![[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
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
Being sexual partners was one thing, odd as it was in itself, as Emet-Selch didn't see himself inclined to indulge without something specific to gain from it. But that gain had clearly been emotional connection, and plenty of it (had he really been so shameless though... there was vulnerability too in being so open about his response to Mettaton). But gods they had been prolific, if he was remembering even a fragment of how they'd fallen into one another. And that was a somewhat awkward, invasive knowledge to have, to realize he could remember how the robot sounded in the heights of pleasure, as though he'd gone out of his way to memorize it (along with the equally invasive awareness of the sounds he'd made himself, which were nearly as unknown, honestly... there had been no acting involved, and no reserve).
Though it's something of a skeptical look he spares Mettaton at the suggestion that they'd been so verbally sentimental on top of all the physical intimacy- Emet-Selch doesn't try to argue it. It wasn't as though his impressions were leading him anywhere else, as absurd as it all was. While he could believe Mettaton might easily do so, just because he'd been in love with this robot didn't mean he would need to go around expressing it himself. And yet he might have anyway.
A distraction, though, was Mettaton's reaction to his question, a degree of shock that he hadn't expected from him. It had felt a straightforward (insofar as anything about this was straightforward) question, an entirely likely possibility. Something that he wasn't sure how he felt about himself, beyond a dislike for everything. He hadn't asked for this ache.
Quietly, he waits, as his companion fell into silence, wondering what it was he was imagining- or remembering. Though he wasn't quite pensive, the Ascian wasn't anything like relaxed either. This was to be an evening of agitation; being uncomfortable was just how the future looked, now.
The reply that comes, though, the expressions that flitted over the robot's face- it was hard to not be affected by them, to not be struck with nostalgia over them. The conclusion of his words have Emet-Selch unable to keep meeting his gaze, falling to his soul instead, in its brightness.]
--As attached as we were, and possibly committed- [Concretely committed in some ways, when he thought of their wedding. The way they'd looked at each other- they'd both been struck by that, hadn't they?] being brought here severed all of that. No more inconvenient involvements, no lives or deaths interrupted.
[A restoration to how things were meant to be. Even if being brought to this additional world was its own interruption, it was one that could be easily discarded. Even if Mettaton intended to make his name known on this star too, there was still more to realize at home, wasn't there?]
Even if we wouldn't have chosen to give this up on that other world, [And even that was something of an if. He didn't remember enough to know for sure.] it's being imposed on us once again. Without context or reason or choice.
[And already it felt difficult to give up, though if he were given the option to return to his sleep- why wouldn't he take it? Even if it left him even lonelier in the dark, dreaming on one more thing that was lost.]
Isn't that a reason to resent it?
no subject
But he felt equally sure about himself that this was no easy feeling to have, even for a rabbit-shaped Mettaton with a husband in another world. Emet-Selch was special to him there, and it felt broad-reaching enough to encapsulate this experience, too... as though he'd promised him something. But Mettaton couldn't remember what.
Emet-Selch has his gaze averted, leveled steadily with his middle. He feels his soul watched and feels no shyness about that, totally at ease with being stared at in any way. Unabashedly he drinks in Emet-Selch's features, from his third eye to the angle of his jaw, the slope of the bridge of his nose, the way his neck looked so untouched... No, neither of them had asked for this ache.
But who else imposed it upon themselves but, well, themselves? A version of them, anyway, and that they were recalling it at all like this made it feel even more personal. They chose it, and for some reason, it felt like no easy choice. Did Mettaton resent it?
He hums, leaning back a little as he lifts his eye to the tops of nearby buildings. A bit slowly, he shakes his head no.]
How could I resent the choice of two lovers? A carefully considered choice, I'm sure. And... it was my choice, too.
[Yes. Somehow, that felt right, even though it felt so hazy. That was... his choice. Not just "another Mettaton." He made that choice, as he is the one and only Mettaton, even if there were some other incidence of himself somehow. (Alphys' voice rambling at a momentum too quick to keep up with about alternate universes seems to haunt him, and he tidily puts it out of his mind. Relevant, but also, he doesn't need any of that stuff.) It felt careful, anyway. In fact, he was sure anyone bearing his name and his memories would've agonized plenty over such a decision...
Fixing his attention on Emet-Selch, he maintains his stance.]
At present, I feel curious. But. I don't feel resentment. [His frown turns up into a small smile, and he presses his weakly-pointed finger back to his chest.] Because the way I feel about you now... is entirely my own feeling, from here on out. If I fall in love with you, why, it's because I have reason to, darling. No matter how ineligible you may be, these memories are mine, too.
[And why couldn't he marry this man and just take him home with him? Mettaton doesn't think anything is so mutually exclusive, and doesn't operate under the idea that a happy end is impossible. (What if he'd already taken him home? What if ending up here was part of some greater design, to meet again? He could see himself being so bold as to "interrupt" the life of himself with something he felt sure he needed.)
Though Mettaton admits,] I can't help but reel at it all, though. It feels... surreal. But even so... I'm happy to meet you again, Hades.
[Even where everything else felt a mess, Emet-Selch felt like an old friend, in his way. A dear friend.]
no subject
Emet-Selch knew he had no reason to believe their affair had ended tragically, beyond the melancholy that permeated their wedding- but even that could be no more than a reflection of how he would always feel in a romantic relationship that deep. Anything that struck him hard would strike him with something other than simple, straightforward joy. He wasn't a happy person.
But it was also hard for him to believe that it could've ended any other way but in pain. Not because either of them lost interest, but some other unfortunate, inevitable cause; the assumption that it ended at all is one he just takes for granted. Of course he'd never be able to keep something like love around.
Was the person who entered this relationship with Mettaton the same man as himself, though? Emet-Selch was less certain on this point. While he could accept that a him, placed in the situation that he'd apparently been placed in, had made decisions that had led him to bond with a menacing robot, did that version of himself still exist? Even though it was carved into his soul, without remembering it, was he really the same person? (Once more he was reminded of the sundered remains of his people... without memory, were they really the same? They weren't- even if it wasn't always as simple as that- they weren't.
He did have some memories at least, rather than vague feelings of grief and love alone- but was that enough?)
Looking up again at Mettaton's answer, he slowly mulls it over. It was a more positive way of interpreting events, which didn't surprise him. His bonded would be the sort quick to take things as they came, to claim those memories, these feelings as his own. Decided and determined; the flicker of familiarity there was a warm thing. But in the end he shakes his head.]
If we fall for each other again, will it be only because we were primed to do so? Going down a path set by some other version of us. If it weren't for that....
[They'd never know, he supposed. They'd been drawn together by the actions of others, remained together because of foreign memories. Even though he wanted to trust in his own soul, the life it recalled didn't feel like his own. Not yet. It was too new, too incomplete, too improbable.]
It all depends on how much returns to us. As it is, it doesn't feel like my choice at all. Or any choice.
[A slight sigh; even with that pronouncement, it didn't make anything any clearer, or leave him feeling any better about his life now.
There's a hesitation in his breath before he continues.]
But I don't regret meeting you again. [Quietly; it felt like an admission.] --I only wish I remembered you properly.
no subject
So when Emet-Selch suggests that their paths could be primed by some "other version" of themselves, he could very nearly tilt his head. His eye blows wide with confusion, as he knew at their cores, they were the same people recalling these faraway memories... But it's all in perspective. Mettaton doesn't have to regularly deal with the sundered souls of his people, after all.
(However, he can't help but feel that he's felt this way before. These persistent feelings of déjà vu that he gets in Emet-Selch's presence, performing actions he's already done before, reminded him of the day Frisk fell Underground... weirdly enough. What that means, he couldn't say. He puts it out of his mind for now.)
Mettaton lets Emet-Selch speak entirely, sitting quietly at his side with body language that all who pass by interpret as attentive, involved, engaged. He faces Emet-Selch, knees turned toward him as he twists to face him directly, watching him glance at him, shake his head, and sigh, struggling both to come to terms with this, and... something else.
It becomes clear to him that Emet-Selch was... pleased to be in his company. It was an undercurrent to the depths of his companion's demeanor, one that felt familiar to him in a way that went beyond understanding. He knew well that Emet-Selch felt deeply, and often found it easiest to demonstrate his more negative feelings, because most of his experience was framed that way. But the muted gratefulness... Mettaton couldn't ignore the effort it took to confess his lack of regret, his wish for more memory of it all.
Decisively but gingerly, Mettaton reaches for Emet-Selch's hand again with just one of his own. He slips his fingers under his palm, twisting his wrist until he could capture his hand by twining their fingers together. Four digits to five, in an arrangement that still felt familiar... He's gentle in his touch, folding his fingers around Emet-Selch's knuckles.]
Give it time, Hades-darling. [A warm smile... that quickly takes on a smug edge.] And... know that it's natural to fall for me. Haha.
[He smiles with his teeth a too-charming smile. This is evidently a self-aware joke that still manages to be sincere.
He squeezes his hand in a silent show that he's not making playful comments anymore after a long blink, the smirk replaced with a simpler smile once more. He can't help himself.
He'd be able to relate to that notion, that these memories felt so fresh and so surreal that it could hardly feel like a complete memory. A hazy dream, maybe... If MTT knew what a dream was like, this is what he'd imagine it to be. But what little he could scrounge up, he claimed. No matter how surreal, he trusts himself.
Simply enough, he continues his original thought.]
We're remembering, like it or not. And it's bound to impact how we see each other. But what we are to each other... I'm sure it'll evolve excitingly, darling. We may be husbands in Aefenglom, but I don't see any rings here in Nippon! [He scoots a little closer again, returning to his original distance.] Let's take it a day at a time. All right?
[He wished he could remember it all with the snap of his fingers... but Mettaton reminds himself that at first, he recalled nothing save for a feeling. Who knew what time would bring?]
no subject
But it wasn't him. Not exactly, not completely, even if he knew he was being influenced by those shadows of another life, and how entwined it had become with Mettaton's. A combination powerful enough that even the pieces he did recall were enough to keep him on this bench, wanting to know more of what this other version of himself had done. More of his companion, every detail of him that he knew had once been important to him. Everything that he'd been fond of, or had annoyed him... what sort of life had they had together?
Would they ever be able to have anything like it again? Did he even want that, to continue living with choices he hadn't made, as though they were his own....
It's silently that Emet-Selch watches, permits Mettaton to take his hand again. A movement and pressure that once more felt familiar, the lacing of fingers that accounted for their differing amounts. That was normal, that was right; this was how hands were supposed to feel together, the strangeness coming only in how right it was. And how this shouldn't have had to be something to take particular note of, that it should've been a simple pleasure, a sign of affection to perform without needing to think about it.
Mettaton's tease has his eyes flit back to his face again, for a demonstrably unimpressed look- but this too was a normal part of their dynamic, wasn't it?
So beyond an expression of displeasure he permits it, especially when it was clear that Mettaton was about to continue with something more earnest.
It wasn't... consolation. Neither in finding out that all of this had existed, and that all they could do was wait and see how much of it returned. In comparison to their first meeting, they were exponentially more informed, it was true; from a feeling neither of them could place, came the recollection of another world where their lives had intersected. They had been lovers, friends, spouses... he'd been bitten, electrocuted, scarred. There had been memories both good and ill, but in the end they'd persisted, all the way until now.
Where they'd forgotten. (That too, was a defense in the end; if it had been another version of himself to do all these things, then he wasn't the one responsible for forgetting anything. It wasn't a very good defense.)]
So I've both gained and lost a husband in a day. [There was something more than a little melancholy in that thought. But it was true; they weren't anything like that to each other now.] Beginning my stay here with a divorce isn't exactly what I expected.
[No rings, there was nothing at all concrete to tie them, nothing but poorly-remembered events to keep them together; unconsciously, his grip on Mettaton's hand tightens.]
There's little else for it, is there? To wait, one day after another.
no subject
He can't quite put a finger on it... but he realizes quickly (and better sooner than later) that he'd been trying to reassure Emet-Selch with the lack of commitment here, with the fact that he didn't have his love. And that was true, in its way: they weren't an item here. They weren't married. And somehow, he'd wielded this like a benefit, even though it... kind of hurt to know. His brow knits, understanding that he'd been pardoning Emet-Selch from the arrangement. (And what did he want? Did he want that kind of commitment?
In truth... to be so tied to someone daunted him. Did that Mettaton in Aefenglom ever feel daunted, especially when Emet-Selch felt like such a deep, intense fellow? Mettaton knew he was similarly intense, but to be met instead of overwhelming Emet-Selch... He would've expected to find himself with a partner he could stun, not one who would kiss him back, and kiss him harder, so to speak.)
With an airy exhalation, Mettaton closes his eye. His left hand is laced with Emet-Selch's right, but he distinctly remembers wearing a well-fitting band around his ring finger there... There was a lot of bits and pieces to remember about their relationship, and how fond it made him feel, warmed down to his core. The Mettaton who lived in Aefenglom... he felt he'd be devastated to find out that they were like this.
But he also knew he'd be hopeful that they'd continue in their way, however they should bloom together. He reassures himself with this, and with his own desire to learn who Emet-Selch is to him, to understand the Ascian's importance for himself. So he squeezes his hand back at that unconscious grip, recognizing Emet-Selch's loss as his own.]
Yes. We had something remarkable, I think... But we can discover what that is, day after day. As ourselves, here and now, in Nippon.
[...Still, there's a little bit of humor to be found in the suddenness of divorce. Mettaton smiles, snorting softly.]
I can't believe I've been divorced before I've ever been married. Ha-ha. [His voice is low and soft, tender despite the joke of it. The idol's thumb runs over Emet-Selch's thumb, a lingering love for him evident in his gaze. Even if he didn't know this man, he could still feel the haunts of those feelings for him... predetermined or not, they still struck him.] But... who knows?
[His smile broadens, his eyelid curtaining heavily as he leans even closer.]
I can't deny that I'm excited to learn more. About our history... and about you. I've never had someone transfix me like you do.
[...They must have danced together. Mettaton's sure of it! But any recollection of it is hazy at best, which is a massive disappointment. Even when he closes his eye, he can only feel the inklings of their sway, the electricity of their tempo...
...Which causes him to spark with that inoffensive electricity again, though this time, it makes complete contact with Emet-Selch, from Mettaton's chest to Emet-Selch's. All from the power of thought, their chemistry crackling to life right before their eyes and lighting their countenances. Mettaton's eye flies open again in surprise, his lips parting.]
no subject
But it didn't reassure, to no longer be crushed by it, to no longer be beholden to... to everything that they'd had. Whatever promises they'd made to each other, whatever expectations they'd possessed, demands they'd placed, all of that was no longer with them; there was no tie left but whatever they created with each other now. Which, when he considered the feelings that festered without explanation- didn't leave him feeling at all optimistic. In comparison to that, what was left felt so pitiful, uncomfortable, and wrong. (And how miserable would his other self be, to realize what they'd become?)
There was no other truth than this, though. All they had together were fragile, new bonds, and an awareness of all that they no longer were.
...But it was nice to hold Mettaton's hand all the same, in the meantime (even if his right hand dully ached, though he took it to be a result of the belated understanding of his grip, which he relaxes to something simply firm). It was warm, in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. So many of those memories were warm, even if he could no longer make out the details of them.
That they'd had something remarkable has his eyes close for a moment, as if to steady himself. Day by day; he tries to focus on that part instead. There was nothing to do but endure it.
The faintest humor to be found in divorce only gets a slow headshake from him, though he squeezes back at Mettaton's hand to show a lack of offense, even if it did ache. Like they'd lost a relationship they hadn't even realized was there until this evening, there were nothing but raw edges left behind.
Sensing Mettaton leaning closer has his eyes open again- in time to see the robot's closed eye, something that still carried a suggestion of heat, something sultry, that his own body knew it was meant to respond to. Watching him, he couldn't deny that he was any less transfixed, and it was difficult again to keep from reaching out to him, even when nothing felt right. About to reply, all thought is interrupted as lightning flares and crackles.
This time, though he tenses up, he doesn't recoil, only watching as that spark of illusory electricity flickers and licks between them, a dance of light to reflect Mettaton's clear interest. That stated excitement brought to a kind of life. For a few instants, the Ascian's fingers dig in harder, to keep himself from pulling back, but though he doesn't relax, he's able to take in better that it didn't hurt, that it wasn't doing anything wrong....
Just as Mettaton wasn't doing anything wrong by feeling this way. The light had cast strange shadows over them both, but there was no harm in it. Exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, his eyes briefly flit back to the robot's face.]
--Every time you're excited, do you think you'll start doing that?
[Shifting towards him again, Emet-Selch reaches out with his left hand, with fingers hesitant for reasons other than a fear of being shocked, all the way to brush over where that lightning had originated from the robot's chest. His fingers smooth over unblemished metal; of course there was no damage. And he could feel no harm in his own body, the only ache in his chest having nothing to do with electricity.]
I suppose I'll just have to get used to it.
no subject
Mettaton hadn't dedicated terribly much focus to it. Someone who fawned over him, that much was for sure. (Someone who would always fawn over him.)
Looking at Emet-Selch in the light of being a romantic prospect is a strange one, surreal still, even while these memories cropped up one by one. There was a version of himself, he supposes, who saw this man as someone to date and marry the hell out of... He spares a moment to inspecting his face, even while lightning crackles and sweeps over their chests. Later, he could mourn the missing memories and wonder what he would've thought of himself. For now, he was thinking of what he thought of him now, wondering if he was up to snuff.
Of course, even that's interrupted by the Kizuna between them, making known the connection they have and the chemistry they share. At least, from Mettaton's end of things, as he dreams of dancing with Emet-Selch. A passionate thought like that alone is enough to make sparks fly, quite literally. It's only fortunate that Emet-Selch doesn't recoil this time.
And though he doesn't recoil, Mettaton certainly displays his own shock and hangs on that note. This is not at all an intentional thing...
Shock persists as he watches Emet-Selch reach for his chest, fingers outstretched as they press over hot pink metal. He feels his digits and anticipates the full of his palm, but only his fingertips graze his chest. He very nearly swallows, nearly bristles with the expectation of sensation. This isn't the first time he's been touched before, not by a long shot... but for some reason, Emet-Selch's touch felt so sharp, so... electric.
Wound up, his body rattles slightly with a shudder as he pushes hot air past his lips. ...He can't believe such a simple touch could affect him so much. It had far more to do with the man exacting said touch, but he can't disguise the way he looks at him, gaze soft and enamored.
Of course, when he finally processes what Emet-Selch's said to him, he splits into a smile.]
That you will, darling. You won't be able to get rid of me, after all! I'll shock you plenty.
["Shock" him. And after that bout of surprise, he leans into Emet-Selch's touch, gripping onto his hand with a smile that reaches his eye. His chest pushes into Emet-Selch's hand, and Mettaton relishes the sensation of these specific fingers upon his chassis, the way it felt... totally new, totally wanted. (And of course, familiar.) No matter how dismal the circumstance in that they forgot at all, it felt... special to remember these memories with someone.
Scooting close enough to touch hips, side-by side, still slightly facing Emet-Selch, Mettaton glances away, then back to Emet-Selch.]
It remains to be seen if I'll ever get a handle on this strange... magic, I suppose. You'll be better off getting used to it. Ahaha...
no subject
But here they were, a partner delivered to them that they hadn't ordered. And there they had been in the past, having discovered the pleasure and solace to be found in deep companionship. Though they weren't yet committed here, and it would be hard to claim anything otherwise, it would also be hard to claim that they weren't having an effect, even if it was due to what they couldn't remember. Somehow, they had possessed an intensity that hadn't flared out, that could affect them this far even without knowing how they'd gotten there.
Was this robot really what he'd chosen in a lover? Already, he couldn't recall anyone that he'd been so reactive to, even if some of that was a curiosity as to what he'd already discovered about him at another time. And when he looked into the other man's eye, as shock passed into something soft, it was hard to not soften as well, even as it still presented with an edge of pain. They were both well affected it seemed clear to say, between looks and exhalations, with the way they... couldn't help but lean closer together. Even though he remembered his own wariness, his own warnings to himself, it felt even lonelier to be apart after all.
Mettaton leans into his touch, and Emet-Selch presses more firmly, letting his palm rest against the robot's chestplate. With their hips brushed against one another, he has to turn more towards him to do so, but that was fine. It didn't surprise him that it didn't feel at all like touching something inorganic, even though he technically was... but with the way Mettaton reacted to it (and the way his own pulse quickened just to touch him, and to feel the robot's response), there was especially no possibility for mistaking him as an object.
To anyone passing by, it wouldn't be an unreasonable assumption to make that there was some sort of romantic involvement going on between the benched pair. The closeness of their bodies, the placement of hands on each other... it'd be hard to imagine anything else taking place. The number of arukibake might still be alarming, but the degree of company going on would surely fix things.]
Leaving me to adjust to it, because you can't be bothered to improve yourself... I wonder how I ever tolerated it.
[But he also shows no sign of wanting to pull away this time, thumb rubbing over brightly colored metal. Even if the chance of electricity was still strange, he was becoming more willing to accept it. A little at a time... even if it took patience, even if it was invasive to be so known (and yet not known at all), this was how it had to be.]
Well, if this is the worst you can do, I might have been giving you too much credit.
no subject
And while Mettaton had never quite fancied himself finding so committed a lover, to find that he did and that it was a personality like Emet-Selch... It worked. It clicked, and he felt confident that he wasn't being mislead by the preexisting relationship they'd had. Though he still knew very little about Emet-Selch, his personality was such a stark contrast that it felt impossible to be anything but more of himself, enhanced by the dynamic he shared. And yet...
How similar he felt to himself. It was remarkable, how a man could feel so different yet similar, without even knowing him. He didn't know how or why, but it was a hunch, of sorts.
He nods with a slight chuckle, as lightning crawls over his mechanical body like a light show, drawn to the firmer touch of Emet-Selch's fingers against his chest. It felt right for Emet-Selch's hand to give to his insistent push, for his palm to press over his chest because Mettaton wanted it. The haunts of being accustomed to Emet-Selch yielding to him persists, and naturally, Emet-Selch's ever the one to adjust.
(Though this is a minor inconvenience, Mettaton thinks, this Kizuna-based lightning. So he snorts.)]
And would you really have me "improve" the enticement I feel, Hades-darling? [He quirks his brow.] You really want to shoot me down. How mean.
[Intuitively, that's why he's sparking like this, he's sure. And just as intuitive, he felt sure that Emet-Selch was able to do more than tolerate it.
Though he's aware suddenly that Emet-Selch is not the sort to have patience to care for much if he didn't have to. For himself, though, he'd been given a lot of Emet-Selch's patience and his heart in their life together. Still, he'd seen the result of the moments where he grew bored, impatient, or otherwise wanted to leave: the Ascian could simply... disappear. How convenient for him, he thought.
Emet-Selch's thumb runs over his chest, and Mettaton's ease increases, offering himself to be touched. It felt right to be caressed like this, and the sensation of it was pleasant, to be pet by someone who wasn't himself. He hums low, continuing to quirk his brow.]
And what would worse look like to you? A real shock? I'm not damaged, darling. And I'm not interested in attacking you, either. How barbaric do you think I am?
[He mirrors Emet-Selch's stroke over his chest by using his thumb against his hand, wandering the unfamiliar-yet-familiar structure and softness of the smaller man's hand with fingers void of nails or claws.]
no subject
It still frustrated to not know what he was basing these impressions on, how much he'd picked up from their limited interactions on this world, and how much was filling in the gaps with a poorly-recalled history. But it wasn't inexplicable that they could have been close, that much at least he felt sure of.
His hand gave as it should (as it had, how many times before?) to metal and pressure, an encouragement to keep his touch firm. And to keep it there at all, even if this was distinctly an intimate sort of contact. Even if Mettaton's body was robotic, and he was touching a metal chestplate, this was still his body, and a touch that he doubted would've been permitted from anyone (and that he wouldn't have been so inclined to give to just anyone either).
But they were both inclined towards it, attracted to... each other, when it came down to it.
The Ascian still snorts lightly, looking between the hand he has on him to his face.]
I'll shoot you down as much as I care to. I don't expect it to stop you for long.
[In another life, the words might've been fond, even in their complaint; there's barely an echo of it now, but he doesn't seem truly bothered by the prospect either.
Nor inclined to stop touching him, to stop wanting to be in contact with him, and he tried to not think too closely about it, lest the sense of wrongness outweigh the comfort of it.]
As for how barbaric I find you... all the instances of teeth in my throat that I recall say something about your potential for savagery.
[Neverminding that the impression he had of those times included not only his tolerance, but his pleasure, his encouragement of that treatment. But that didn't make it any less barbaric, even as he remained somewhat puzzled as to why he'd permitted it at all. Why would he take to that, and especially on a body he couldn't heal or shed easily if things got out of hand?
Speaking of hands... Emet-Selch wasn't distracted by, but conscious of Mettaton's handling of his own, and the familiarity of it. Even if he didn't want to think about how many times they might've done something just like this, sitting close somewhere and observing the world and each other, holding hands they were inclined to play with. But just in itself... it was pleasant, a not at all impersonal investigation of him, by fingers that... he wasn't at all sure what Mettaton's were made of, actually. Not bone, obviously, and the lack of claws (even tidily filed away ones) struck him as unusual.
Comments on savagery aside, Emet-Selch shows no concern over being this close to the robot, even as false lighting flickered over him (Had his memories been intact, how much would he have enjoyed the light show...? This visual demonstration of Mettaton's interest in him. He suspected he would've loved it- or at least been amused by it.). It was a bit eerie still, but what wasn't, when it came to their situation?]
no subject
And he does what he wants. He hums and nods shortly, agreeing with Emet-Selch's assessment of his behavior. No, it wouldn't stop him for even a moment to be shot down by Emet-Selch.
The feeling of his fingers felt like a welcome, exciting pressure upon his chestplate where he could barely remember ever feeling such things before. He knew he'd enjoyed touches far more firm and far more intimate than these before with Emet-Selch, but while he struggled to recall their precise texture and pressure, this felt splendid. He sighs through his nose, letting his eye flutter closed in his enjoyment of the intimacy of touch while they explored each other in this abstract sort of way, measuring the ways they could simply be together.
That's how it felt to Mettaton, a touch that pushes deeper into him than meets the eye. Emet-Selch's body may give way to metal, but it felt his touch penetrated his metal chassis deeper than that.
And even still, his smile remains. He thinks of the taste of blood on his lips, realizing with more clarity that despite that early time he felt fear at the taste of it, overindulging on the essence of his Bonded... lots of his recollection of its flavor was positive. Pleasurable. Enjoyment.
It was something of an oddity, this. He recalls rushes of soporific delight, pacifying him at the spill of his lifeblood that often flooded over his lip, painting lines of scarlet over white silicone to drip from his chin. He finds himself idly running his tongue over the backs of his teeth, realizing that even his teeth felt odd... Yet perfectly suited to bite Emet-Selch as they are, sharp canines plenty enough to sink into human flesh.
(Yet with rabbit ears at the ready, wouldn't he also sport long incisors?? God, he hoped not. But he felt more convinced that was the case as time went on.)
So really, all Mettaton can do is snort. He knows what Emet-Selch refers to.]
You were dealing with a Monster. Rabbit-featured or otherwise. And, hmm. Your blood tasted good. I think I was rather refined about it... And choosy about my source.
[He remembers feeling Emet-Selch was the most delicious of them all... Nobody else could compare. (It should have been more shocking that he'd ever tasted anyone else's blood? What was he doing in Aefenglom??) Never mind that he could hardly recall the taste of anything else save for blood, which was weird to recall in itself. He couldn't even figure out how to describe the specific taste of blood versus ice cream, unable to pinpoint what a flavor was like as he is right now. Inexperienced and quite the novice when it came to taste-testing, really. All in all, he was drawn to Emet-Selch specifically. He was the finest of wines, the most luxury of indulgences. Far from barbaric, to be so choosy.
Eye still closed, he drinks in the feeling of both of Emet-Selch's hands, unaware of what was so missing on his own fingertips. Metal cloaked in a silicone glove, his hands were readily removable as they are, as though each were just a glove to put on and take off. He couldn't say the same in Aefenglom, though he wouldn't be able to recall why. He's far more interested in how familiar it feels to sit like this, out in the city with this particular man as his company. His smile is serene, his eye closed, his attention on the ambiance that surrounds him—but most of all, Emet-Selch's voice.]
no subject
And even now... if he'd been truly bothered or annoyed or dismissive of Mettaton's confidence, he would've left him here on this bench some time ago, teleported elsewhere to find peace. Even when he'd been offended, irritated at his forwardness, the robot's teasing demand for a kiss- though Emet-Selch had pulled away, he hadn't left. And... already, he was back to holding hands with him, while trying to appreciate what he could of the evening they did have together. The quiet of it, underneath the gentle glow of the trees, overlooking a city new to them. The gathered ayakashi seemed to be settling in for the long haul, content to cozy up together in the grasses, or amongst branches overhead. Patience was the order of the day.
As was a continued mild bewilderment as he dwelled on some of their old habits. He still didn't really understand himself, both why he'd been so permissive of the puca not only biting him but drinking his blood, and why the robotic hare had even wanted to. But that they'd both deeply enjoyed the experience remained clear, even if neither of them knew exactly the why. And even now, it didn't feel... alarming, or repulsive, to know that he'd had a lover who'd so enjoyed tasting him like that.
And Mettaton's comment draws a more pleased-sounding hum, something that veers towards the smug, his voice intimate and low.]
So choosy you had to taste the field. Well, so long as you made the right choice in the end.
[So it was fine to have wanted his blood, because Mettaton agreed that it was the best. Of course.]
I'll have to trust my other self's judgement, bonding with a monstrous rabbit with a sanguine disposition. Not that you were always biting me....
[Fingers slowing to a stop on Mettaton's chest, he withdraws them after a moment more, pulling his arm back. Not because anything was wrong (any more than it already was), and instead of explaining, scoots that bit nearer. Glancing briefly, cautiously towards Mettaton's face, he leans in to nestle against the side of his body, to rest the side of his head against his neck and shoulder, before closing his own eyes.
Though he tries to find the words to explain, he knew it would amount to something defensive, and he didn't want to be. So Emet-Selch stays quiet, just wanting to remain against his once-lover for a time.]
no subject
[Never mind that Mettaton lacks taste in the most literal of senses. What he did know was that when he could taste, Emet-Selch's blood was charged with delicious magic, far more than that of any Witch or human he'd sampled before. He can't recall any times where he'd tried anybody else on... but instinctively, he knew that he had. (Perhaps these instinctive memories were the Monster in him, the Puca that yet remains, recalling things in impressions rather than actual memory.
(Ultimately, he doesn't feel too alarmed by any of this.))
But it was true enough that he wasn't always with his teeth slipping through tender human skin. He was a hare with a sanguine disposition in senses more than just the sweet sort, inclined toward drawing his lover's blood as well in displays if violent wrath and affection both.
Both of them know it was a strange habit for Witch and Puca to engage in so ardently. So amorously. But they didn't inspect it too hard, accepting it with as much casualness as it felt they treated it with in Aefenglom. Mettaton could casually greet Emet-Selch by dipping down to his neck and kissing him, sucking bruises into skin or lightly nicking his flesh, letting blood trickle onto his tongue in a gesture too intimate to explain in words.
And they both loved it. Mettaton feels a strange rush at recalling how easily he could provoke Emet-Selch into stiffness against his thigh, all by working on his throat... So of course they enjoyed it.
As much as Mettaton enjoyed Emet-Selch's voice running low, a deep thrum that reaches his chest. He sighs again.
Before he can respond, Emet-Selch stops slowly and withdraws. Mettaton doesn't jerk to stop him, though he wonders what's wrong, only to placate himself with another intuitive feeling that things were feeling particularly right, more than they had been. Mettaton's easygoing, relaxed; Emet-Selch glances at his face, and Mettaton remains gentle, calm.
The Ascian nestles against his hard metal pauldron and against his neck. Mettaton receives him, closing distance some more, forming their bodies together. Their hands remain twined, figures huddled close, in an imitation of something it felt they've done before.
Quietly, Mettaton accepts him. With the same sort of longing, he rests his cheek upon the top of Emet-Selch's head, nestled in chestnut hair.
Most of the time, no. Mettaton wasn't biting him, but regarding him with other acts of affection. And Emet-Selch would meet him in ways he increasingly learned how to do with greater and greater comfort.
Watching the Arukibake and taking in their numbers, Mettaton wonders if Emet-Selch's loneliness had been eased in Aefenglom. That none of the small, ghostly ayakashi were leaving suggests to him that his loneliness isn't eased by his presence... but who knew? Maybe he missed one's departure. But it was alright. He could simply join Emet-Selch's entourage of leggy ghosts, he thinks with a smile.
But at least they've accomplished something. Some things, in fact. Mettaton's voice is soft, audible only for someone close to his throat.]
I've noticed nobody's come to bother you. Except for me.
[There's that, at least.]
no subject
But even more often, Mettaton just spent time at his throat. Kissing him, pressing his face there... they'd both occupied that spot frequently on each other.
Just as he was drawn towards doing now, letting out a quiet breath at being accepted there, that they could still do this. It wasn't much, in comparison to what they'd once had- an awareness that kept his loneliness stable and deep- but it was something. It was more than a start, as he thought on how they'd begun their conversation, or on how these past weeks had gone, with so little beyond feelings emerging through the mist.
Mettaton's voice is soft, something that wouldn't escape beyond their bench, beyond his ears, and Emet-Selch remembered too how much he had enjoyed listening to him... especially in tones like these, pitched only for him.
The Ascian could've replied with something sarcastic. Something about trading one trouble for another, or whether the peace he'd found with the robot was worse than the hassle of intervention. Instead he's quiet for a time, thinking on the way Mettaton's face felt resting in his hair. The way his own face and body felt, nestled close against the robot's. How warm he was, and strangely... comfortable. And not only because he'd done it all before, but even in the here and now, it was comfortable to rest against silicone, to lean into metal, his own body the one made to meld.
Even if this meeting brought more tumult than he could have expected, an upheaval that he knew he'd be spending a great deal of time lingering on, it would be worth it in the end, wouldn't it?]
Except for you.
[Emet-Selch agrees finally, with a small squeeze of Mettaton's hand, and nudge against his neck.]
So keep bothering me for a while longer then, won't you?
no subject
And he feels so confident that if he ever lost that feeling, it would have certainly left an impression that lasted lifetimes. (So, what happened to them?)
He can't bear to think about it right now. Emet-Selch squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back, opening his eye and gazing into the little beady eyes of the Arukibake watching them. There's a touch of melancholy that works itself into his smile, pitying... not just Emet-Selch, but himself. They were truly star-crossed, weren't they? It felt too good and too terrible to be true, their romance fated to be lost. Just beholding the crowd of ayakashi reminds him how lonely this man is, and how lonely he seems fated to be.
But there was a time and place where he was with Mettaton's company. And here, too, he was with him. This was... another chance, perhaps. Another opportunity given to them to be together. (Was the continuity of their worlds thrown into chaos because of their adamant stay in Aefenglom, perhaps? Mettaton's cocky enough to think he's important enough to throw time itself off-kilter, anyway.) Right now, they were here together. Unmarried, and back closer to square one... but not entirely there. They remembered enough to know that they were inexorably drawn, and still attracted to one another. That attraction grew rapidly.
Emet-Selch's voice is so soft, and it felt fragile. The man himself felt fragile, in his way. Perhaps it was the lack of bite, the drop in his defenses that settles him against the black silicone of his throat, the two of them nestled into each other. But comfort could feel fragile, especially when it was so rare to attain.
Mettaton turns his head to press his lips upon Emet-Selch's scalp. He imagines what he might smell like, coming up with colors instead of actual scents. Red; a bit of blue, both there to combine into something rich, but soft. He searches his memory for a smell, but he can't wrap his mind around it.]
I can spare some time for you, darling.
[... He could spare a lot of time for Emet-Selch, he thought. He could spend the whole evening with him, the whole night... How many hours did he spend with his Bondmate in Aefenglom? How many days, years? Both in the long-term, and as a collective? He hadn't taken himself to be someone so inclined to keep company so intimate and so dear, but... to consider that he had it felt good. He felt safer than he thought he ever would or could, in this memory of his marriage.
It was no small wonder that they could spend this evening feeling comfortable like this, settled in each other's company. Mettaton had readily flipped on his ability to heat up externally, giving Emet-Selch someone warm to lean against, as he reaches up and around to settle his free hand against the back of Emet-Selch's neck.]
I couldn't say no to you.
no subject
Something that, now that it was gone, he wondered might be some sad mercy. It had been precious to him, just as this man had been... that much he was sure of. Something that he wondered might have broken him to have lost, he felt that dedicated to it. But with his sight intact on this star, Emet-Selch wondered what it would have looked like, for his massy soul to have some strange connection to another, to something so small and bright.
He could feel lips soft against his scalp, in a touch that was familiar too. The times they must have lingered together just like this... had been numerous, he thought, with Mettaton naturally able to kiss the top of his head this way, in a gesture he knew to be affectionate. There had been no end to those gestures when they had been together, so inclined towards touch, towards expressions like these when words failed them, or were insufficient. Despite being so active and busy, as he assumed Mettaton to be in any world, he would still spare time to remain quiet with him like this.
They had been together a great deal. It surprised him a little, to consider that he'd tolerated someone else's continued company for so long at a time. But even on those times when Mettaton annoyed him, he felt... even then, his presence had been a comfort to him. Something he'd never been able to dislike. He'd always wanted him around.
And he relaxes a little more when Mettaton gives his willingness to remain, briefly turning his head to press a kiss to black silicone, in something he knows too that he'd done before.
Mettaton's reply, it deepens that sense of melancholy and fondness both, as he returns to resting against the robot's warm neck with his eyes closed.]
I think you've said something like that to me before.
[How much of what they did was an echo, he wondered. But with Mettaton's hand comfortably against his neck, he was inclined to stay just like this, even if it did call to mind everything they'd unwillingly lost. But it wasn't everything; even if they had to fumble for it in the dark, they still had some hold on each other. Even if it was a grasp they were still finding, he didn't think either of them were inclined to give up on it.]
Thank you.
no subject
It brings a smile to his face anyway, even if there's a touch of melancholy there, missing that weight, that pressure. Yes... he felt near certain that it was weight that Emet-Selch brought him, heaviness that he could still hardly fathom. Maybe, in time, he would tempt those memories to return again.
It felt nostalgic in a lot of ways to remain at peace like this, sitting quietly in another person's company. Intimate company, at that. He still reels from the idea that he'd made himself so vulnerable to Emet-Selch, but he also trusts himself and his instinct. He did trust him entirely, even if he'd threatened him with information once before in this world. (That was a misunderstanding, he decides. Because Emet-Selch wouldn't do that to him.)
Emet-Selch kisses him. They weren't married, and they weren't even necessarily together on this star (another word he remembers Emet-Selch using to refer to worlds like these), but the motions remained in their bodies, even when they felt difficult to conjure. But this was a sign of it, as Mettaton closes his eye and basks in the sensation of human lips on his throat, with a temperature that he pretended was warmth, trying to imagine what that feels like.
They did a lot of things that felt familiar, it seemed, from kisses to the echoes of words. Even if they forgot, some part of them remembered, and continued to remember more. To that, he has to hum, interested.
Mettaton's voice remains soft. (He nearly imagines the specific way tall rabbit ears would lean comfortably back, a sort of tugging sensation that made his head feel weirdly weightless... How odd.) He settles back, keeping his fingers against the back of Emet-Selch's neck, their fingers twined, their faces close.]
Mmm. My pleasure.
[Just as much as he knew it was Emet-Selch's. This meant a lot to them both, both in the other world they met, and this one where they remembered. That they were both committed to catching up with memories lost spoke volumes about that.]