one arm as he regards him.]
Oh, I'm aware it's too late to avoid whatever poor decision-making led my prior self to become involved with you. Whatever happened in the past, I'll discover it.
[He wasn't going to deny their connection in that sense, even when he's annoyed by it. But when more electricity- or the illusion of it- erupts from the robot's body, crackling between them, even striking the place next to his thigh, the Ascian tenses up again with a hiss. It still didn't hurt, or seem to do anything, which also made it harder to defend against.
It did nothing to encourage his own interest in any case; even if it was safe, he'd decided he didn't like it.]
I'm not going to do anything with you, if this is your idea of an appeal.
no subject
Save for the frustrated upset writ on his features, his frown tight and his brow knit in obvious hurt. It's a split second's worth of evident disappointment before Mettaton closes his eye, pulling himself together. Emet-Selch's understandably irritated. After all, were either of them really daunted in the face of one another? There was no way.
Neither of them really knew what they wanted. Their hearts were inclined; their minds, though... There were a lot of reminders that they didn't know each other that well. For every blindly-guided step into each other's arms, there were two awkward, stumbling steps that felt uncoordinated, familiar-yet-unknown. No, why would Emet-Selch be daunted out of a bit of lightning?
But still, it obviously bothered him. Mettaton tries to reel himself in.]
If it's coming from me, then...
[What was causing it? He was feeling... interested. Inclined. Desirous. He wanted to learn more of this man; he wanted to understand his own feelings for him. Eyes closed, another shock of lightning, smaller this time, arcs along the robot's body as he tries to calm himself.
...But calm isn't how he's feeling. He can't help it. He can only temper it, and he smiles softly, re-framing his overzealous desire to kiss Emet-Selch as a more long-term ambition. Things felt strange and new, and he was hungry for that unfamiliar familiarity.
He sighs. His excitement, his temper... all of it was getting away from him, overwhelmed by... all of what he couldn't remember. There was a lot he had to feel right now, and being disarmed like this wore him down, making him more volatile. He contains himself for the moment, clasping his hands over his knee and keeping himself poised. He clears his throat.]
Sorry, darling. I think it must be coming from my excitement. That... Kizuna reaction. [He opens his eye, and takes Emet-Selch in all over again, his gaze wandering over his tension, his dismissiveness.] And I'm getting ahead of myself because of it. I'll just have to be patient.
[And wait for Emet-Selch, or for his Kizuna-based magic to calm. If it was dangerous after all, it wouldn't end well for Emet-Selch, after all. That was reckless. (A part of him wants to be reckless.)]
no subject
If things had felt natural, if everything had been as... as it had been, in some world he could barely remember- then he doubted a bit of stray illusory lightning would've stopped him (that memory of the couch being on fire included a feeling that it had barely stopped him from taking to Mettaton instead). What was a bit of risk in the face of wanting (apparently), what was risk when there was... trust, when there was a reason for trust?
But they knew next to nothing about each other, and how could there be any sort of vulnerability without understanding? Having a history together didn't matter if he couldn't remember it. The roll of electricity, the way it ran again along the robot's body- it was a reminder of everything that was wrong, of everything that felt stilted and unfamiliar, a visual warning for caution. They were strangers, even if they'd once been married.
Mettaton tries to control himself, or that lightning, but with no real success it seemed, and the Ascian remains leaned back from him, distant, even as the robot becomes otherwise more contained.]
I hope you don't intend to make a habit of it.
[What a useless thing, kizuna was, then. What good did a disruptive light show do, that turned up uncontrollably when someone was excited about something? In this case, he supposed he should be thankful for it, the reminder to not get caught up in the echo of a life he didn't know.
With a slow wave of a hand, he dismisses Mettaton's apology.]
Fragments of memories aside, I don't know you. And it's become very clear that you don't know me whatsoever.
[A stranger being that forward with him, on some sort of whim- of course it wouldn't work. Even if he wanted everything to feel normal, to remember whatever it was that had drawn them together, what had led them to become as close as they apparently were... it wasn't as though kissing him once had brought back anything at all; what would repeat attempts do? And at the moment he felt little inclination to make out with him just because.
There was already enough to uncomfortably sort through as it was.]
Until the breadth of those experiences return, don't forget that we're still strangers to each other.
no subject
When did this take place? How? Why was he remembering it just now? Somehow, he and this particular refugee had this in common.
And that made them not so unfamiliar with one another. Even though Emet-Selch says he doesn't know him (which is true; he can hardly remember much about him either, impressions of moments at best, and none of them complete), Mettaton views him as something of a strange friend already. How could he not?
Smiling, he nods in understanding. It was uncomfortable in its way, to not know how much had gone on between them, but he's optimistic about the return of their memories.]
Then we'll just have to re-learn each other. Through our memories, but also through our time together here. Now.
[Because their memories mattered greatly, but so too did this. Mettaton winks, smiling wider.]
You won't be shaking me off so readily, darling. I'm eager to learn just what kind of man I made into my husband... and discover more about you now. And us.
[And still, even though it sounds like they could make the conversation taper off there, the robot simply settles back in his seat, keeping Emet-Selch company. He said he would, after all, if not to keep the concerned citizens of Nara at bay. Whenever one passes, seeing the sea of Arukibake swarming Emet-Selch, they note with relief that he has a confidant of sorts already. A sort of someone is keeping him company, so that counts, though they hope for the best for Emet-Selch as they pass.
Though he does make something clear, as he leans back in his seat like this.]
... I don't view you as a stranger, Hades. I have a lot to learn about you... and even more to remember. But you feel too important to me to be a stranger. Even if you don't feel the same as me.
[He'd thought about him a lot since the first time they met, comparing his draw to him and finding all others lacking. Now that he knows the reason, it makes it clear that somewhere, somehow, Emet-Selch was alluring to him. Important to him. He couldn't begin to predict him and failed to remember the intricacies of their dynamic, and he felt like a new person to meet... but also so familiar. Mettaton lifts his eyes, staring at the ayakashi in the trees.]
My. What a strange predicament we've found ourselves in, pertaining to our relationship. But what's clear is that we're bonded. So I can call you that. Bonded.
no subject
Even though Emet-Selch felt worse now than he had to start, with only the arukibake for company. Whatever comfort or pleasure there was in discovering that he'd apparently possessed someone this important to him was countered effectively by discovering that he'd forgotten it. That it was lost, hazy but for all these uncomfortably powerful feelings that he didn't know how to approach.
Glancing sideways at Mettaton at his reply, he shakes his head at him, before staring back at the empty space ahead once more.]
I fail to share your enthusiasm for the task. Our past is missing, yet our present is beholden to it, tainted by it.
[Even if he wanted to know what they had been to each other, it didn't change all that they weren't now. It was a feeling worse than being complete unknowns, because now there was a sense of something wrong, of something that should be there but wasn't. Half-remembered familiarities, instincts that crumbled under any sort of scrutiny.
He wanted to know, but he didn't look forward to the process. Of understanding the scope of what he'd failed to recall.
Silent at first to the rest of Mettaton's reply, his own gaze turns skyward as well, to the increasing darkness of it as evening progressed. Inexorably, time passed. Mettaton remained in his presence, for some reason that he didn't understand, considering that he wasn't being at all welcoming to the robot. (How many times had they sat on a bench like this together? He didn't know, he didn't know, so was it any wonder why everything felt wrong?)]
...We are strangers.
[It's not said coldly, or brusquely, in an attempt to distance himself from the other man, or to deny him his belief in any sort of closeness. Staring up at the hints of moon overhead, visible through the gentle swaying of leaves- if anything, his words are melancholic, his manner just... tired. A slowness that went past languid and into a more honest lack of energy.
With effort, he tries to elucidate his thoughts.]
We were close, but we don't remember why. Every reason we had is missing, leaving the record of our time together hollow. That importance we feel- [Because he can't deny that it's there, that it's mutual.] how can it mean a thing when we don't understand it? It's shallow, empty.
[If they were already friends or anything more, how little did those concepts mean, if they could be claimed without knowing much of anything? Making an annoyed sound at the last, frustrated at this whole situation, he shakes his head again.]
So if you would prefer bonded as a label, so determined to see us yet connected, you can have it.
no subject
He couldn't say it brought him must joy to know that he had a husband, given that he couldn't remember a thing about it. Had he ever thought about netting a spouse? Not deeply. It's a strange concept he has yet to think about. (And was their wedding really so modest? He barely has time to mull over this, either.) Even less, the thought of unearthing more information... It was a daunting one. What would they find? How would it upend the earth from beneath his feet? While thrilling, he didn't like waiting for it all to settle in.
Why had they married to start? What was the first time they thought about getting married? All of these unknowns made their relationship feel even more foreign, a confusing puzzle they both had no pieces to.
Skyward goes his own attention, slivers of the moon peeking out past foliage, the evening sky deepening and contrasting against its light. ...Something about it felt a bit nostalgic, but it also felt wrong. He wonders how many more feelings of nostalgia mixed with wrongness he'd endure, and when he'd start to appreciate the simple pleasure of keeping another person's company.
They are strangers, like it or not. Even though Mettaton doesn't want to accept that, and doesn't like the word for it... they are. But to call him his bonded felt more familiar, and he liked it besides. If anyone asked after them, calling him his husband didn't check out. But he could be a bonded, if not an acquaintance, friend, or otherwise. But... he didn't like the thought of it, calling Emet-Selch a stranger.
And even less does Mettaton like what he has to say. He peels his gaze off of the sky, watching Emet-Selch gently as he clearly struggles with troublesome feelings, but pushes forward to clarify his definition for being strangers. And he frowns again, soft and small.]
It means something to you and I, darling. That's why we feel that way. Even if we don't understand it now... I would like to think that I'd embrace my own heart, in this faraway Aefenglom. And my heart tells me that I loved you.
[He presses his palm against his torso, roughly where a human heart would be.
But it... wouldn't be easy to reach any point of stable familiarity. Not like this, not without time. And all of their current feelings were tied to that past, like it or not. Even so, MTT watches Emet-Selch as resigned frustration takes him.]
It's shallow... but so much lives beyond the surface, beautiful. Neither of our hearts are empty. Only obscured.
[And would any of these memories ever come to light? Would they remain unknown forever? Mettaton doesn't even begin to think that way, because he was here, sitting in front of Emet-Selch right now, with possibilities before him to get to know him anyway, anew.]
no subject
Yet how quickly the reality of it all had returned. It became invasive, to discover that he'd been in a relationship genuine and deep, to have this facet of his life suddenly imposed on him, when he'd been looking for nothing like it. He'd been dead, and with the modicum of peace that brought him. Being pulled from that into the troubles of another star was bad enough, but now he was married (again) to someone he apparently loved but couldn't remember.
Without knowing why he'd made himself vulnerable, how could he accept it? But when he dwelt on how strong the feeling was, the ache it left in him to not recall it all, how could he reject it entirely either?
It came down to patience, in the end. To endure this sense of wrongness and wait to see what, if anything, decided to return. To piece together a life he'd never asked for, because against all rationality it did feel too important to give up. It wouldn't let him, he suspected, it would be like his attempt to put Mettaton from his thoughts. It would gnaw at him, this love, until he acknowledged it.
But why was it there? What had happened to them to cause it to sink its claws into them, to embed itself deeply enough that they were haunted by it even here? When even the echo of it ached this sharply, what had it felt like to start with?
Glancing at Mettaton again as he speaks, his own frown only deepens as he continues.]
And what meaning is that? Nothing that either of us can put words to. [Which is clearly not good enough for him, and he makes a sharp noise, looking aside again. It was uncomfortable to look at him, a sight both familiar and simultaneously out of place.] If your heart is feeling so forthcoming, it could include some sort of rationale.
[But wasn't his own telling him the same thing? And for that to exist, he must have also embraced that emotion somehow, which in itself staggered belief. Emet-Selch shakes his head, shrugging loosely.]
So we're left waiting for the world to right itself. For anything at all to emerge from that obscurity. How tiresome.
[And unpleasant, to just have to wait. Even if he was used to patience- and for that matter, patience towards a useless, futile cause- it didn't mean he liked it.]
no subject
He lifts a pointer finger, nodding shortly at Emet-Selch.]
It's simple, darling. Is the heart ever a rational thing? And do you think you and I would have a love we could ever put words to, if it feels this gripping to us now? No... I can't see myself being an easy lover to keep up with. Words wouldn't suffice.
[If it were a love he could describe the meaning of so simply, it wouldn't distract him this much. It wouldn't make him spill over to Emet-Selch so readily, it wouldn't lead him to seek him out again. It wouldn't soothe him in spite of that threat of blackmail. It wouldn't keep him company in a remote world away from his family and friends.
And he suspects that Emet-Selch is gripped by the feeling much like he is. They both levered it with sincerity, handling the echoes of romance like it struck them deeper than anyone else had.
But there was so remarkably little that he knew about Emet-Selch, and what kind of person he was. Volatile, he gathers that much. Focused, yet idle; he could see it when he cared little for something, and he could see it even more sharply when he did care. Dour, pessimistic... Why, he could see how he'd been drawn to him before, and he very nearly recalls chatting about it. They laid side-by-side, Emet-Selch tucked in his arms. In his memory he could feel him at his neck, busying himself with sharp gestures and tender ones, as Mettaton described the sentimentality of choosing his company... Not that this answered any of their wonderings succinctly, like why they fell in love, or how deep it ran.
He offers Emet-Selch a smile, though he glances away, a touch embarrassed. But only because he's bringing up how sexual their relationship seemed to run, so much so that any given memory felt like more than just one if he focused on, say, kissing down Emet-Selch's hips...
(He stops thinking about kissing Emet-Selch's hips.)]
I think... we were so amorous because we needed more than words to express ourselves. Does that ring a bell?
[And even if it rang a bell, Mettaton... was in agreement about the invasive nature of learning of all of this, something he hadn't heard of prior to arriving here. Why did this relationship exist, and why hadn't he known of it? Was he supposed to live a pleasant life rising to stardom on the Surface without knowing of this second life he'd been leading, or whatever this memory is supposed to be? Why were they exclusive, and why could he only recall it while in Nippon? It felt like something of betrayal, and it complicated the happiness of the life he'd been leading before. He was at war with himself: how could he be happy without this knowledge, and with it, how could he stand knowing he'd been without?
How tiresome indeed. Mettaton lowers his gaze in something of a nod at that, anyway. Tiresome, if not because of how complex things were.]
Well. Even so. Ready or not... We're going to learn whatever we can about our lives led in Aefenglom. [As soon as whatever it was clouding their memories of it lifted.]
no subject
It was familiar for more reasons than that, he knew, as Emet-Selch recognized again (as he had when he'd first met Mettaton here) that he was the sort of person he'd been drawn to in the past. The kind who could balance him, even when he stubbornly didn't want to be balanced. Whose lively and clever company he liked, no matter how much he protested it. They'd both favored this sort of companionship, hadn't they?
Because as troubling as Mettaton's words were, they weren't unreasonable. They only made an uncomfortable amount of sense, because if the way they seemed to feel for each other had been so easily explained, it never would've become this striking in the first place. There would've been little to remember, and little to lose.
He still practically glowers at being pointed at, offended more because Mettaton was right. There was no more reassurance to be found in it; if anything, it made what was gone feel that much more hopeless. If their love required their lived experience in order to explain it- that it was something that couldn't be summarized, but only felt, one day at a time... it only emphasized the degree of the loss.
From irritation comes grief, and the Ascian looks down towards the ground, the evenness of the path nearby, the closest of the arukibake. Wrapping his arms about himself, his fingers dig into them as he forces his expression back towards neutral. Without wanting to, he could remember being buried in the robot's arms, in so many instances that they blurred together. And with it, the feeling of utter safety. Security and a companionship that didn't seem possible. It was no wonder there was no pat explanation for it all.]
Not words, then. If even you couldn't arrive at an amount to suffice, then there's no hope of explaining it through language.
[If their love were simple, he wouldn't be stricken to know it was missing, wouldn't have been so repulsed at the idea of revealing Mettaton's secret, wouldn't be wishing for his company now even when it only depressed and frustrated him.
Where Mettaton was embarrassed at referencing how... peculiarly sexual so many of their past experiences ran, Emet-Selch viewed it more with uncertainty. Not so much when it came to bodily arrangements, or appropriate equipment, but as to why they'd taken so thoroughly to contact as a means of expressing themselves. Though he wasn't shy (living amongst mortals had quashed any amount of that, replacing it with indifference and distance) he also didn't consider himself very... touch-interested at all.
Then again, if he tried to consider what he would even prefer when it came to anything like a genuine romantic endeavor... he didn't know. Had Mettaton's interest been sufficient enough to convince him? Had he been as starved for it himself, as the memories he had seemed to suggest?
It was an aspect to himself that Emet-Selch hadn't much considered, and it was a strange thing to think about now.]
--It doesn't seem to have been an effective means of communication. [Said with something of an exasperated edge.] Considering how... regularly we needed to deliver the message.
[For some reason, they had become lovers, and through that, perhaps... they'd opened up to each other in pieces at a time? Deepened their connection while wrapping up in one another. For pleasure, for company, for solace; it felt like he'd found all those things in Mettaton's arms.
It remained an invasive thing to realize, a disruption to... everything that he now had to deal with. Though his frown had never truly disappeared, it takes on a more thoughtful cant as he looks back to the robot's face (while trying not to remember him with rabbit ears and a gold eye; tries not to remember burying his face against his throat and the security there).]
Whether we want to be or not, we're connected. But- Mettaton. Do you think you'll resent it, this life? I don't know entirely what you were occupied with at home, but getting married to a man from another world doesn't exactly fit into it. [A slight headshake.] And I happen to be somewhat deceased. Not the most eligible of prospects by most standards, and I was content where I was.
no subject
He watches him carefully in those first moments, as his evening companion falls into reflection, considering the absurdity of their dynamic (with him fit into it, though Mettaton isn't quite sure what Emet-Selch's thinking). When Mettaton pieced it together, he knew for certain that his own interest in tactile intimacy drove them to find it congenial as a means of expressing themselves... It was perfectly deep-reaching, exhilarating, pleasurable, and they possessed a dynamic that could make his knees weak, even though Mettaton couldn't recall it with perfect clarity. It's his newness to the subject, especially paired with the intensity of fragmented memories, that make Mettaton especially embarrassed at the recollection.
Though for Emet-Selch to know of it... That didn't embarrass him, for some reason. It was only his personal standards he held himself to, as being more decent than this. Somehow, Emet-Selch knowing felt more personal, another secret to keep, though he felt just as sure that the Ascian might tease him for his appetite.
—But anyway. Mettaton disrupts his own thoughts by clearing his throat. His voice drops in volume, and in pitch, too, silkier and lower.]
Well. [He flashes a smile Emet-Selch's way, and this time, it's not embarrassed.] Two lovers can't say "I love you" enough. And if my memory serves... we couldn't get enough of saying it.
[But it's spoken as an aside, one that trails off when he notes Emet-Selch's continued frown, his thoughtful transformation. Disturbance remained in him, he notes, but it goes in a different direction. Mettaton nearly leans in his interest, blinking as Emet-Selch speaks.
And his question has the Puca stricken. His eye widens, and his lips part.
Was Emet-Selch referring to the life he led in Aefenglom at his side? Of course, when Mettaton debates with himself whether he wanted to remain here or go home, he'd readily return home. But he felt already at a strange crossroads where that decision became more complicated, because something deep existed here in his heart. Embedded there, he felt that were he given the choice to safely return home now, and remain here... he'd choose to return home.
And he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'd regret it for the rest of his life, haunted by the shadow of a man he could barely remember, who he'd sworn himself to in some other life.
His shock flattens into something softer and even sadder at Emet-Selch's confession of his own contentment. Even though he half-smiles at the thought of him being so eligible... There's a lot for him to feel, and he ultimately focuses on the answer.]
Well... They told us we'd smooth things out with the time loops we're in, with any luck. In the meantime, I plan...
[He'd told him that already. He declared his intent to take this place by storm... But then what? If he pledged himself to this man in another world, was his intent still to leave him? Mettaton cannot fathom the prospect of abandoning his dreams.
(He remembers the gentlest of smiles upon Emet-Selch's lips in front of him, beneath him, before him, the day of their wedding. He looked so serene like that. Mettaton finds himself silenced, unable to think past that sight. Unable to think past the phantom feeling of having Emet-Selch at his throat, buried there in an embrace. With the disparity in their heights, he knew that's where the shorter man would land...)
Ultimately, Mettaton gazes out at the Arukibake. He knows a few of these leggy ghosts accompanied him here, and ultimately decided to switch sides upon getting too close to Emet-Selch's massive gravitational pull, so to speak. The weight of his loneliness was far greater than Mettaton's, and his depression, even moreso. But it was a reminder that Mettaton, too, is a being who seeks companionship, rather than a figure untouchable, someone to stand isolated to be fawned over. His smile is touched by melancholy, and he shakes his head.]
... I'm not sure what this life will be like, not yet. How could I say for sure? [He turns to meet Emet-Selch's gaze with his own.] You should know by now, darling. My dream... I can pursue it wherever, though I have all of the tools home. Hollywood lights, limousines, streaming, TV... You just can't get that sort of thing here. [Save for TV, but it was... limited, he's discovered.] And god, Aefenglom was even worse.
And yet. You had me sold, Hades. I wanted to stay there with you, I think. There, where you couldn't rest in peace, and I... couldn't make my dreams come true. But then, I remember seeing your smile, and I...
[That felt important. Mettaton couldn't make a decision when he thought of that sight, and how prominent the memory felt to him.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)